Photo: walknboston, Flickr
Hers was a smart suggestion, but I'd long abandoned common sense. I wanted a nightcap beer, but what to drink? My fridge was stuffed with 22-ouncers of imperial stouts, double IPAs and other strong beers that, in a pinch, could double as rocket fuel. One of those, and I'd be spun like a top into tomorrow's hangover.
But hidden in back I found an aluminum can adorned with an ape astronaut: Bitter American, the seasonal pale ale from San Francisco's 21st Amendment. Through fuzzy eyes I read that Bitter American boasted a respectable 42 IBUs and just 4.4 percent ABV -- session-beer country.
I cracked the tab and was met with a floral bouquet of citrus and subdued caramel (it's dry-hopped with Centennial and Simcoe hops). BA smelled like an IPA but drank far crisper, with a nice biscuity body and enough bitterness to appease my inner hop head. I finished the beer on the double, then fell asleep even faster.















