Reno, NV. August, 2018
Warm sun, not hot. Clear blue skies, broken only by the bright orange ball flying high over the park’s grassy expanse. The contagious thrill of a dog at full speed sprint, laser focused on biting down into that ball with everything she’s got. She runs it back and, nearly hysterical with anticipation of the next throw, she pleads with me to repeat it all again. When she is finally too exhausted to run another step, we walk lazily to a bar with tables outside on the sidewalk. The dog is brought an ice cold bowl of water. I am brought this cold brew and we are equally thankful. But after lapping away at her bowl she eyes my glass.
“This is not for you,” I remind her, “this is truth serum, meant only to pry confessions from reticent uncooperative criminals.”
She is skeptical.
Hazy IPAs are becoming very popular very quickly. This is only the third I have sipped, and I consistently find them a bit too sweet and fruity for my taste. Also, the all devouring western wildfires have made “hazy” a hated word for me of late. But as the day is warm, and my company is lovely, it is the perfect beer for this moment.