And he said:
Would that you could live simply on the fruits of the earth and be sustained by wine.
But since you were born to drink delicious craft beer made locally by brewmasters who harness the powers of grains and hops and yeast, let this be an act of worship.
Let your palate be an alter on which the pure and innocent cascade and centennial and citra and amarillo and warrior hops are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in man.
When you crush a succulent can of Heady Topper or a Rising Tide Daymark or a Maine Beer Company Lunch, say to the brewer in your heart, “By the same power that draws you to the fermenter, I too am drawn to your frothy brew. As the brew is consumed, I too shall be consumed.
“My blood runs thick with golden malts and hazy wort. Your malty blood and my malty blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven.”
And when you drink from a growler filled past the brim with Hill Farmstead Abner, say to it in your heart, “You have harnessed the secrets of God’s great teet and fit it within a glass bottle. Your brew shall live in my body, and the yeast of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart, and your dry-hopped fragrance shall be my breath, and together we shall rejoice through all brewing seasons.”
And in the winter, when pale ales and IPA’s turn to Sebago Brewing’s Lake Trout Stout and Sierra Nevada’s Porter, say in your heart, “I too am a chocolatey grain, and my dark roasted malt shall be gathered for the fermenter, and like new beer I shall be kept in an eternal growler.”
And when the brewing is completed and the beer is drawn through bar taps, let there be in your heart a song for each glass.
And let there be in the song a remembrance for the fields of grains and hops, and for the brew kettle, and for the noble brewer.
(Yup, Kahlil Gibran even said “Cheers.” What a visionary!)