The wife and I went to our favorite place in West Seattle today: Beveridge Place Pub. We’re there once a week, usually. It’s a take-out and dog-friendly place with 25 local-leaning taps and a very low hipster quotient. Can’t say enough about BPP, really, but that’s enough for now.
We ordered beers—they now know me by name and know Rena’s beer, Whistling Pig with a lemon—grabbed the latest Stranger and took up at a window table. Five minutes later, we realized how out of touch we’d grown with Seattle’s articultural goings-on.
Alien and Aliens are playing at SIFF Cinema? Holy crap!
A Magnolia BBQ-ish place named Fightin’ Cock Roaster? Let’s go.
The better of the two sushi joints at the Junction, Mashiko, now serves “sustainable” sushi? Whoopy-freaking-doo. (Sustainability seems a fad to me, even amongst microbrewers. Call me a cynic.)
As I enjoyed a bright and bitter Fresh Hop IPA from local outfit Two Beers Brewing, Rena nursed her unfiltered wheat and we pointed out all the things we should put on our calendar (assuming we had the necessary time, money, and motivation). We then got to talking about my wife’s web obsessions—interests that have waxed and waned along with our life: before we were wed, wedding sites and blogs; now that we’re seemingly futilely looking to buy a home, redfin.com and assorted mortgage and real estate sites. She predicts hgtv.com will be next, if and when we become homeowners.
Before I’ve drained my glass, I start to contemplate what beer I’ll have next. The Fresh Hop was great, but I rarely follow my first brew with another of the same. (I know what I like, but I also like to mix it up.) With only an inch of the Two Beers brew remaining, I ask Rena if she’ll have a second beer with me. Her glass is half-empty. As usual, she chides me for getting a second beer. It’s a joke that always brings smiles to our faces, but I know she’s more than half-serious; she’s more keen on saving money and brain cells than I. She shakes her head; one beer will do. As I stand to head back up to the bar, I say, “Maybe I should write about having two pints all the time. Write about the beer and the conversation. The excuse for the beer.” We both laugh dismissively.
I come back to our table with the old standard: Boundary Bay IPA. It’s consistently fantastic—a bitter beer that doesn’t leave your mouth dry. When I sit, Rena says, “Let’s brainstorm about your “two pints” idea. I think it’s great!”
As we hash out what I might write about, I think about the proprietor of my first beer of the evening. Two Beers Brewing. It worked for them. Two pints is my pub standard. It could work for me. But would anybody really care about what I had to say about drinking and talking?
“It’s a blog,” Rena says with a shrug. Which means, Probably not, but people do it. I agree.
I pull out my pocket notebook and pen and jot down some of the ideas we’ve discussed. I’m not convinced any of them would make for a compelling blog, but the exercise seems worthwhile.
By the time we decide to head home for dinner—and I decide I’ll try putting some of my chicken-scratch online—I’ve finished a third pint.
Another Fresh Hop.
