Meet Ale Street News

I entered the bar several minutes after 5:30, releasing a gigantic sigh as I realized I wasn’t the only one late. The fellow behind the bar was hunched over his laptop, chatting with a thin Asian about the wedding ring he wore on his skinny finger:

“Jesus! I didn’t know you were married?!”
“You knew I was engaged last time I came in.”
“Yeah, but you were getting married. You weren’t married yet.”
“Shit happens, you know?”

At this point the former bachelor sighed and sipped his pint. He was looking a bit forlorn. I was pretending to browse the taps while trying to understand the “shit happens” part of this guy’s marriage theory. I was under the impression the getting hitched was very unlike hitting a pothole, getting splashed by a puddle or stepping in a steaming pile left by the neighbor’s dog. Asking someone to spend the rest of their life with you is very different from any of these situations. Shit does happen I guess.

The computer geek/bar tender snapped me out of my thoughts and I ordered a Penn Dark Ale while sitting down. Checking the place out I noticed team banners hanging from the walls and a huge erase board full of NCAA standings. “Clever,” I thought as I saw the name of the bar written in type over the bar—STANDINGS.

After fifteen minutes of anxiously nursing my beer Cal, the guy in charge of CityDusk, tapped me on the shoulder. He had a look of relief on his face while I wore a nervous grin and two damp marks under my arms.

“Good thing you’re here,” he said.
“Good thing I wore a dark shirt today.”
“What?” Cal asked me, obviously confused.
“Nothing…Uh, where are Jack and Tony?” I stammered.
“Next door, leave your beer here, I’ll get them.”

Jack and Tony are the two founders of Ale Street News, a long running publication about beer and all things beer. Being an aspiring writer of sorts—not to mention an aspiring drinker aficionado of beer—I would very much like to work with them. Several months ago Cal held a meeting with them and we started working on a partnership. Ale Street would do some events with CityDusk and, in turn, I would do some writing for Ale Street. The meeting was going to decide exactly how we would work together.

For whatever reason, I pictured the Ale Street founders to wear full beards. I have this idea—these Green Bay Packer Ideals if you will—about the “perfect” version of things. I can’t envision an organization that more embodies the perfect example of football than the Packers and their cheesehead fans, so I use the franchise to describe other perfect things.

In my head, the Green Bay Packer beer publisher has a full beard, loud voice and a larger than life swagger. As I was introduced to Tony and Jack I was only half wrong. Tony was a smallish, thin man who wore a Delirium beer hat and spoke with an accent I couldn’t place. Jack was decked in business wear with a thick mustache under his nose and held himself like an expert car salesman. Despite these two not meeting the picture in my mind, they did not disappoint. The meeting started with a round of beers, the clinking of glasses then getting down to business.

I don’t know the effect they have on people when apart, but combined Jack and Tony seem like old drinking buddies who just happen to have a newspaper to run. They argue, joke, completely disregard the other’s advice and continually order beers. Throughout the evening they scolding me for my writing, immediately thereafter complimenting me for my writing, traded anecdotes about brewers, bars and woman’s cleavage. Upon discovering I was a Jet fan and discussing the future of the team’s vacant quarterback slot, Jack sort of took me under his wing and began blurting out ideas about a weekly Ale Street column online. I doubt this will see the light of day, but after a few beers with the publishers of a paper you want to write for, even a not-so-realistic writing assignment can fill you with joy.

After finishing our pints and saying goodbyes, we agreed to have the venues and some themes for future events down in two weeks. I literally skipped down the street with Cal as we discussed the evening. (While this may seem humorous, seeing a scrawny tall drink of water like myself skipping up 2nd Ave with another full-grown man is a little off-putting.) In honor of my happiness, we ducked into Momofuku Ssám bar where I ordered a French country ale, some lamb sweetbreads and Cal smiled nervously as I proceeded to chow down some offal. Nothing says “here’s to the future” like braised thyroid glands.