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opulentcherries · 5 years

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hey there, eddie [reddie au] 1/3

pairings: reddie, stenbrough,

warnings: fuckton of cursing, angst, lots of sad shit, underage drinking,

words: 1.7k

extra: this is a playlist fic. each part is based on a different song, and the fic as a whole is based on the song hey there delilah by the plain white t's.

song of the chapter: no idea by all time low

synopsis: the losers are off to college and richie is inexplicably upset that he’s staying in derry. with his best friend and secret love of his life moving to new york, richie can’t help but dwell on the fact that his life is not at all moving in the right direction. so richie does the only thing he knows how, he writes it all down and picks up his guitar.

please don’t hesitate to send me an ask or leave some feedback in the comments <3 it motivates me to write and makes me feel like i’m not totally terrible so enjoy!

richie felt alone.

it was unusual for him to feel like this while he was with the others, but the heavy feeling in his heart was too strong to ignore.

the losers all sat in their typical hangout of the quarry, hair wet from swimming, voices hoarse from screaming. they sat on logs around a campfire, roasting marshmallows and telling stories of old adventures, smiles littering their faces.

richie sat on a lone log, watching all the others with hooded eyes. he coasted over them sadly, knowing that soon, none of this would be here.

graduation was in a measly three weeks and within a month they'd all be scattered about the map; bill and stan in boston, mike in new jersey, bev in philadelphia, ben traveling a ways away to toronto, eddie in new york and richie, well richie was gonna be stuck in derry.

the thought rested heavily in richie's mind as he twirled the marshmallow clad stick lazily in the fire, eyes set on his group. it had been the seven of them always, ever since they banded together in the seventh grade. best friends forever and ever is what they promised, but richie knew better. he knew that people never stay.

as this particular thought weighed in his mind, richie's dark eyes settled on his favorite loser, who was lost in a story that beverly and mike were reciting animately.

eddie kaspbrak, the boy that managed to steal his heart with a single look. the boy he annoyed constantly with the crude comments falling off his chapped lips. the boy who meant more to him than anyone in the entire world.

richie heaved a sigh, knowing that he'd never be able to tell eddie how he really felt. in four weeks time eddie would be in a big city with so many different people that eddie would soon forget about his old best friend in his childhood town.

you see, richie tozier knew he wasn't special. he knew he wasn't smart, and he knew that he would be stuck in derry for the rest of his life, in a dead end job that he hated. he wasn't nearly good enough for eddie kaspbrak, no, not even close. this richie knew.

eddie was someone so special, so extraordinary. he knew that the small, snarky boy would grow up to do great things, and if richie was truly the best friend eddie believed he was, he couldn't bring himself to hold him back.

richie wasn't sure what hurt more, knowing that he wasn't good enough for the boy he was so desperately in love with or knowing that in order to let him be the happy he deserved, he had to let him go.

"richie!" the lanky boy's thoughts were interrupted by the very boy always clouding them. "are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"what?"

bev looked him over in suspicion and confusion. "your marshmallow is completely fried, rich. the stick is nearly blazing.”

richie looked down at the charred marshmellow and shook the fire out. "oh. sorry."

the group stilled at the feeble apology, looking at their friend with confused eyes. this wasn't the richie they knew. no, their richie made the most disgusting comments at the worst possible times. their richie never shut his mouth, and their richie made them laugh like no other ever could.

this version of richie looked down at his shoes like they were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. he was quiet and sad, and it didn't sit right with any of them.

stan cleared his throat, "richie? what's wrong? find out your iq is the same as your age again?"

richie knew it was a joke, and he knew that stan was baiting him so they could have their usual snippy banter, but all richie could think of was how far away he'd be from them all because he wasn't smart enough to go anywhere else.

they'll forget you in no time, his subconscious reminded him cruelly. you're nothing compared to them.

when it seemed like his sad expression only deepened, mike spoke. "you know you can always talk to us, rich. we're here for you, always."

always.

richie shook his head and plastered a much too fake smile on his lips. "I'm fine, really you losers. jeez, you'd think I died or something the way you all look."

from across the small fire, eddie kaspbrak glanced over his best friend with worried eyes. this wasn't his richie, the boy that annoyed him at all times. he didn't like that richie was quiet and seemingly sullen, it was unnatural.

he also knew, that there was way more to richie's feelings than he was letting on. he was lying, and eddie knew he'd never let his guard down in front of the others. for this reason alone eddie waited for richie to look up, because no matter how much the troubled boy his feelings from the group, he could never hide them from eddie.

like expected, richie looked up when feeling eyes on him, and fell into the trap of eddie's chocolate colored eyes. eddie raised an eyebrow, question in his eyes. richie only shook his slightly in response, and eddie stared harder, almost daring him to lie.

beverly had been watching the encounter between eddie and richie, and she noticed how he was keeping his feelings from not only the group, but even eddie. it was unusual, because no one in the world was closer than eddie and richie.

she realized there must have been way more to the story than she knew, so she decided to jump in and save him.

"hey rich," the dark eyes slid from eddie to her. "you have your guitar right? why don't you play us something?"

richie breathed a laugh, "oh god no,” he says. “i'll probably fuck up your ears.”

ben snorted, "richie tozier being modest? never thought i'd see the day."

richie rolled his eyes. "i'm not being modest, I'm just not that good.”

eddie rolled his eyes then. "you're the best that i know, rich."

richie's heart could have melted right then and there, and all of a sudden, the overwhelming need to get his feelings out seemed to take him over. he nodded, and bev clapped, bill, stan, ben and mike smiling. eddie let his lips turn up slightly, but just simply watched as richie reached behind him and grabbed the guitar case.

"um..." richie paused, wondering what to play. he wanted something that would make him feel better, but he didn't want to give anything away. he couldn't afford for someone to catch onto his feelings. "okay."

richie lined up his fingers up to the correct chords and let his fingers do the rest, his voice coming out soft and small.

I was dreaming we were running

from a city burning down,

down, down, down

eddie felt his heart flutter at richie's deep, calming voice singing the familiar song, and he instantly sat up straighter in his seat.

richie continued to sing, letting his emotions pour into the lyrics, voice growing stronger.

now there's a piece of me

tells me I shouldn't leave

everytime I see your face

as if he was being compelled to do so, richie looked up at eddie, only to find the other boy already looking at him. their eyes connected and while richie knew the smile on eddie's face was purely platonic, his heart began to pound anyway.

because everytime

you come around

love, you take my breath away and i just wanna breathe until,

i take you in

i never want you to leave until

i take you in

but the truth is,

richie felt like his heart was being torn in two as he sang, the words hitting far too close to home. when he felt the tears start to build he looked down, hand still strumming away to the song.

she has no idea, no idea

that I'm even here

she has no idea, no idea

that I'm even here

the remaining losers somehow felt, looking between eddie and richie that they were intruding on an intimate moment. regardless of how much richie buried his feelings, his love for eddie was too strong. they all knew how deeply richie felt for the other, and they hated that he did nothing.

some of them weren't sure if eddie felt the same and the others were convinced that he did, but either way, richie had the potential to be happy and he was denying himself the opportunity because he didn't feel like he deserved it.

she's so close when i'm so far away

when i'm so far away

let me dream

let me stay

she's so close when i'm so far away

when i'm so far away

i can sleep

i can dream

i can change

richie slowed his movements as he neared the end of the song, his voice slurring slightly as he placed more emphasis on each lyric. he looked up at eddie once more as he sang.

she has no idea, no idea

that i'm even here

she has no idea, no idea

that i'm even here

she has no idea, no idea

that i'm even here

he has no idea

that i'm even here...

then suddenly it was quiet. richie could feel his heart pound in his ears and no one said anything. he fucked up, god, he fucked up. he had changed the pronoun without even realizing, while singing to eddie.

eddie felt his face warm as the word dropped from richie's mouth. he. was it supposed to mean eddie? was richie trying to tell him something?

his mind spun with questions and he wanted so badly to talk to richie, but the boy was already up and moving.

"richie-" bill tried to stop him, but richie rushed away, mumbling a half assed excuse of needing to get home, not sparing even the slightest glance to any of them.

especially eddie.

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flowerfan2 · 6 years

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Bound To Be Together - Ch. 8

McDanno, M, A03

A continuous story of Season 9 codas exploring the bond between Steve and Danny as they grow even closer.

Chapter 8: 9.08

Steve parks his truck and twists around for his bag of gear. He’s a little early for the team’s annual Thanksgiving football game, but it’s a beautiful morning and he wants to enjoy it. The game’s an important tradition, and he knows Danny will grill him on every detail when he gets back from New Jersey.

Just then his phone pings with a text. Speak of the devil.

Thanks for the playlist.

Steve had swiped Danny’s phone a few days ago, adding a playlist with an assortment of songs from local Oahu bands. He figured Danny would enjoy it, something to distract him on the long flight. Maybe he’ll even want to go see one of the groups perform live, and Steve will casually offer to take him.

Like a date, maybe, kinda.

Steve shakes his head at himself and writes back.

No problem. How was the flight?

Boring. You getting ready for the game?

Already here.

Overachiever.

Steve snorts. At least I didn’t abandon my team. He regrets it as soon as he hits send, the stark words on the screen looking harsher than he intended.

Boo hoo. You’re just worried that the kids are going to trounce you.

Danny is apparently in too good a mood to get upset about Steve’s slip. The last thing Steve wants is to make Danny feel bad about going away to spend time with his family. Family has to come first, and Steve knows how much it means to Danny to be with his parents and siblings today.

Steve recovers and lobs a shot over the bow. You must be into the holiday booze already if you think Tani and those lugs are going to win.

Ha. You’re right. Bridget gave us some kind of cranberry champagne thing this morning, think there was vodka in it too. She’s making pumpkin pie martinis with dinner.

You didn’t eat yet?

Not turkey. But Charlie and I made cookies this morning.

Any left?

A few.

Don’t eat too much, you’ll spoil your appetite.

Ma says I’m too skinny anyway.

Steve thinks of Danny stretching as he got out of the truck at the airport, looking delicious in his slim fitting jeans and black t-shirt.

You’re perfect, Steve types back quickly. There’s a pause, and Steve wishes he had just turned this into a phone conversation. He wants to hear Danny’s voice.

Thanks. Danny doesn’t elaborate or hedge, and for some reason it makes Steve’s heart leap.

He jumps as there’s a knock on his window, Tani frowning at him and Junior standing behind her trying to stifle a grin.

Gotta go play some ball. Talk later?

You bet.

******

Steve doesn’t linger long after Thanksgiving dinner. The restaurant isn’t his responsibility now, and he’s thankful for that -- he doesn’t need to stay to make sure everything’s clean and locked up. If there’s a break-in, it won’t be Steve’s fault this time.

Steve knows his newfound freedom from being a restaurant owner isn’t the only reason he’s anxious to leave. He pushes that thought aside as he says good night to Lou and his family, who have somehow managed to act out the script of a bad sitcom episode over the course of the day. At least no one got hurt, he thinks. That’s another thing to be grateful for.

When Steve gets home he changes out of his clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and paces around for a few minutes before giving in and calling Danny.

“Steve? Hey,” Danny says, his voice scratchy. “Give me a sec, hold on.”

“I know it’s late, I shouldn’t have called, but…”

“Nah, it’s not so late.”

It’s almost 3 a.m. on the east coast. Steve would like to think that the fact that Danny isn’t complaining about that means that he doesn’t mind, but it’s also possible Danny is too asleep to realize what time it is.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, I guess. But it’s okay. I like the sound of your voice.”

Danny’s words stop Steve in his tracks as warmth spreads through his chest. It’s such a similar sentiment to what Steve himself has been thinking all day, missing Danny’s shouts of glee on the football field, his mumblings when they mull over a case. The sound of his voice at a table crowded with friends, carrying to Steve’s ears regardless of who he’s talking to.

“Well, uh, here I am.”

Danny laughs, low and rumbling. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

Lonely, Steve wants to say, but that’s not really true. He had good people around, his team, their families. He wasn’t really lonely. But there was an empty space where Danny should have been, where he should always be.

Might as well say it. “Missed you. Especially since we were at the restaurant. It looked good, though, you’d have been pleased. Kamekona had it all decorated.”

“Did he make that stuffing we talked about? With the sausage?”

“He did, and you were right, it was amazing.”

“Of course it was amazing, it’s my mom’s recipe. We had it too, although my sister made it yesterday and reheated it today, and it got a little dry.”

“Did she use a low heat? That’s supposed to help.”

Danny starts to answer, and then laughs again. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s not our problem anymore. We are no longer responsible for conjuring up ways to serve food to the masses.”

“It’s true. I signed the papers tonight.”

There’s a long beat. “It’s good timing, really,” Danny says. “I don’t want to spend another minute thinking about food. I don’t want to debate whether the cranberry sauce in the can is evil, or whether marshmallows are more acceptable in sweet potatoes if they’re organic. I’m done. In fact, next year I’m making stuffing from a box.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Steve says, grinning.

“I will. Watch me. And we’ll get gravy in a jar, and buy a pumpkin pie from the bakery section of Foodland.”

Steve doesn’t miss the “we” dropped casually into Danny’s assertion. “What’ll we do for the turkey?”

“Pre-order from Kamekona.”

“It’s a deal, Danny,” Steve says, his voice falling low. “Next year we’re having a casual Thanksgiving. ��On the lanai, with paper plates and bottles of beer.” Steve holds his breath, expecting Danny to backtrack once he realizes that he and Steve can’t have Thanksgiving together, not if Danny’s in New Jersey for the holiday like usual.

But Danny doesn’t backtrack. Quite the opposite.

“If you’re in, I’m in,” Danny says. There’s something in his voice that makes Steve suspect Danny is talking about more than just where to spend the holidays.

“I’m in, Danno,” Steve says, proud of himself for keeping his voice steady. “One hundred percent.”

“Good, then,” Danny replies. “Good.” Steve hears blankets rustling, figures Danny’s turning over in bed. But he’s not at all prepared for what he hears next.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, uh, want to mess around?”

Steve blinks hard, feeling almost lightheaded, and leans against the arm of the couch. His mind is spinning, but there’s really only one answer to that question.

“Yeah?”

Danny hums, amused, but it just goes straight to Steve’s dick. He’s half hard already, and they haven’t even gotten started.

“You in bed?”

Steve turns to the stairs and goes up them two at a time. “Almost.” He flops down on his back, hand reaching for his waistband. “You sure this is okay? You’re not bunking with Grace and Charlie?”

Danny stifles a groan. “Do you think I would do this with my kids in the room? How are you thinking about them right now? What are you, some kind of monster?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Steve takes a deep breath, hand shaking as he puts the phone down and sets it on speaker. “I’m in bed. I’ve got my sweats on-”

“The dark gray ones with the pocket on the ass?”

“You been looking at my ass, Danny? Yes, those.”

“’Course I’ve been looking at your ass, prima donna, what do you think,” Danny mumbles. “Take the pants off, boxers too.”

“All right, all right. What are you-”

“Nothing.”

Steve’s breath whooshes out of him, although his next thought is “Aren’t you cold?”

“Steve, focus. No, I am not cold. I’m under a very thick, heavy comforter, keeping toasty warm while I waited for your call.”

The thought of Danny lying naked in bed, waiting for Steve, while Steve went through the motions of finishing dinner and driving home is ridiculously arousing. “Holy shit, Danny.”

“You touching yourself yet?” Danny boldly asks.

Steve isn’t -- in fact his hands are fluttering around his body like confused butterflies. “Should I?”

There’s that amused hum again, and Steve is struck by a longing to touch Danny so strong it would knock him over if he wasn’t already lying down.

“Take pity on a guy, Danno, we haven’t exactly done this before,” Steve says.

“Okay, okay, you’re right, I’m sorry. This is what we’re gonna do – you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“You in bed, clothes off?”

“Yes.”

“You thinking about me?” Danny’s voice drops half an octave, and Steve shivers.

“Yes.”

“You imagining me next to you, kissing you? Kissing your neck, your collarbone?”

“Yeah, that’s good, Danny.”

“Using a little teeth - you like that, right?”

“Fuck, you know I do.”

“Okay, Steve, touch your chest now. Just lightly. I’m doing it too. Run your fingers over your skin.”

“Okay.” Steve rubs at his nipples, pulls on them a little. Danny did that to him, over his shirt, the last time they were together, and it works almost as well this time.

“How you doing?”

“Good, Danny, real good.” Steve imagines it’s Danny’s hands on his chest, imagines sliding his hand down to Danny’s hip, stroking his hands over the curve of his ass. Giving it a squeeze and making Danny squirm against him.

“All right, let one hand drift down now. Touch your cock.”

Steve hears Danny suck in a breath and he knows Danny’s doing it too. “Wish it was my hand on you.” He imagines how it would feel to take Danny’s cock in his hand, hard and hot.

“Wish I was there too,” Danny replies, and he’s definitely breathing faster now. “Wish I could see you, fuck.”

“Danny, I… I’m not gonna last long…”

“Just a little more,” Danny rasps. “Steve…”

Steve’s on the edge, picturing Danny there too, muscles tight and aching for release. “Wanna put my mouth on you, Danny, feel you come down my throat-”

That’s apparently enough to do it for Danny, as Steve hears a grunt and stifled moan, just before his own orgasm takes him over, his hips bucking as he thrusts into his hand. When Steve recovers enough for lucid thought, he’s a little surprised at the words that Danny coaxed out of him.

“Danny… wow…”

“Fuck, Steve, that was…”

“Yeah.” Steve shifts and reaches for a tissue, wipes his belly. “Hope your house doesn’t have thin walls.”

“I think Bridget’s drinks knocked everyone out. And Grace and Charlie are actually at my sister’s with their cousins, so we’re good.”

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?”

“I was otherwise occupied, Steven.”

Steve grins. “Okay, I’ll accept that.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll pick me and the kids up at the airport when we get home, right?”

“’Course I will, Danny.”

“Okay. Good.” There’s a pause, and that blanket shuffling sound, and when Danny speaks again his voice is muffled by his pillow.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Steve.”

Steve wishes Danny the same, and hangs up the phone. Danny Williams is a sap, and a pain in ass. And also a hell of a lot of fun to have phone sex with. Steve lets himself drift off to sleep, the echo of Danny’s voice in his ears, back where it should be. It’s a happy Thanksgiving indeed.

#mcdanno #H50 #9x08 #episode coda #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #my fic

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wineanddinosaur · 4 years

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We Asked 10 Brewers: What’s the Most Ridiculous Smoothie IPA You’ve Had?

Parallels are often drawn between craft beer and music. The saying goes that brewery sellouts are much like your favorite indie band signing to a mainstream record label. Of course, there are exceptions, and what stands out for some is heavy metal and IPA. From stoner metal to technical black metal, and from session IPA to black IPA, the parallel genres contain seemingly innumerable subgenres and innovations.

One of the more, uh, divisive subcategories of IPA is the much-critiqued smoothie IPA, a style that many beer drinkers (this author included) struggle to recognize as an IPA. With incredibly high grams per liter of fruit, and outrageous levels of lactose, it’s a substyle that resembles little of its parent style. Indeed, many of the brewers contacted for this piece simply said they’d so far successfully avoided drinking a smoothie iPA. Regardless, few can deny its popularity — and many agree it is delicious, if a little ridiculous.

So, what are the most ridiculous smoothie IPAs professional brewers are drinking? We asked brewers around the world to chime in on which sweet, dessert-like smoothie IPAs take the cake.

“North Brew Co. Golden Milk Turmeric and Apricot sour with coconut. I’ve taken turmeric every day for a long time for its numerous health benefits and was intrigued to see how such a strong flavor could work in a beer. The beer poured a vibrant orange with a pillowy-white head. On first sip, the immediate flavor was apricot and sweet clementine. The turmeric is there in spades but somehow not overpowering, and works well with the sorbet-sourness. The coconut was present somewhere in the background, although, probably not a bad thing as it would stick out like a sore thumb if too prominent. I wasn’t sure how the mix of ingredients would blend together, but they did, and it made for a super-refreshing fruity sour that contributed to my overall health and supple joints!” — Maddie Culling, Shift Lead Brewer, Northern Monk Brew Co., Leeds, U.K.

“We’ve brewed our fair share of milkshake IPAs (well, four to be exact, so maybe fair share is a stretch), but we’ve always strived to make sure that the liquid has a semblance to beer over a milkshake. The most ridiculous one I’ve ever sampled was from a brewery who poured next to us at a festival — a mixed berry/vanilla milkshake IPA that had literal chunks when poured into my glass. I had to use the bathroom sink to rinse out the glass thoroughly afterwards because them fruit particles like to cling!” — Libby Crider, Owner & General Manager, 2nd Shift Brewing, St Louis

“I have never knowingly drank a smoothie IPA, apart from one which was some kind of banana Daiquiri number from a Swedish brewery that will remain nameless. I love me a Piña Colada but this was more aroma of baby shite and a texture like liquified blancmange. Almost as bad as the Negroni Saison from one of my favorite London breweries [served] at Moeder Lambic, of all places, in 2014… Ho hum. Pass the Pils, please.” — Olly Plimsoll Bartlett, Sales Manager, Stockholm Brewing Co., Stockholm, Sweden

“At a previous job, we brewed a beer with a famous Swedish brewery known for their bold graphic design, and ever-bold flavor combinations. The beer was to be the main beer for the second Beavertown Extravaganza, and as such had to live up to the hype of the previous beer for the festival, Heavy Lord, a 15 percent bourbon-barrel- aged imperial stout brewed with 3 Floyds from Munster, Indiana. The brewery we decided to pair up with for the second year was none other than Omnipollo and the beer was Mango Milk Power Breakfast IIPA. I still remember the look of disgust and fear on our faces when we heard we were going to be using whey protein isolate (which Omnipollo specified should be the highest grade possible) in a beer. I was even more shocked when Cosmo, our lead brewer at the time, was allowed to spend almost a grand on a pointless adjunct that would probably have coagulated in the kettle anyway and provided very little flavor or texture, or muscle-bulking benefits. The beer itself was actually really difficult to build, and I say ‘build’ because it was less about brewing and more about the technicalities of putting these flavors of hops, mango, coconut, lactose, vanilla and… protein isolate together in a harmonious and tasty way. The event came around, and of course Omnipollo had set up the beer to be poured from their soft serve dispense at their stall… I saw one poured into a coconut shell, and so I tasted it and thought, ‘yeah, that’s pretty good for what it is.’ I was proud that we had made a balanced, well-made Mango, Coconut, Vanilla, Lactose, Protein Shake Smoothie Imperial IPA… Now, where is my Pilsner?” — Jonathan Hamilton, Brewer, Newbarns Brewery, Edinburgh, Scotland

“Trick question: all smoothie IPAs are equally ridiculous.” — Ehren Schmidt, Master Blender, Mikkeller Baghaven, Copenhagen, Denmark

“The most ridiculous smoothie/milkshake IPA I’ve ever had was probably a sour black double IPA hopped with Citra and El Dorado and had wheat, malted oats, lactose, mandarin orange purée, tangerine purée, dark chocolate, vanilla beans, pink sea salt, and orange peel. When I drank it, it was a bit of a sensory overload: so many different flavors going across my palate as I drank; it was interesting but I don’t think I would go so far as to call it enjoyable. I don’t purchase them, but a friend of mine loves the style, and she keeps giving me different examples to try. Personally, I don’t really like the style; for one thing I don’t really like overly sweet beer (or sweet wine, or any other sweet beverage generally) and this style of IPA is aggressively sweet. The other reason why I don’t like smoothie/milkshake IPA is that I feel that the style is just a gimmick designed to garner attention in a crowded marketplace. It all screams, ‘Look at me! I’m an IPA that tastes like s’mores!’ or, ‘Look at me! I’m an IPA that tastes like strawberry pancakes!’ or, “Look at me! I’m an IPA with as much lactose as a glass of milk!’ And yes, all three of these examples are real. At the end of the day, I think that the people that like this style enjoy it because they have an affinity towards sweet, sugary things.” — Mark Ryan, Head Brewer, Jersey Girl Brewing Company, Hackettstown, N.J.

“I’m going to have to say Definitive Vanilla Dome with Mango. It’s not ridiculous in its absurdity, but in the way the flavors work together. The vanilla accentuated the sweetness while the acidity of the mango kept it from being cloying. It is a well-put-together beer.” — Peter Heggeman, Brewmaster, Bath Brewing Company, Bath, Maine

“Tired Hands, a name on most ‘hype bois’ lists of breweries to try, make absolutely stonking beer and along with Omnipollo helped spearhead and fetishize the milkshake/smoothie IPA. Their double vanilla double IPA is probably one of the most intense (read: ridiculous) IPAs I’ve had and yeah, it was decadent, but it was also a huge miss for me. Their house [yeast] strain and hefty use of oats brings heaps of vanilla for me in their beers anyway, but the sheer eye-watering amount of vanilla in that IPA was too much when paired with Citra, Mosaic, lactose (f*ck lactose!) and rumored apple in the mash for pectin haze. The hop profile was great (when is Citra and Mosaic not) but when the screaming sweetness from the lactose and vanilla washes in it’s overpowering, and detracted from the balance of the beer. The beer is perfect for a bottle share where a whole can is too much but a quarter of a can is more than enough. This sort of innovation ‘for innovation’s sake’ means that you’ll always have to one-up yourself and your competition when the haze bros come calling.” — Jack Delaney, Assistant Head Brewer, Alefarm Brewing, Greve, Denmark

“The most ridiculous ‘smoothie IPA’ I have ever drank would probably be something from Decadent Ales out of Mamaroneck, N.Y. Their IPAs are not packaged with as much fruit purée as the popular sour smoothie beers, but they are still loaded with tons of sweet and tangy fruit flavor. The Orange Cream Pop IPA packs so much flavor and a thick mouthfeel into one can, it’s a great summer replacement for an actual Creamsicle. Tons of creamy sweetness up front from additions of sugars and vanilla beans, followed up with a surprising kick of orange that lingers on the tongue. Plus, it clocks in at a steady 6 percent ABV, so don’t be afraid to enjoy more than one. I’ve had quite a few ‘smoothie’ and ‘milkshake’ IPAs, but this one takes the cake for most well balanced while still being able to detect the hops. As for even more ridiculous, their Double Toasted Marshmallow IPA is basically a can of sugary-sweet alcohol. While it is fairly tasty, at 9.5 percent ABV, it’s a touch too sweet and boozy to enjoy much more than a few sips.” — Bri Burrows, Head Brewer, Big Rip Brewing Company, Kansas City, Mo.

“To quote a line from a beer bottle, ‘I didn’t choose hops, hops chose me.’ I love a good, crisp, dank West Coast IPA, one of my most favorite styles to brew. I’ve never been a fan of the hazy, fruity IPAs that have taken hold here in the states. Stone Brewing is one of my favorite breweries, so when a beer rep buddy of mine dropped off a 6-pack of Stone Neverending Haze at the brewery, I was surprised. But, being that Stone does some amazing beers, I gave it a try. This beer is oh-so hazy with flavors of citrus, pineapple, and strawberry. It comes in at 4 percent ABV and 35 IBUs. I have to say, I was impressed. In no way have I converted to a hazy, juicy IPA drinker but it is one of the best ones I’ve had.” — Joe Crockett, Brewmaster, Rockin’ JY Nano Craft Brewery, Ewa Beach, Hawaii

The article We Asked 10 Brewers: What’s the Most Ridiculous Smoothie IPA You’ve Had? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/10-best-smoothie-ipas/

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johnboothus · 4 years

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We Asked 10 Brewers: Whats the Most Ridiculous Smoothie IPA Youve Had?

So, what are the most ridiculous smoothie IPAs professional brewers are drinking? We asked brewers around the world to chime in on which sweet, dessert-like smoothie IPAs take the cake.

“Trick question: all smoothie IPAs are equally ridiculous.” — Ehren Schmidt, Master Blender, Mikkeller Baghaven, Copenhagen, Denmark

The article We Asked 10 Brewers: What’s the Most Ridiculous Smoothie IPA You’ve Had? appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/10-best-smoothie-ipas/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/we-asked-10-brewers-whats-the-most-ridiculous-smoothie-ipa-youve-had

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isaiahrippinus · 4 years

Text

We Asked 10 Brewers: What’s the Most Ridiculous Smoothie IPA You’ve Had?

So, what are the most ridiculous smoothie IPAs professional brewers are drinking? We asked brewers around the world to chime in on which sweet, dessert-like smoothie IPAs take the cake.

“Trick question: all smoothie IPAs are equally ridiculous.” — Ehren Schmidt, Master Blender, Mikkeller Baghaven, Copenhagen, Denmark

The article We Asked 10 Brewers: What’s the Most Ridiculous Smoothie IPA You’ve Had? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/10-best-smoothie-ipas/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/619822966170075136

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mylivejournalsucks · 7 years

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A nice day.

Yesterday I woke up and thought: I need to go to Ventura.

It’s where I’m from, a sleepy little beach town with perfect weather. Growing up I thought it was snooze-y suburbia. Then, when I moved to New York, I became acutely aware of things like Class and Money and suddenly felt embarrassed to be from a place that was so (aggghhhhh!!!) MIDDLE CLASS and not somewhere ‘Fuck You’ rich like Malibu. Now I feel pride. I like coming from such an aggressively normal and Southern California Dreamy place.

It’d been awhile since my last visit. My mom sold our house the second I left for college and migrated up north to live with her boyfriend—a move that traumatized me so deeply that I once rented an apartment DOWN THE STREET so I could haunt my old neighborhood like a demented gay ghost.

Since I can’t, won’t, don’t drive, I decided to get there on the Pacific Surfliner, a gorgeous train ride that chugs up the coast. When I was ingesting globs of painkillers, my favorite thing to do was to take the Surfliner and get pilled out of my mind, blasting Cocteau Twins or some band that was drenched in reverb and just stareeeeeee out the window and watch the marshmallow clouds float by. It was heaven, hon!

Unfortch, I missed the train by one minute because I’d somehow mixed up the departure time in my head. (This NEVER happens to me. I am so detail-oriented and punctual that whenever I have a brain fart I’m convinced I’m going full-blown Julianne Moore in Still Alice.) So I took an Uber, which sounds more insane than it actually is. There was no traffic, I was there in an hour (otherwise known as, the distance from my apartment to, like, Glendale) and it was bing, bang, boom done.

My first stop was the swingsets. I’d been addicted to going on swings since I was a little kid. I go to the ones in Coldwater Canyon Park about twice a month and it’s the ULTIMATE soother for me. The only bummer part is, because of my age, parents think I’m there to hunt for boyfriends AKA their children. Also, whenever, a kid glares at me to get off the swing so they can use it, I pretend not to see them, which is kind of a fucked up thing to do at age thirty.

Anyway, I’ve been going to these particular swings in Ventura since I was a sprinkle of a human and there’s a lot of herstory there. So imagine my shock and horror when I pull up and see that new swings have been installed and put on the other side of the park. EXCUSE ME? IS NOTHING FUCKING SACRED?

Somehow I manage to persevere and put on my headphones, blast some Rilo Kiley to really take me back to that special nostalgic place, and start pumping my legs.

But babe? These new swings didn’t move great. They creaked and felt v. v. stiff. I couldn’t go as high as I wanted. My hands were developing blisters. And also, Rilo Kiley kind of sucks?

I also kept thinking about my old friends from Ventura, people I no longer talk to, or in one specific case, no longer talk to me, and I was getting a little Sad Girl. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I go searching for nostalgia like some junkie and then have the audacity to act surprised when it gives my brain a queasy feeling.

Blistered (emotionally and physically!), I journeyed to my old house to take a look. The owner was out in front and I was like, “Hey, I used to live here!” and he was like, “K.” And then I just stood there like a dumb-dumb expecting to get invited in, but the guy was not hearing my truth, so I left.

My next stop was to have lunch at a new fancy restaurant downtown (it has one other location, bizarrely, in Belize. LOL. Who opens a restaurant in Belize and is like, “If we can get this one to be a success, we can MAYBE, just MAYBE, conquer Ventura, California next!”)

My friend Kristy, who I’ve known for years and is basically family at this point, met up with me. She still lives in Ventura and works one of those real adult jobs in Santa Barbara that I never quite understand and makes bank. I’m so envious of people who make good money and don’t live in an city that slurps up all their income.

We ate (fried chicken for me, torta for her) and went on a walk down to the beach. I then took the train back to LA, proud of myself for not botching it this time, but of course the train ends up losing power in Simi Valley, the birthplace of Shailene Woodley and White Power.

So Mama had to call another Uber to go back to West Hollywood (no traffic again, easy breezy, hot driver who was actually smart and fun) and when I arrived at my place, my dad was upstairs taking a nap.

Okay, so I adore my dad. He is a total freak on a leash, an odd duck who kind of just barrels through life with intensity and is kind of oblivious to everyone around him. Sometimes if he’s in my neighborhood and feeling sleepy, he’ll just come over to take a nap. (My boyfriend Jonathan is perplexed by this but also knows that family operates with its own set of rules and unique practices and it’s best to leave it alone.) So I go upstairs and wake him up and we chat for a few hours and it turns my heart into happy goo because, really, I just love talking to my dad and soaking in his weird little brain.

Eventually he leaves and Jonathan and I go to meet Henry and Max for dinner at Marvin, a restaurant where we kind of know everyone and feels fun and cozy. The vibe is lit, as the children would say, and the music is perfect and everyone in the restaurant seems sort of wasted and at a certain point the theme song for Big Little Lies came on and the whole restaurant cheered and some people started dancing and, I don’t know, it just felt like a two-hour hug in there, ya know?

Then we went home and passed out. It was the perfect little day.

Oh, and this morning I woke up and read Ariel Levy’s new memoir, The Rules Do Not Apply, in one sitting. A+. Would rec.

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theseeyeshaveseenproject · 5 years

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Marilyn Pogan, 91

During my childhood, we spent all day outside, like most kids during that time, climbing trees and building hideouts in the woods. I was born in Portland and raised in Florence on the central Oregon coast. My family was very poor. My dad was a crab fisherman, and we used to build bonfires at night. We couldn’t afford marshmallows, so we roasted potatoes. We didn’t realize we were poor, because it was the Depression, and everybody was poor.

My father was a brilliant man and a hard worker. He was an avid reader and had a huge library. He used to help us with our homework. He remembered everything. And he was extremely honest. If the store gave us too much change, he made us go back and return it. My mother was the disciplinarian, but she also was like a friend. We could tell her anything, even dirty jokes we’d hear at school. She had the social skills, and taught us to write thank you and sympathy notes.

I didn’t go to school regularly, more like three days on and two days off. My mother would let me stay home whenever I wanted, to help with cooking and cleaning around the house. And at night during high school, I worked at the theater. I never had enough sleep.

I met my husband, Joe Pogan, at the theater. He was in the Coast Guard and was determined we would get married. I never really wanted to. But we stayed married 62 years. We had twin sons who are now 71. We have quite a few grand- and great-grandchildren. I worked in a pharmacy and Joe eventually was on the state police.

I have loved reading all my life—but now I cannot read because my eyesight is so bad. And I don’t like audio books. But I loved reading histories and biographies, especially about our presidents. I also loved being outside, walking and running. I would have liked to run a marathon. Once we retired, Joe and I traveled around in our fifth wheel trailer. We hit every state except Hawaii and Alaska. That really was when we were happiest, then and when our twins were born.

It’s funny, I’ve always been a people pleaser and a good wife. I wasn’t a good student; I liked science and a few things, and always figured my dad and brother and sister had all the brains. I took an IQ test once, finished early and knew all the answers. But when the principal invited me to take a look at my score, I never did it. I do know that when my younger sister took the test, they told her they hoped she would do as well as I did. I was so shy in high school that even at reunions, no one remembered me.

The most challenging time in my life was when my sons were teenagers. They are identical, but one was always more daring than the other, and I used to worry about the driving and occasional drinking. They’d walk in smelling like cigarette smoke.

I was not named for Marilyn Monroe, but my mother and my father’s sister were pregnant at the same time and they both wanted to name their child Marilyn. Well my mother had me first, and my aunt always seemed to resent that. So, when her daughter had a baby, they named her Marilyn, and her last name just happened to be Monroe.

What makes me happy? My friends. And I have a special gentleman friend, too. We go to dinners and listen to the band. I’ve always been active and tried to eat well, and even though my eyes have gotten bad, I still do my puzzles. No regrets. I would do it all over again.

Marilyn lives at Summerfield Estates in Tigard, Oregon. Learn more about her independent retirement community here.

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