Did you know that the sun does this to your hair simply because it’s a pleasure?
unopened filling up the bar, the bourbon barrel lazy susan, and the new four tier shelf just placed next to the bar. I finish maybe one bottle a month and two or more new bottles follow me home each month. So I think it’s obvious I have a drinking problem. I need to drink more.
Greene King’s Abbot Ale (Picked up at a Sainsbury’s in London). A 2 of 4. A solid, inexpensive English pale ale. Not the best, but good for the price, and relatively easy to find. Nice thicker body with a chewiness to it, as well as some decent caramel malt notes and a herbal bitterness. Up front, it’s a bit on the sweeter side with some bright lighter fruit notes, which fade into a nice maltiness and finally a clean, firm bitterness. For a English pale ale out of a can, it’s quite solid.
This is one of the few I can get in the U.S. that I feel represents a typical pint of English bitter ale.
Larry Bird’s childhood backboard, French Lick, Indiana
I’ll steal Zach’s photo to tell a little story. A living legend from my neck of the woods is no small thing. Though he graduated several years before I played high school basketball, Larry Bird loomed large in my gym and life. His school, Springs Valley, and mine East Washington, played regularly and I played against his cousin (Eddie I think) who went to West washington.
Anyway, fast forward a few years and I’m all grown up and living in Texas. I come home for leave and after a week I’m feeling restless in a small town. I’m a traveler now after all, something I wasn’t before and I’m up for an adventure so I decide to drive to French Lick to see where the Hick from French Lick hailed.
I quickly find Larry Bird Blvd and stop at gas station to see about locating his house.
If the man’s directions are good the place I drive by is not what I expected. Far from a mansion, it’s an unremarkable home but then I see the court, a full-sized outdoor court, paved end to end with bleachers and I know I’ve indeed found it. I stop and take a picture or two in front of the fence and as I drive back passed the house I notice the garage door is open and someone is sitting in a chair in the garage.
Could it be? Well my heart begins to pound and before I know it I’ve pulled into the drive. I almost lost my nerve but damn it, a US Air Force Airman is not afraid of a little old lady sitting in a cheap webbed lawn chair in her garage so I got out and approached the door. She didn’t move other than to fan her face with a magazine, it was full on summer.
I stop at the opening, cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me ma’am but is this Larry Birds house?” She replied with no particular character to her tone, “Larry Bird lives in Boston.” I smiled, nodded, and said, “That’s right, sorry to bother you.” She didn’t reply and I returned to my car and drove off.