When I was in college I hated the taste of beer.
My first experience was through my college Ultimate Frisbee team, and someone had poured disgusting commercial beer (not going to name any names, here) into the concave side of a frisbee. In case you're wondering how many beers can fit, the answer is a little over four.
It was awful. There was no way I would ever drink beer again.
Until one day, our college introduced a pizza + brewery restaurant on campus. It was here I discovered delicious craft beer with freshly squeezed oranges in the pitcher. But this was not where my true love affair with beer began.
Instead it was France, specifically the north of France, which may be the only part of the country that does not produce its own wine. Instead, they are known for their trappist beers, with a helping hand from their Belgian neighbor to the North. It is here that I discovered what real beer was like.
Christmas specials, seasonal delights, tripels, quadrupels, abbey ales, and the list goes on. Weekends were spent taking a bus to the border of Belgium, crossing over the country line, and making an extensive B double-E Double-R-U-N to the beer emporium (in case you're wondering, taxes make beer cheaper in Belgium than in France --not to mention the fantastic selection at these places). My obsession had begun.
Upon returning to the States I told my husband, who was then just my boyfriend, that beer had to be made.
And thus, it began.
