Holiday Ale Festival 2011

The mysterious silence of other public transit patrons combined with the repetitive thunk-clunk of the train slowly rolling over the Steele Bridge added a particular eeriness to my journey downtown. The warm winter sun was already hidden behind the west hills striping the sky in a brilliant display of pink and purple ribbons. Soon I would be encased in darkness; the only light, created by man.

As we shuttled through the city's core I glanced over to see Portland’s living room encompassed by an expansive white tent and our Christmas tree in all its shimmering glory. Within the white canvas walls the Holiday Ale Fest was already underway. This is not your ordinary beer fest. Every beer poured is either specifically crafted for the festival, exceedingly rare, or vintage. Aficionados and connoisseurs live for events like these where they can sample some of the finest beers in the world. But I am here to get fucked up. Holidaze, bitches.       

They mistakenly let me through the entryway; I guess they don’t remember me from last year. The lapse of time and man’s imperfect memory are a scoundrel’s best friends. I purchase extra tasting tickets and make my way into the main hall. I take a survey of the land and plot my course. Imperial bourbon stouts, winter strong ales, and aged barleywines dominate the landscape. I can hardly contain myself but the drunk tank will have a better chance later.

After my third beer I take a seat in a hallway to discuss the nature of existence with a beautiful and intelligent woman, as usual, and the older gentleman next to me sees someone he knows, lunges towards them, spills his beer everywhere, and attempts to drink the remaining beer in his cup but unfortunately it’s upside down. I look at this poor wretched soul and think, “With any luck, that could be me in an hour.”

I walk upstairs to the sky bar tent and a large portion of the walkway is open to the winter elements. Right as I begin to think what a fantastic place this would be to sneak a puff I spot a wretched little man in a security uniform staring down everyone who saunters past as if they had just murdered a dozen babies and stolen their blow. He must live for events like this. I’m sorry the police academy wouldn’t accept you little buddy, but that ain’t my fault. His hyper-vigilance forces me to put my secondary plan into action. Unfortunately it involves a port-a-potty and I am none too happy about it.

The series of events that subsequently unfolded remain a spotty and mysterious so I will recount them as well as possible. I made it through all the beers I wanted to taste with time to spare so I retired to a table with a beautiful and intelligent woman, a different one naturally, to engage in a sophisticated and urbane discussion on the absurdity of eastern philosophy. At this point a gigantic fire breathing robotic gorilla stormed the beer tent demanding me to apologize for my disparaging words about eastern “religions.” After I stated that you can’t spell eastern without Easter the robotic gorilla became enraged and began slaughtering everyone in sight, except the bourgeois buddhists. At this point I swung down from the rafters on a giant rope and dumped a bucked of beer on the robot gorilla killing him and saving mankind from enslavement on the planet RoboGor. You’re welcome.

Oh yeah, my favorite beers were (in no particular order): Elysian’s Bye Bye Frost, Hopworks’ Kentucky Christmas, Natian’s Holla-Day, Ninkasi’s The Little One, Upright’s Noel, and Oakshire’s Nutcracker. They tasted good and contained alcohol. The festival runs through the weekend so go get your drink on, motherfucker. www.holidayale.com