Unlike this guy...
Mike Seate wrote an article in the Pittsburgh Tribune Review on 17 January 2007 and is quoted below. The best part is at the end when he states "I'll be doing my drinking at home, on the cheap, from a Styrofoam cup." Good for him. But for me, a nice Trappist Rochefort 8 in a glass chalis is what I will be drinking. Or better yet, a Boddington's Pub Ale with a little bee on the can...
During the weekend, I stopped by the Sharp Edge bar in East Liberty for a few beers. Nothing spectacular about that, except for one small problem: It's one of those so-called beer emporiums, trendy little places that specialize in styles and brands of beer so obscure, you need a Frommer's travel guide just to pronounce them. These sorts of places are a relatively new in our area. Back in the early-1990s, few local bars served anything more esoteric than, say, Old Frothingslosh, and the concept of drinking a Guinness stout from a tap just like Europeans do was something of a beer-lover's revelation.Fifteen years later, dozens of local bars offer exotic beers, and as these unusual malted beverages have grown in popularity, the prices charged for a glass have risen faster than a gallon of unleaded during an election year.
When I stopped at a popular beer and hot dog joint in Regent Square, for example, my wallet choked at the thought of forking over $4.25 for a single take-out can of Boddingtons Pub Ale. The thick, creamy British brew can be had just down the block for about $40 per case, which makes the idea of buying a six-pack for nearly half that much a real pain in the pint glass.
To be fair, these places are usually dense with bearded guys in tattered wool sweaters who can rattle off the complex brewing methods of odd brands the way Star Trek enthusiasts can speak fluent Klingon. Likewise, some of our city's beer emporiums have elevated the formerly simple act of purchasing a pint to something akin to a haute wine tasting; elaborate back stories are offered about strange orders of Trappist Belgian monks who craft their beers in dank basements using recipes as closely guarded as the holy grail.
In exchange for the satisfaction of knowing your beer has a provenance and back story that would make a great Orlando Bloom/Johnny Depp film, customers are charged anywhere between $5 and $10 for a glass of beer. Worse yet, some bars have taken to serving these beverages in tiny brandy snifters and elegant, hand-blown glass goblets.
Is it just me, or has somebody forgotten that beer is supposed to be a workingman's drink, as free from pretensions and airs as a kielbasa smothered in sauerkraut?
Apparently so. And until local bar owners remember this, I'll be doing my drinking at home, on the cheap, from a Styrofoam cup.