The second day, Tuesday, is when the judging starts. How this goes, has been told elsewhere. It looks intimidating when you watch, undergo it the first time, but it isn't. It's actually quite fun, and I have to admit, hand on heart, that I still have to meet the first fellow-judge that I really disliked. Judges I disagreed with, judges I watched with awe, yes, but never judges I looked down upon. The first time I judged, I sat there with hammering heart. Now I enjoy the play, and partake fully, whether it be GABF, WBC, European Beer Star, Birra dell'Anno or whatever.

What I looked to with some apprehension, was lunch. I was not disappointed, it sucked, if less than two years ago in Seattle, when lunch happened to be no lunch… In fact, the second day of judging, Wednesday, the food was ample and quite satisfying. What was undoubtedly a serious improvement (apart from food being available) was the place as to WHERE: out on the patio, in the glorious SoCal sunshine. Just great.

As it is, this day presented a problem to me. Not THEN, but now, when I made this blog. I couldn't for the world remember what we had been up to that night, scarcely 2 weeks ago. I was pretty sure beer must have had some part in it, but then I'm probably not telling you any news, am I? It started to dawn upon me, that we must have had something to drink, but then also something to eat. If I don't find anything, and had more or less my bite during the day, I might skip a lunch or even dinner. But some of my friends obviously don't think that way…

The friends that night were, apart from the inamovible Carl Kins (OK, OK, he might think the same of me), were Lorenzo the Magnificent, and Agostino Arioli, the brewer of the already famous Birrificio Italiano. He certainly wouldn't go without food. So, our always very well-armed Carl had procured the brand-new CAMRA guide for the West Coast, which aimed our way towards downtown for two occasions: the Yard House, for food and drinks, and also Downtown Johnny Brown's, as that last venerable pub had been heaped with praise by our PINT friends, having been already for a day in sunny San Diego.

OK, I'm not a big fan of American food (I KNOW - there ain't no such thing. Still. You have some common traits over the whole country, whether you wish to see them or not). I find the food usually pretty fat, overdone in portions, and especially overdone in combinations. Because A and B go well together, and B and C can be a hit, it does NOT mean that A + B + C must be made in heaven. At least not in my view. Let's say the food was OK - mine was. Carl's was… hilarious. He asked for something like "burro". Now, although being pretty polyglot, Spanish has never been on my must-do lists. Yet, I was more or less convinced he asked for ass. And lo and behold, on the platter he discovered something very akin to a very dead donkey, minus legs, tail and head. In life, it must have been a well-fed donkey, and even after its demise, it bore a good size. Whatever, Carl had a decent "fond", to pour his beer over. Because, all honour to the place; I might have hated the rock music, I did despise the giant TV screens blaring ads, between matches I don't even understand, but they DID know and love their beer, there. From the moment they realised we were picking out the most interesting things on the menu, they constantly kept feeding us hints and suggestions.

I was less over the moon with the Brown Johnny. Though the list was at least as interesting, the barkeeper was a shade less friendly than the Grinch, and the screens were at least as giant as Yard's. Not to mention that we ran ourselves crazy, trying to find the place. There's supposed to be a system to the numbering of American blocs, but I've never figured it out, and even Carl was baffled for a moment there… It turned out to be on a square, BEHIND the block it had to be on. Anyway, I kept dozing off, whilst Lorenzo got into a fit, seeing his beloved Genua (that's a soccer club, I'm told) being trashed; and on the trolley back, it was a good thing the others kept up a lively conversation, or the Mexican border police would have woken me up in Tijuana. Beer and Jet lag, a combination not to be taken lightly…

Joris

1 May 2008

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