The first one that really grabbed me by the boo-boo was brewed by the Pelican Brew Pub in Pacific City, OR. I mean, I am sure there were others, but that's the first one I blogged about. Anyhow. Fast forward a few years and I am now an expert in the IPA, or so I tell myself. IBUs and ABVs... Yea, I know what that shit means. Cascade compared to Centennial hops? Yea, I can totally tell the difference (ahem, bullshit!). All of that to say, when I find an IPA that I can't stop swilling - pouring one bottle after another into my face (see: Sculpin) - I feel obligated to write about it... being an expert and all ;) So allow me to introduce my latest face-eating friend, Odell Brewing Co.'s IPA, a "bolder and more flavorful – American Style IPA" that is brewed in Fort Collins, CO. At 7% ABV and 60 IBUs, Odell's offering is nobody's bitch. But she goes down all-too-easy and will leave you looking for a place to purchase another six-pack. Also there is a man riding an elephant on the bottle - which obviously makes the beer better. So if you're an IPA expert like myself, do you really need an excuse to drink something different? I think not. Do yourself a favor and find a few.
One minute of motorcycle riding followed by five minutes of camping and cooking shots?! If you've been to Japan, or live(d) there, this video will probably make perfect sense to you. During our time on The Island, a few things became clear: the Japanese love Yamaha's 225cc Serow (they even sell a special 'Touring Edition' complete with a windscreen and tail rack), and they curate their camping kit the way some people color coordinate their closet. Everything has its place, everything has its purpose. Like most things in Japan, camping - especially motorcycle camping - is taken very seriously. Yes, fun will be had, but it will be perfect fun. Cut and pasted from the pages of GO OUT magazine. Garb'd and gathered, overlooked and organized, and then cleaned thoroughly and put away neatly. I both fear this efficiency, this absence of expression, and simultaneously miss those moments when the girl at 7-11 quietly wrapped my pork bun in wax paper, and then bowed graciously as she handed it to me.