|
|
A glass of grapes is something I could always get behind, but in my early twenties, drinking beer always felt like trying to sip a glass of bread. That is, until I befriended a beer-lover who defied the guzzling, bloated-gut stereotypes and treated her beverage of choice with all the reverence of a fine vintage. She forced me to trade my can of PBR for a glass of Indian Pale Ale, and almost immediately I saw the amber-colored, slightly carbonated, alcoholic light.... Click here to continue reading. Originally published January 24, 2007, Centerstage Chicago |
