Duvel

Brouwerij Duvel Moortgat, Belgium
Duvel
Golden Ale
8.5% ABV

Ha! No way am I reviewing this.  If you are a beer nerd, you have already heard plenty of serious-minded descriptive chatter about this beer and you’ve drunk a few along the way. No need to clutter the airwaves announcing that I, too, can appreciate Duvel.

The suggested drinking scenario from the bottle:

“THIS BELGIAN FAVORITE IS BEST ENJOYED CHILLED WITH DISCERNING FRIENDS OR GOOD-LOOKING STRANGERS”

Let me paint a tableau vivant of an actual Duvel experience:

Nininja is in the Canadian wilds. She has been pedaling her bicycle for several days, stopping periodically to drink riesling and eat energy bars/bacon. A text message arrives:

“BAD NIGHT W/ RACCOONS. LOST ESPRESSO BEANS AND OATS. EVERYTHING ELSE SAVED. EATING AT DINER NOW. WILL HAVE LONG DAY TODAY”

Meanwhile, back in Ann Arbor I’ve just graded a stack of final exams. Then another stack arrives, and I shred through it like a power mower over a dozen dry newspapers. The house is a wreck and I may be developing a twitch in my left eye, but the grading is finished.

Friday night rolls around. I pick up the car-mounting bike rack and stop by the beer store on the way home. It is a grotty, crowded room with the kind of unattended old/new/sale/forgotten bottle selection that makes choosing something take a long time. I stare at the bottles. Some guy tries to cash a check and gets denied. I stare at the bottles. Some other guy tries to use the bottle return but it doesn’t work at this hour. I go into the cold room and stare at the bottles.

Eventually I realize that I should just get a Duvel and leave.

I do.

Back home I push a stack of bananas, paper towels, and tupperware containers aside so I can open the Duvel on the counter. It overflows like a mini-yeast volcano and I mop up the suds with the designated counter-cleaning sponge, which used to be the designated plate-cleaning sponge until it was demoted.

I retire to my room since I sold my couch and now have nowhere to sit except at my desk. I push a stack of papers, hundreds of pennies, and a $6.25 gift card to Katie’s Pretzels aside so I can rest the beer on a Celestial Seasonings coaster.

Life is good.

Maybe I shouldn't have sold that couch...

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~ by Perry S. on May 6, 2010.

5 Responses to “Duvel”

  1. Lovely. Short’s’s blogging apologist will never understand.

  2. One-sentence paragraphs remind me of Hemingway.

    Or Stephen King.

  3. “The Duvel foamed up like a rabid St Bernard.”

  4. His house was empty of everything except for bananas, paper towels, and tupperware containers. Ordered by the demon Tak, he had given away all his belongings.

    Only Duvel could help him now.

  5. Invisible, the couch cackled to itself as the human drank the imported beer.

    This is going better than I had expected, it thought to itself.

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