Florida here I come

I rise around 7:30 and head straight to the bistro. For exactly the same breakfast as yesterday. That should keep me going for a while.

I've still three bottles of Mike Karnowski's beer. One of them a corked and caged 75 cl. I'm a bit wary of taking that type of bottle in my checked in bag. Best drink it up. It's an Arctic Ale, the perfect breakfast beer. I sip on it while catching up with my emails.

I meet Stan in the lobby at 9:15. Soon we're on the motorway headed for Atlanta airport. It gives us another chance to chat. Stan always has interesting stuff to tell me. This time it's all about hop chemistry. How little I understand about hops. Quite humbling, really. How little I know about modern advances, too. Makes me glad that I stick to history, where nothing changes.

Stan needs to go to a different terminal for his flight to Denver. We say our goodbyes and I trundle along to the Delta check in. It's all very painless. There aren't even queues at security. It's odd that, other than having to wear a mask, there are no Covid restrictions. No proof of vaccination or negative Covid test needed to board.

I've still more than an hour before my flight departs. Time for a calming drink. A Gordon Biersch bar will do. I park my flabby old arse at the bar.

"A double Jack Daniels, no ice, please."

“Can I see some ID?”

Bloody hell. I look old enough to be Edward the Confessor’s dad. I guess it’s just the rules. Still feels weird.

A chance to catch my breath. It's pretty busy here. So unlike Schiphol. Very much like usual in a large airport.

"Would you like another drink, sir?" the barman asks.

Not at these fucking prices. I've already looked at the bill for the first $27.50. I'm not a millionaire.

I get to the gate just a priority boarding is about to end and waltz right through.

The onboard entertainment is free. So I pull out my headphones and look for something to watch. There seem to be loads of old films. I eventually settle on Reds. How old is this? Must be from sometime in the 1970s. Jack Nicholson looks so young. It's a bit slow. And long. By the time we land I'm not even halfway through. Maybe I'll finish it on the return flight to Atlanta.

I’m a lucky boy. My bag flops onto the carousel just as I arrive there.

My taxi driver is on a video call to his brother. What the fuck? I'd prefer a little more attention to the road.

I'm not in the fanciest accommodation. It's a cheapish motel. Close to the beach, mind.

Once in my room, I email Matt Manthe. I'll be giving a talk at his brewery tomorrow. Does he fancy a beer this evening? He does, and arranges to pick me up at 17:30.

I power up the TV to pass a little time. It starts on Fox News. I guess that tells me something about the people who stay here.

Matt arrives in his truck on the dot. Sam, who helps at the brewery and is looking to start his own place, is with him.

Our first port of call is Briny Irish Pub. It's pretty crowded, but we find a table. Pretty noisy, too, due to the live music. It is Friday night, I suppose. I order an IPA1A from 26 degrees Brewing. It's not bad, in an old-school West Coast sort of way.

Matt tells me all about his brewery and his mixed fermentation culture. Which has multiple stains of Brettanomyces and pediococcus, as well as boring old Saccharomyces. He uses it for all of his beers. He's a very patient man. All of his beers have years in oak before he considers them ready for sale.

What to eat? What about fish and chips. I haven't had that for ages. Well, since yesterday. Very nice it is, too. Especially as there's malt vinegar to drown it in.

We move on to 26º Brewing, which isn't far. It's a cavern of a place and pretty busy. We all get their Scotch Ale, which Matt has been telling me about. A little peaty, but nothing too stupid.

There's a burlesque show, which is pretty weird. Evidently, it's a thing in breweries in South Florida. Very strange.

We only stay for the one. Then go over the road to Checkers, a German restaurant. It’s got a black and white half-timbered thing going on. Which seems rather out of place in Florida. We sit at the bar.

I get myself a half litre of Salvator. Matt has a boot-shaped litre glass of something a little weaker. It's so he can join the boot club. Once he's drunk a certain number of these things he'll get his own stein.

They kick us out at 22:00 and Matt drives me back to my fancy hotel.

Where a whisky wheels me down the hill to sleepy town.




Briny Irish Pub
3440 E Atlantic Blvd,
Pompano Beach, FL 33062.
https://thebrinyirishpub.com/


26° Brewing Co.
2600 E Atlantic Blvd,
Pompano Beach, FL 33062.
http://www.26brewing.com/



Checkers Old Munchen
2209 E Atlantic Blvd,
Pompano Beach, FL 33062.
https://stammtischcheckersoldmunchen.com/