It is widely believed that noted philosopher-singer Sheryl Crow was the first observer to astutely detect the oxymoronic existence of a concept called “favorite mistake,” which she proceeded to describe:
“The perfect ending, to the bad day I was just beginning.”
For the uninitiated, an oxymoron is a figure of speech that juxtaposes seemingly contradictory elements into understandable obscurity. Famous examples include military intelligence, jumbo shrimp, “hurts so good,” and Kona craft beer.
Hearing Sheryl Crow’s old song playing on tinny, crackling outdoor speakers while waiting to pump some petrol got me thinking, and as such idling thoughts tend to go: Might there have been a “favorite mistake” occurring at some point during my career in beer?
Upon further reflection, the past tense may be incorrect. Maybe my favorite mistake is ongoing, and is recurring right now, while I’m writing this very column. In fact, it somehow reminds me of my favorite Calvin and Hobbes panel.
Calvin is seated at an overturned cardboard box, upon which is written “A Swift Kick in the Butt, $1.00.”
Hobbes: “How’s business?”
Calvin: (discouraged) “Terrible.”
Hobbes: (eyes rolling) “That’s hard to believe.”
Calvin: (confused) “I can’t understand it. Everybody I know needs what I’m selling.”
No, on second thought, it couldn’t be that.
Honestly, a decade’s involvement in local civic affairs has taught one important lesson: It’s only when they refuse to reply that you’re absolutely sure they’ve been reading.
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So, on the possible nature of a “favorite mistake” during 30 years spent hawking beer in one way or another: Might there be an example of habitual thought or behavior pertaining to beer, the consequences of which inevitably disappoint me, and yet overall, the experience is so delightful that I keep going back for more?
Perhaps one example of a favorite mistake is the institution of the large-scale outdoor beer festival, which has been covered in this space previously. Speaking only personally, standing for hours in 90-degree heat, surrounded by 5,000 relative strangers, with too many queues, too few port-a-lets and eye-droppers of beer for sustenance is something I seldom find pleasurable. A cool barroom and stale pretzels are more my style.
But I keep going back to the big ticket fests, again and again. It must be the sheer adrenaline of an avid, seething scrum, and what’s more, some gatherings, like the Great Taste of the Midwest, are worthwhile.
Arguably my most highly rated, favorite mistake of all is a persistent assumption over a quarter-century’s time that better beer can be an effective fulcrum for social progress beyond the narrow perimeter of better beer itself, and that the pursuit of better beer is integrated with hope and action for a better planet.
That’s because I believe that good beer espouses localism, rejects neoconservatism, encourages grassroots activism, embraces egalitarianism and quenches your thirst when properly applied following a long walk or a strenuous bicycle ride – and accordingly, the drinker of better beer is obliged to encourage the improvement and establishment of sidewalks and bike paths for precisely that reason, even though other motives apply, as well.
Of course, in reflective moments I grasp that it’s a mistake to imagine more than a few beer aficionados agreeing, but owing to contrarian and polemical instincts running deep, it is a favored “error” of mine, and one I’ll continue to loudly make, joyfully and often, even when the narcissistic rejoinders come fast and thick: “I only care about the liquid in the glass,” or “IBU, not IQ,” and of course, the all-time classic: “Damn it — it’s only beer, after all.”
No, not really. It isn’t. It’s my life, and my life coincidentally is filled with other varied interests. I believe they fit nicely together, into a coherent platform for effectively killing time until time has elapsed. And there’s no better way to kill time than drinking beer.
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You know by now that Flat12 Bierwerks will be opening a small brewing operation and taproom in Jeffersonville, at the foot of the Big Four pedestrian and bicycling bridge, prompting a friend from Clark County to note somewhat caustically:
“We’re running a pool to see which one opens first: The Big Four, Flat12, Red Yeti brewpub, or none of the above.”
Verily, Flat12’s taproom plan vindicates something I’ve been preaching to Indiana brewers for years, in the sense that the Falls Cities (Jeffersonville, Clarksville and New Albany) are a wonderful place to do better beer business; we’re part and parcel of metro Louisville, and yet different. New Albany is Hoboken, meaning Jeffersonville must be Hackensack.
Rob Caputo of Flat12 is a fellow director on the board of the Brewers of Indiana Guild, and I couldn’t let the opportunity pass to give him a rasher of tongue-in-cheek abuse for running the taproom story through conventional media instead of letting me break it at LouisvilleBeer.com, but it should surprise no one that NABC is looking forward to Flat12’s arrival on Ohio River shores. Fun is in store.
However, in the spirit of mischief, and for those of a more jaundiced bent, there is at least one question the minor journalist in me is begging to ask — but first, this week’s Karl Marx quote:
“The need of a constantly expanding market for its products chases the bourgeoisie over the entire surface of the globe … it must nestle everywhere, settle everywhere, establish connections everywhere.”
So, exactly how saturated is Indianapolis’s craft beer market getting to be, anyway?
