Full Sail, an Apology Letter

Dear Full Sail,

I’m not really sure how to say this. You see; I rarely find myself in a position where I feel the need to apologize for my behavior. But my neglect of you has been reprehensible, and I must now make amends.

You may not even remember me. Our affair was brief and I assume you have many a suitor. We met at a charity event for the American Diabetes Association two years ago. I was accompanying my wife. You attended as a pair of prizes for the live auction. I had known of you for many years, but until that night we were never properly introduced. My wife’s employer placed the winning bid on a wheelbarrow full of you. For our share of the spoils, my wife and I took home a case of Sessions and a case of Brewmaster’s Reserve. Nugget I believe.

And so our courtship began. Throughout that fall, you accompanied me each Saturday to watch the Duck’s play football. As Sessions, you were accessible to my many macro friends. We had some great times, chugging from your stubby bottles with each touchdown, settling our disputes with your caps. After a while, it was not only I bringing you to our weekly soirees. You began arriving tucked up snugly under the arm of many a friend who passed through the door. Not only as Sessions, but also Amber and Pale Ale.

Then our romance came to a crashing halt one horrible day. During a game against Arizona, Duck’s quarterback Dennis Dixon aggravated an ACL injury. He would not play again that year. You sat there next to me as the events of the day unfolded, trying your best to console. You stood by my side the following Saturdays; as our BCS Title hopes further dissipated with each tick of the game clock. Possibly I associated you with the disappointing season. Or possibly I felt that my beer preferences were changing. Whatever the reason, you started leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Our final good-byes were exchanged when I finished the last bottle of Brewmaster’s Reserve that winter.

For two years I did not call on you. From time to time our paths would cross. Usually at the home of a friend I had introduced you to. During these awkward interactions I avoided you, never once feeling your cold caress upon my lips. I admit that one more than one occasion you tempted me, once in particular when offered a Grandsun of Spot.

This unprovoked avoidance finally ceased a few short weeks ago. I went to the market to purchase some beer and saw you sitting in the cooler; a six-pack of LTD Recipe No. 3. I picked you up and examined you closely. My first reaction was to return you to the shelf; I am not the biggest fan of state-side Pilsners. But something about your unassuming packaging and quiet demeanor kept me intrigued. That day you came home with me.

When we arrived home, I found a glass and poured one of your bottles. You were a light gold color with a bright white head.

You were light on the nose and light in body, but still delivered a complex taste. You were crisp, clean and tasted slightly of sweet cereal. You sweetness was cut nicely by your Sterling hops, which left an ever so slightly bitter aftertaste. As I drank you, I remembered the times we had shared, the fun we had together. I was determined to end our hiatus.

The weekend following our reintroduction, I saw you again at the Fresh Hop Tastival. While I heard grumbling that Lupulin will never match the version made with Amarillo hops, I still enjoyed the encounter. Since then, I have also sampled your Sessions Black; completely deserving of GABF Gold.

Last week I brought you home again to experience Wassail for the first time. Deschutes’ Jubelale and Alaskan’s Winter Ale have been my top picks for seasonal six-packs. With Wassail, you are just as good as these early leaders. You are spicy, your malts are complex and you leave just the right amount of warmth from your 7.0% alcohol. You have quickly carved out a place for yourself watching on from the end table while I prep the fireplace and choose a program for the evening.

This brings us to now. You are back in my life. And while deserving of it, you have not once requested an apology. So, I offer this one to you. I am sorry for neglecting you; sorry for passing you over countless times for beers with far more garish packaging. I am sorry for viewing you as simply a beer that started my craft brew obsession; for believing you had nothing more to offer. I know now that this was wrong. I am already looking forward to your future Brewmaster’s Reserve releases; my sites set next on Wreck the Halls. And while it will be sad to see Recipe No. 3 leave, I am eager to try Recipe No. 1 when it returns in January.

I hope you can find it in your heart to accept my apology. I feel that I have grown since our last tryst and am now ready to appreciate all you have to offer.

Sincerely,
Kevin