Look, I'm just not that into you.

Pratt Street Ale House in Baltimore, MD

I’m starting to worry about my relationship with cask ales. Once a rare commodity that was worth immediately jumping to and consuming, these cask ales are starting to leave me a little bit high and dry on weekends. You know, sometimes I just want to stay in and enjoy a thick and flavorful pint on weekends, but no. You, cask ales, have to go off and have a lame night filled with nothing and you insist on towing me along for the ride. Well, I’m getting to the point where I can’t take it anymore, cask. It’s getting to be too much for me. What used to be a kind and loving relationship has turned flat and dull. I just can’t tolerate you the way I used to. In the past, whenever I’d see you arrive at the bar, I would approach with a smile and you’d kindly greet me in a long and slender outfit, wearing just the right color. And none of that has changed. But you can’t be all appearances, you know? I need substance along with sex appeal, and to be honest, cask ales, you’re just not cutting it. And my final straw may have come when you showed up as an Oliver’s ESB.

Like always, you were dressed to perfection when I saw you–a crisp, thin reddish amber, but this time you didn’t want any attention drawn to your head, so you left that accessory at home, or something. I should have known something was up, though, when I couldn’t find your usual strong and malty smell I would find in other bitter partners. And that’s when things went really south. You were so watery on this night, and every time I tried to get something out of you, you would put on a front of nothingness and would try to tie things together at the end with just the lightest touch of sweetness. And you know what? That’s not enough for me. I tried to find something more in you, after all, you look so good in red, but even the bitterness that you’ve shown me before wasn’t present. For christ’s sake, your name is Extra Special Bitter! You need to show me that sometimes, OK? But no, you went out just like you planned–tasting not too differently than some tasteless and flavorless red-colored Vitamin Water. Shame on you.

Any other day, I think I could handle your sister–the original Oliver’s ESB. I bet she has the same great features as you do, and even has a wonderful smell, and by god, I bet she even has some substance to her. But you, my dear, on cask, you are nothing more than a flavor of the week–and one I don’t look to sample again anytime soon.