Originally from Matt’s graywanderings.com blog on September 17th, 2011:
Yes, it’s true, I just used the word bodacious for the first time since wearing one of my twenty-two pairs of M.C. Hammer parachute pants in the 1st grade, circa 1990. And I didn’t use the word bodacious because it shared lovely alliteration with “Boulder Beer,” (although what a fine coincidence). I used bodacious because it fit the bill for an event with 40 different types of small batch beer from all over Colorado, few, if any, lines to taste said beer, and the backdrop of the Boulder sky and the Rocky Mountains.
Now, if you’re still caught up on the notion that I once owned twenty-two pairs of M.C. Hammer pants, let’s move past that (just know if they were still in style, I might sport them on occasion), and get into the beer. We’re talking 5 gallons, and 5 gallons only, of some local liquid love: “Sun King Golden Strong Ale,” “Mortimer Black IPA of Despair,” “Grapefruit Mojo,” “Bourbon Barrel-Aged Killer Penguin Barley Wine,” a literal mouthful, “Neopolitan Porter,” “Black Saddle Stout,” “Night Vice Weiss,” and my favorite, at least by name, the “Jerry Curl Oak-Aged Red.” Yum.
Craft beer has become such a foundation in the local Colorado culture that you can find a tasty brew at every turn. Best of all, you can get one of these outrageous, big-bodied, wipe-your-taste-buds-out IPAs aged in Chardonnay Casks, or, you can retreat to the old standards, like an Amber Ale or a Kolsch. At the Boulder Beer Rave though, you better be ready for the former kind of brewer’s delight.
By the end of the afternoon, I started writing notes like “I can’t remember what this tastes like” which might be fine had I been updating my observations sometime after the event, but I wrote these notes while the beer was still in hand. Some of you may start to think, “gee Matt, thanks for telling us a tale of having indulged too much,” but I promise I hadn’t . . . they were only one ounce tasters. But my tongue had actually drowned in the thousands of different flavors and could no longer make a conscious deliberation about individual elements.
This of course was a good sign that I was done for the day. Or that, at the very least, it was time to sit back with one of those simpler, solid, classics: a pint and a mellow conversation, where this whole confounded bodacious beer brewing project started hundreds of years ago.