Echo

As in, an echo of the month of hell in the form of a week of hell.

And it started so promisingly, too. My birthday, Feb 7th, happened to coincide this year with the 9th annual Bistro Double IPA Festival, which I've attended a number of times before, and looked forward to attending again. It also happened that the festival was this year the official kick-off to the first annual SF Beer Week, which consists of almost 200 hundred beer events in and around San Francisco.

Now, I have always enjoyed beer, but in the last ten years or so, I have been increasingly and irrevocably drawn farther and farther into beer geekdom. At first, I simply would gravitate towards better beers when available. Then, I started seeking out better beer. Then, I found myself seeking out establishments that offered good beer. Then, I finally took the plunge and started attending beer festivals.

All of this is to say that my excitement at the prospect of SF Beer Week was not just some frat boy style joke about wanting lots of beer. Not at all. I pored over the list of events and quiveringly picked out those that promised the most enticing probabilities of coming across rare, hard to find, or unique beers.

The list was long, and I knew that my chances would be limited, but I staked out a preliminary plan that began with the Double IPA Fest on my birthday. It included entire events dedicated to my two favorite brewers, as well as themed events that promised enticing surprises.

And it got off to a roaring start. The IPA fest couldn't have gone much better. It was fantastic. The beer was stupendous and bounteous, the day was beautiful, and I had the foresight to take precautions that made the next day much less painful than it might have been. On the next day, I had planned to spend the day with Kevin, Maile, and Jennifer before putting the kids to bed then heading over to the Toronado for something that they have never had before - a night dedicated to unbelievably fantastic Lost Abbey brewery in San Diego.

I must note here that I customarily go out to the Toronado, which is about four blocks away, on Wednesday evenings after the kids are put to bed with a regular group of friends. So, I planned simply transpose this custom to that Sunday night. Only, Ruby and Maile would not cooperate. There was no one incident that led to the downfall of my intentions. It was cumulative. They were just so excited to see each other that they gor really amped up, which led to late naps, which went long because they had expended so much energy, which led to a late dinner, which pushed bedtime way back, which put me at the Toronado at 10:30 at night instead of at 8:00, as I had intended.

Unfortunately, by that time all of the special beers had been long ago consumed, and what was left were beers that I'd previously had and that are readily available. So, since I was so tired, I simply turned around and went home. It seemed the prudent thing to do. After all, there was still so much beer to drink in the week ahead.

I took a planned break from the festivities on Monday, as there was no one thing that screamed out at me and it seemed a good idea to do a little pacing. Besides, the next night was to be the highlight of the week, Russian River, my favorite brewery at Toronado with about 15 beers that are extremely rare and delicious. Natasha even graciously offered to let me go early so as not to miss out on anything.

And here's where it all went so terribly wrong. That morning, both Natasha and I awoke with terrible colds. Hers was worse than mine, but that's like saying one Baldwin brother is crazier than another, both colds sucked. Since I am usually home with both kids on Tuesdays, that meant that we were all stuck at home in the infirmary. I held out hope all day long that I'd start feeling better enough to at least head out for a couple of beers, but it was not to be. The cold went into overdrive in the evening, and there was no way I was going to get out.

And so it went for Wednesday and Thursday as well. More sickness, no beer. We missed out on such fantastic fare as a sour beer and chocolate pairing, an all barrel aged extravaganza with over 30 breweries, a cask and queso night with cask beers paired up to distinctive cheeses. We missed out on a lot.

And then, the coup d'grace. I awoke on Friday morning finally feeling better, and quickly looked over the itinerary, seeing two or three exciting possibilities. And then Ruby woke up.

Sick.

Aaaahhhh! Foiled again. In the end, we missed out on every single event, save that first. The worst thing about the week, though was not the missed beer, it was the minute by excruciating minute experience as I stumbled around feeling terrible while taking care of Natasha and the kids. It was fantastic.

In the end, though, I don't suppose we can blame this one on the kids.

Unless, of course, one of them brought that cold home...