Okay okay, I'll admit it. I love fruity beer. I'm a sucker for lambics made with any and all kinds of fruit. I love the bright acidity tempered by the beguiling sweetness, the avalanche of jammy fruit and Moscato d'Asti-esque carbonation that turns my frown upside down.
I don't want anybody to see me drinking it though. I fear that pleasures like the New Glarus raspberry tart will make me look unrefined to the untrained eye. I lock myself away like a hermit, enjoying the bounty of Oregon raspberries, Wisconsin wheat and Hallertau hops fermented in large oak vats with wild yeast all by myself out of a champagne flute.
If a person were on the outside looking in, it is unlikely that their social mores would approve of me drinking sweet raspberry concoctions out of proper French glassware. But the outsider has no idea how satisfying this ambrosia really is. Too bad--I'd drink this brew by the carafe if I could find it (no matter my--or anybody else's--scorn).
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