Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales in Dexter, MI

I have a crush on Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales.

You're too cute to stay mad at.

When I used to live in Ann Arbor, her and I hung out a lot. We spent long afternoons together among friends, just talking and enjoying the sunshine atop decaying fire escapes. And we spent some nights together, too, laying awake into the wee hours of the morning, challenging the other to fall asleep first. It was love in its most pure form.

But all things end in time. I took off for the big city life in Washington, D.C., and Pumpkin stayed behind in Michigan. I figured we’d never see each other again.

Then a few weeks ago, I got wind that she was in D.C., hopping from bar to bar.

I couldn’t contain my excitement.

After a few failed attempts at meeting up, we finally got together last week at Churchkey, a dimly lit, romantic beer bar — the perfect place for two former lovers to rekindle their flame.

Things started off well. Weizen Bam showed up fashionably late in a sexy tumbler, with a frothy white top and a bubbly mood that made me think she was just as excited to see me as I was her. Sometime during awkward introductions, I also caught a drift of her scent — a crisp, clean perfume that reminded me of a Michigan summer breeze. Before my first taste, I was already intoxicated.

But things soured after that. And not in the pleasant, Brettanomyces way.

Weizen Bam is cute on the outside, but she doesn’t have much going on below the surface. Frankly, she’s kind of dull, like a soured glass of Crystal Light instead of the wheaty, yeasty hefeweizen I expected. It could have been the fog of nostalgia, but Weizen Bam just didn’t live up to Jolly Pumpkin’s other beers, which stand out as complex blends of flavor. Needless to say, the rest of the date wasn’t as pleasant as I expected.

I left early, disappointed and out $9 — cheaper than most of my bad dates, but much more painful. They say you always fall hardest when expectations are highest.

I’m holding on to hope, though. The beer I know and love is still out there. Please, Ron Jeffries, send it to D.C. A bottle of Oro. Or, better yet, a bottle of Bière de Mars. Then others can experience the love I once had but lost.

(P.S. I’m a new guy. I live in Washington, D.C. near Matt. I’ll write a bit about D.C. beer and my homebrewing operation. I usually won’t write in painfully extended metaphor, but I make no promises.)