BY DAVID INFANTE
IPAs disgust me.
Iíve never told anyone this before, for fear of being set upon by homebrewers, hopheads, and frat bros thatíve been totally numbed to reason by high-ABV swill. But I feel like I can trust you -- yes, you -- with my secret: At the merest hint of an India pale ale, Iím overcome with loathing so severe, itís all I can do to resist smashing every tinted longneck in sight. Iím a wretched imposter, doomed to silently endure the worldís heinous praise for this ďonce and futureĒ craft beer king, or else be laughed out of the liquor store. Heavy is the head that has a mouth that hates the brownÖ beer.
Why canít I just enjoy it? Why does every single IPA make my gut bubble like a Jacuzzi full of soup? Every cicerone is my mortal enemy, every bar with rotating taps, my hop-hell. Oh, you disagree? Pound sand/shred me in the comments, because the reasons for my IPA hatred are completely unassailable: Read More Here