My friend Russ, a retired engineer, lives north of Baltimore City, Maryland. He loves tinkering on his cars. Ten years ago had a 25th birthday party for Sunshine, a Alfa Romeo, still roadworthy. He loves 'session' beers —milds and bitters— served cask-conditioned.
With an engineer's love of detail, he recounts great stories in a deliberate manner of speaking. One such, Russ left as a message on my voice mail. Granted his permission, I've transcribed it below, word-for-word.
Tom, there's no need to call me back. I just wanted to tell you that I have found a pinnacle, or, actually, a nadir.
It is very tough to find the best —and tough to define the best— beer bar in the country. But, at present, I am sitting in the worst ... unquestionably, the worst beer bar in the country. It can only be a question of magnitude.
There are six taps at **** Bar on **** Road. All ... six ... taps ... are ... Miller Lite. It cannot get any worse than that.
Oh, yes, it could! All six could be Natty Boh Lite —if there is such a thing.
- This reminds me of the Cheese Shop episode from Monty Python.
- I've redacted the name of the bar (located north of Baltimore) to protect the guilty.