More light judging

I rise at 7:30. And have a shower. That wakes me up nicely.

"Huevo?"

"Si."

My Spanish is so brilliant. The waitress doesn't specify what type of egg. Turns out it's a hard poached egg. Didn’t see that coming. A bit odd. What is it with solid yolks in South America? In Columbia, I was served hard fried eggs. Who the hell wants that?

A breakfast of a poached egg, cheese, toast, coffee and orange juice.

The breakfast room is eerily quiet. I'm the only customer for quite a while. It’s not the best breakfast. The orange juice is good. And the coffee pretty perky.

The walk to Bierlife gets the blood flowing nicely. Though my nose is still running. And my cough is coming along nicely. Happy days.

Bierlife exterior.

I’m judging with Argentinian Analia and American Neil Witte. I’m glad I did bring my laptop today. As we’re kicking off with first rounds. Bollocks. I’ll have to do some proper work. 

It’s the same software as for the South Beer Cup. It’s, er, a bit clunky. And slightly irritating. Could be worse.

We start with NA beer. Lovely. Just what I've been looking forward to. Quite a large flight, too, in several different styles. Which complicates matters.

They’ve improved a lot. Obviously, I’d never drink one voluntarily. What’s the fucking point? I have judged them depressingly often over the years.

Total and utter shit. That’s what they used to be. Positively unpleasant. And not particularly tasting much like proper beer. Most of this flight tastes somewhere beer adjacent. Just very bland. Other than the ones with loads of hops, which have much more going on. Even quite pleasant. Now there’s a shock.

Next, it's the turn of gluten-free beers. Another big flight in multiple styles. They’re a real challenge. Especially as none of us has any idea what grains such as millet taste like. Is that weird flavour just the grain or did something go horribly wrong? We try hard to be fair, but it's difficult.

Both flights this morning were complicated to judge. We take a while to get through them. So long, that we're the last people to have lunch. 

Meat on a stick and rice.

They can just about scrape enough food together for us. Rice and meat on a stick.

After lunch, Pete Slosberg asks me what I'm doing this evening.

"We're going to a meat restaurant. Do you want to tag along?"

"Sure. I could do with eating more meat." Somewhere like Argentina, I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again.

Three medal rounds in the afternoon. Hurray! Which we sprint through quickly. While everyone else is done for the day before we even get started on them. We took that long this morning. At least this bit should be fun.

First flight has some decent stabs at Belgian styles. My expectations weren’t high. Brewers outside Belgium often really fuck them up. But not this time. That’s the thing about competitions. The quality of individual categories varies incredibly. Other than Irish Red Ale. That’s inevitably full of terrible beers.

I always enjoy listening to the opinions of the other judges on the table. With often quite differing perspectives. To be expected, when you all come from different continents. Which is exactly what makes it fun. And instructive. There’s always lots to learn.

The two final flights, with almost as many styles as beers, are very tricky. Having to compare beers in wildly differing styles. Leading to plenty of discussion. This is where you have to leave your styles preferences at the door. If you’re trying to be fair. Which I always am.

I was very happy with every beer we awarded a medal. All well-deserved.

We're done by 14:00. Which isn't too bad. I head back to my hotel, pausing only to drop by the supermarket to get some cheap rum. Which costs an extortionate 3.50 euros for a litre. (A full litre, not some weird measure like 967 ml, as they have in Brazil.) It’s only 35% ABV, mind.

Another bargain. I’ll message Mikey later.

I spend the remainder of the afternoon fiddling on the internet. And sipping on my expensive rum. It's not the best rum I've ever drunk. But, what the hell, it's wet and alcoholic. Just like me.

At 19:00, ten of us assemble in the lobby of Pete's hotel. It takes several Ubers to ferry us to Palermo, where the restaurant is located.

As we bump and grind our way across the city, we pass some impressive classical buildings. There was clearly a lot of money here a century or so ago.

The dark, minimalist exterior of Casa Pasto.

Casa Pasto is quite a small place, facing onto a pretty little park. With another old tram track still embedded in the street outside. They must have had quite a network here once. Sad that it’s disappeared.

The restaurant’s minimalism suggests that it’s rather posh. Which is fine by me. I deserve a little luxury every now and again.

We're offered a ten-course Japanese fusion tasting menu. Far too much food for me. I just plump for an empanada followed by a ribeye steak. And a few caipirinhas. Quite a few caipirinhas. I need some hydration. My throat is very dry. That’s why I have that annoying cough. Which I’m doing my best to ignore.

A ribeye steak on a plate.

Several courses have some and gone before my steak arrives. Several caipirinhas, too. Not that I mind. I’m in no rush. I’m having a good time, not racing.

Weirdly, we're the only customers. No, I think we’ve booked the whole restaurant.

A caipirinha.

It takes a while to get through all those ten courses. By the time we're done, it's getting on for midnight. Meaning we had lots of time to chat. And drink caipirinhas.

I go pretty much straight to bed once I'm back in my room. It's an early start tomorrow, with bus leaving at 8 AM. At least that's the plan. I'll believe it when I see it.




Casa Pasto
Nicaragua 4557, 
C1414 Cdad. Autónoma de Buenos Aires.

 

Disclaimer: my hotel, some meals and some drinks were paid for by Copa Argentina de Cervezas.