Crib Notes

By Mark Hibbard

Over the past few years our nation’s love affair with beer has grown considerably. Pubs are now tap houses and the beer aisle is constantly swelling and expanding, threatening to encroach upon the noble wine racks that have held sway over discerning palates. As far as trends go, this is a good one. It has opened up a new market for enterprising drunkards and has forced even the king of beers to rethink their model. Wimpy light beers no longer rule the roost, and the mighty hop’s relevance is getting stronger by the day.

In a city that has deemed happy hour unsavory, going to one of the local breweries is a great way to get an early buzz on the cheap. The initial plan was to hit up Sweetwater, but for the third time in six months I was reminded after the fact that it is best to get there early.

Sweetwater was busting at the seams, and nothing kills a buzz like standing in a line. The next obvious choice was Atlanta Brewing Company, they were packed as well, but it seemed much more manageable. Ten dollars gets you a glass and five tastes; these are not full pours, but if you grease the wheels your luck is likely to change. As far as the scene is concerned the crowd appeared to be mostly of the Virginia Highland ilk. Plenty of white college hats and button ups, ladies were dressed in cardigans and knee-high boots. There was also a truly mediocre band playing late ’90s acoustic hits. They may have thrown in a couple of originals but no one seemed to care. The crowd’s motives were simple, drink beer and move on.

The Midtown Taco Mac was next on this little beer swilling endeavor, and that place is bright. There are at least 500 flat-screens in the spot, and they float above like some mass media halo. There was no game of real importance on that night so the rowdy super fans that normally line their serpentine bar were either quietly sipping or pretending to give a shit about rugby and cricket. When I sat down there was a man to my left in a mismatched Men’s Warehouse suit complaining about the beer list. He seemed truly offended that Heineken Light was not on tap, and the bartender, who clearly knew a thing or two about beer, was masking her contempt quite well. Like the TVs, the beer list here is pure excess. They have hundreds, and with their Brewniversity program you can track your progress as you pass through the high-gravity wet dream. It may be a splendid place to catch a game, but as far as hunkering down and tying one on, I recommend their original location in the Highlands. The slickness and shininess tend to overwhelm.

All and all not a bad evening, but nothing really happened. Both places were solid watering holes, and both places were clearly one-dimensional. There was no emotion to accompany the nectar, and when that happens the allure of intoxication is lost and the very act of imbibing becomes robotic.

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