Bar Belle_Fall20_Ed-final.qxp_Road Trip_Cinci.qxd 9/13/20 7:04 PM Page 12
starters | bar belle
Last Call 2020 You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. BY SARA HAVENS
I hereby declare 2020 the White Claw of years. It took us all by surprise, and it brought nothing to the table. Its vapid, virus-y flavors robbed us of all our joy, all our plans for an enjoyable summer and fall, and for a time, we couldn’t even find solace with our buddies at the neighborhood bar!
We had to grieve 6 feet apart as our worlds were turned upside down. Some, like me, lost employment. Everyone else had to transform their man caves and broad bunkers into makeshift offices while also playing teacher, preacher, chef, maid and court jester to those in their quarantine pods. The only ones happy about this forced family bonding are the pets. My dog is getting way too comfortable having me home at 5 o’clock, as I’m itching for a happy hour and barking at the unfortunate news that our numbers continue to climb. I’ve learned a few things about myself these last couple months, and 12 Fall 2020 www.foodanddine.com
the main one is I don’t like drinking alone. At my house. With only my dog, Netflix and a Fruit Rollup to entertain me. And I don’t like drinking on a Zoom call, staring at my Brady Bunch of friends as they talk over one another, the loudest always getting the last word. Don’t get me wrong — I have ample supplies of beer, bourbon and gin & tonics to keep me lit through Christmas. It’s just not as satisfying ordering Taco Bell at midnight from Uber Eats as it is chomping on chicken wings in a booth at The Back Door. And speaking of my supply, I have increased the beer-storing capacity in my lady lair thanks to Shenanigans. (That’s what she said?) It was right near the beginning of the quarantine quagmire, when all the bars and restaurants in the area only offered carryout. The fine folks at Shenanigans Irish Grille posted on Facebook that they had some cases of St. Patrick’s Bud Light aluminum cans to get rid of, and they offered a deal I couldn’t resist. I quickly jumped in my car, threw on my mask and steered my ship to the Highlands to pick up my green booty of beer. I assumed the bottles would not be chilled and that I could just keep most in storage, but of course I was wrong. The beer was so cold that I almost had to crack one open right then and there, but I decided I didn’t want to be on the news that night. The thing is — and I learned this quickly in college — once beer is cold, you don’t want to let it get room temperature again. It’ll get skunked and taste like, well, White Claw actually. I remember relocating beer from my mini fridge to the closet so many times in my dorm room freshman year to avoid getting busted by Jerry the RA, that my friends and I had to hold our noses and chug just to get it down. Those were the days. Fast-forward to 2020, and I’ve got 24 16-ounce cans of ice-cold beer and absolutely zero room in my refrigerator because I’m hoarding chicken, cheese, sour cream, sweet tea, eggs, Vernors Ginger Ale and whipped cream for my best quarantine/unemployed life. And I don’t want my girlfriend to think I have a problem. So I had to think fast. Should I have a party? Andy says I can’t be doin’ that. Should I go on a binger starting right this minute? My liver says I can’t be doin’ that. Should I jump on Facebook and see if anyone has an extra mini fridge? Bingo!