The day I drank a Bud

What the fuck am I doing drinking a Bud? Seriously? Is it time to ship ol' Tony off to the home?

Nah. I'm drinking this on a bet. It's a bet with myself, really. And it's a test to see if I can be fair to a fuckin' Bud. I think I can, really. I'll try.

This beer is not a pussy, I'll give it that. Unlike its big brother, the King, this beer is made with real malt, and tastes like it. There's some decent bitterness, too. There is a bit of aftertaste that is slightly unpleasant, like a tire that's run over a week-old roadkill badger, but it does not entirely detract from the overtones of spice, fruit, and straw.

Fruit and straw. In fact, this beer distinctly reminds me of fall. It's almost like getting up on a crisp morning when the fields are finally being plowed up, and the apples are on the fruitstand outside. Sure, maybe a neighbor a couple of houses down should pump his septic soon, but really, it's essentially a good day to be alive.

The funny thing is about this scent-oriented analogy, this beer has almost no odor at all, which is passing odd. I think it could benefit somewhat with a dose of nice aroma hops, something mellow, like a good dose of Willamette, which would help bring out the spiciness, and kick the olfactory glands in the nads.

It's not bad for the price, I reckon, which was about half what the Arrogant Bastard cost. It's not half the beer as an Arrogant Bastard of equal size, but it's not a Bud or Miller MGD, at least.

This beer gets four out of five dogs

It's good to be known as a beer snob.

Seriously. It is. When people come to visit, they bring me beer, for fuck sake. How cool is that? Wanna make me happy? Give me the gift of a good beer drunk. That's all I want. That's all I need. A full day's supply of vitamin C in every glass.

I hope.

When the nieceling and her husbandling showed up on our doorstep wanting a place to crash, they knew what would buy them a bed for a night or two: a cooler full of Alaskan beers, and a couple of brews from this place called Yazoo Brewing Co, from Nashville, Tennessee. That's right, suckas. I'm talking red-fucking-neck beer.

I think you're going to have to understand, folks south of the Mason-Dixon don't know shit about beer. They think Rolling Rock is great beer. (And I'm not linking: the stupid motherfuckers have a stupid fucking Flash site. What the fuck is up with breweries and Flash? Does the beer make them fucking stupid or something?)

That's why, when some fucking redneck makes an actual good beer, there's reason to celebrate. At least a little.

Dos Perros is a decent beer. It's strangely a bit like Trinity, kinda malty and sweet. Dos Perros also has a hint of citrus. Not that folks from Tennessee know shit about citrus. They leave that to the Floridians. But that doesn't stop 'em from trying. And here, it really does work. It's not real citrus, don't get me wrong. That'd be a fucking crime against beer. They aren't doing any of that pansy shit of putting real lemon juice in their beer. Do that, and you might as well sell it by the side of the road for $.25/glass. (I was gonna link to linie.com, but the fuckers at Leinenkugel's use fucking Flash!) But it has a bit of citrus, maybe because they say this is inspired by Mexican beer.

Anyway, Dos Perros is a decent beer, for a regional. It's not nearly as good as many, but it's better than most. Malty, citrusy, light on the hops. It's a good summer drink.

And their website doesn't consist solely of fucking Flash.

If this beer were a dog, it'd be a Tennessee corgi.  It's pedigree is from another country altogether, and it seems its legs shouldn't reach the ground, but it all works together in a surprisingly good way.

Holy price/performance, Batman!

Okay. Say you are a little tight on cash. The fucking dog got into your stash of Reisen chocolates and ate the whole fucking bag. Even the bag. You had to take the little bastard to the vet to get his stomach pumped, and now you're broke.

Fucking little bastard.

Your beer money is limited to what you can find in the couch. Reaching down through the accumulated dog hair, shredded tennis balls, and half-eaten rawhides (fucking bastard), you manage to collect about $6.53 in pennies, quarters, dimes, nickels, and your lucky silver dollar that disappeared over a year ago.

That ain't enough for a six of Alaskan Double-Black IPA. Hell, that ain't even enough for a six of Shiner Bock. (I'd link to their site, but the stupid motherfuckers use flash.)

What to do, what to do.

Head down to Trader Joe's, is what to do, and get a six of Trinity Red Ale for $6. Seriously. This is decent stuff. And, it seems to be made by the same folks who make Goose Island Honker's Ale.

Sure, you're not going to sit at work dreaming of coming home to a bottle of this stuff. It's far from the greatest beer in the world. It has a fantastic red color, but that's an almost-cruel deception. The slightly-creamy head also promises much. The beer itself does not live up to these promises.

The real experience is simply not quite as grand as the initial impression. It's a tasty beer, don't get me wrong. It has a nice malty flavor, almost sweet. There's not a lot of hops, but it's just enough to remind you this is beer you're drinking, not kvass. Mostly, this beer is mild. It's like Clark Kent who never becomes Superman. It's like pipe tobacco smells before you smoke it.

This ain't gonna light your fuckin' fire. It's decent, it's cheap, and it's good beer. This ain't your typical effluent Bud or Miller. It's almost as cheap, and it's good.

It just ain't great.

If this beer were a car, it'd be an inexpensive compact. Say, a Toyota Matrix.