Morsels of Moderation from Missouri.

A holiday for me usually means a holiday away from the Internet. But the thought of a stale, neglected blog just gnaws at me. So as I look out the window over the gently rolling pastures-cum-cookie-cutter-subdivisions of the Ozark Plateau, here are some loosely connected sentences. And fragments.

Boulevard Pale Ale is to Missouri what Orval is to Belgium: characterful, highly drinkable and reasonably hoppy pale ale whose quality is matched by its availabilty. It rescues you in those places where other good beers are scarce. If you prefer a nation-to-nation comparison, replace "Boulevard" with "Sierra Nevada." Yet another beer I failed to properly appreciate until I left the country and found my palate.

Meanwhile: I don't have the taste for hop-bombs I once had. I gorge on them anyway when I come home, as if I need a fix. But I don't. It's like growing older to find that dish your mom always makes for you isn't what you remember... With most of the IPAs, the first one impresses greatly, and the rest just coat my palate with layer after layer of hop resin. Or so it seems. Most of them could dial up the aroma and dial down the bitterness.

In the fermenters at the Ozark homestead: Ten gallons of Belgian-style blonde hopped entirely with Centennial. The projected abv is 6%. Dialed up on aroma, dialed down on bitterness. Theoretically.