Peruvian Mourning

A horrible thing happened to me today. Like, really bad, you guys. It was one of those things that happens, and you immediately–well, after you’re through cursing your head off–begin to wonder what kind of shitty karma you’ve accumulated to be deserving of such misfortune.

I dropped my Peruvian Morning. I dropped a whole bag of it.

To most people, Peruvian Morning (brewed by Central Waters, out of Amherst, WI) is, as the website describes:

A Bourbon Barrel aged Imperial Stout made with freshly roasted Emy J’s Coffee. This beer is as complex as it gets. Flavors of vanilla, tannins, and coffee meld together to create a flavor as deep as the ravines of the Peruvian Andes!

But to beer dorks like me, this beer is an EVENT. Seriously. This is what I get excited about.

This is a beer that I look forward to each year, kind of like I used to look forward to Christmas morning (which I was allowed each year on Christmas morning) or a Happy Meal (which I was only allowed on rare ‘special’ occasions (i.e. long road trips or good report cards)).

I was lead to believe that PM wasn’t going to be bottled this year. I don’t remember why it supposedly wasn’t going to be bottled, or what horribly mean person put that godawful thought into my head, but that’s not the point. The point is that this morning I arrived at work fully prepared for another droll and uneventful climb up the daily mountain, and I realized that I’d been blessed with two miraculous cases of this delicious beer, completely (at least to me) unexpectedly.

Time for celebration! Time to rejoice!

When my shift was finished, I sat down, and you bet your ass I drank two of those stouts. And by the bottom of the second one, I was feeling pretty good (Thank you, 9.4ish% ABV!). And because the beer was in such apparently high demand, I ended up walking out of the building once my tab was closed with four of those puppies (plus a bottle of Redemption High Rye Bourbon, which I will discuss at a later date because it’s completely rad) in a flimsy plastic bag to enjoy in my home at my own convenience. Because I do what I want.

And from there, things went south.

About two and a half blocks away from where I live, the poorly-put together plastic bag gave way at the handles and fell to the concrete sidewalk below. Watching that bag fall from my grasp was like watching a baby fall on its head in slow motion. It was excruciating, and there was nothing I could do!

I could make this more melodramatic, but I won’t. Because luckily, out of the four bottles of beer and one bottle of awesome rye bourbon, only one of the beer bottles broke.

Only one!

I couldn’t believe it. If I believed in god, I would have thanked him/her right then and there! But I don’t, so I didn’t. And if I did, that would seem like kind of a waste of a thanks. In my opinion. But I dunno.

And so here I am, drinking two of my remaining Peruvian Mornings while I’m pithily writing about the death of one of their comrades. I would pour some out in memory of our fallen friend like they do on the TV shows, but I think that there’s been enough beer-shed already for one night.

Until next time.