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McEwans Scotch Ale,

On this the 31st day of August in the 2003rd year of our lord with special acknowledgment, in honour of our libation, to our patron Saint of Scotland, St. Andrew, him who we oft invoke against gout and a stiff neck.
This weeks honoree was McEwans Scotch Ale brought to you from our own Scottish lass from the clan MacDonald of Lochmaddy. Red, that would be me, decided to acquaint these fine blokes with some splendid Scottish brew and a wee bit o the brogue. To set the stage, I took it pon myself to provide accompaniments that thought would blend well with the undertones of the main course. I made some marvelous meatballs in a beer and brown sugar barbecue sauce squired by some toasted pecan butter tarts to accentuate the carmelly undertones of the beer. Now lat the kirk staun i the kirk yaird and let everything be in its proper place

Tis usual to begin with the producer of the proffering and by protocol so it is expected and so it must be to in honour commence. As guest-scrivener, I shall then defer to these helpful hizzoners, ladies first.

Empty MugRed:
Empty - Good:
This lovely libation pours a dark mahogany with ruddy undertones that glint like rubies in the light o day. It is marvelously malty with toasted carmelly, perchance even syrupy, suspicions. Would be best after dinner by the fire on a crisp winters eve or perchance at the breakfast table with a fine stack o wheatcakes on a crisp winters Christmas morn. Absolutely no need to 'droun the miller as me grandad used to say. Yet yed best be ware and riase nae mair deils nor ye can lig (don't bite off more than you can chew) it is 8%. Ah weel, we niver deed owinter or o beer yit so I suspect well all survive. Must say I was rather disappointed by the lack o lace. Was expecting something reminiscent of that me gram used to tat when I was but wee lass. Still, all in all, a delightfully decadent indulgence.

Empty MugJack:
Empty - Good:
I really liked it. I kept fighting Devoid for his glass just to have another taste. Meatballs were good too. (Need the recipe) I was getting desperate so I had to drain the bottles just to get another ΒΌ cup of beer (Poor woman, but I suppose that Bannocks ar better nor nae kin o breid which translates to half a loaf is better than no bread at all but appropriately can be said of beer as well) until Red let me have her bottle. Perfect for unwinding after work in front of a fireplace.
Indeed I regarded the poor woman wretchedly trying to wring every last drop from the dregs of the empty bottles and was worried she might even start wringing the drops from the napkins on the table. Aye, twas a pitiful sight to see and I had to reward her determined endeavours with one from my own allotment. Her husband does not always share well. An old Scottish saying that says everything comes to him (or her) who waits: Byde weill, betide weill. This wonderful woman is an absolute saint!

Empty MugDevoid:
Empty - Good:
Deserves an empty glass. You can almost hear the pipes in the glen or the kitchen or wherever. Damn good brew, laced with scotch whiskey Im sure 8%, that says it all. Scotland forever you Blinky-eyed bastard.
Devoid seemed to genuinely enjoy the beer tween bouts of shouting at Jack and I to be quiet. Apparently we were drowning the strident sounds of those wonderful pipes he was ahearing in his head. The Scots have a saying for a man like this He that wull ti Cupar, maun ti Cupar which means that if he is on a determined course of action there is no stopping him. He managed his share of the beer and seemed to manage to tone out all the buzzing banter before he threw us all out in the street as we headed to the bar with the pipes ceremoniously leading us to vigilant trivia victory. I must now take a moment to honour him. I did honestly appreciate his magnanimous munificence in allowing me the privilege of parking in his driveway, thus enabling me to roll out backwards as my car is not running in reverse at present. I doff my hat off at thee, fine fellow.

Quarter MugNemsis:
1/4 - Fair:
Good stuff! Heavy malt flavour. Slight alcohol (Scotch?) aftertaste. Some drunken sot stuck all the damn labels on upside down. 8% alcohol is good. This would be a great beer to drink by the fire on a cold winter night. Not a session beer, 4 or 5 of these would make you violently ill.
Evidently most of us were in agreement about this as a fine winter beverage wondering if mass hypnosis was perpetrated unbeknownst to us innocent by-sitters. Now our Nemsis is the epitome of fortitude and reminds me of something me gram used to always sae ti keep a calm souch which simply means to hold ones tongue. Good advise that has indeed been passed along to him and reigns prevalent as I have seen him almost bite off his tongue at some of the outrageous rubbish he is forced to endure especially from Blinky. Tread light however, for if you get him riled look out! Yell get yir heid in yir hauns an yir lugs ti pley wi! That one seems pretty self explanatory but for those who cant decipher, youll get a humiliating rebuke. Alas some people never learn, and on that note

Empty MugBlinky:
Empty - Good:
And you shall know me by the trail of dead. Dark father we thank you for this brew. Lay me down on the sunny side of the mountain, send me dancing, chaste pixies. This beer is the only good thing to come out of Scotland since Nazareth. Sean Connery is a dick.
I shake my weary head. Blinky always stirring up trouble, aye reddin the fire I pray to thee St. Andrew to save this mans downwardly destined soul. Such blasphemy begone. Would like to think his pen ran out of ink before he finished the word dickerer. Sean Connery, Scottish sex God extraordinaire, no matter how old he is, would assuredly be versed in bargaining and reaching a covenant with a gentlemans agreement. Something our Blinky would know nothing about despite his prissy protestations! Always intent ti cowp the kirn (to upset the apple cart.) Ah well, lat him tak a spring on his ain fiddle as me grandad used to sae of a foolish or unreasonable person aye stickin his graip in his neibours midden.

Stay tuned next week to see if the rest of the pack bears its teeth and rips apart Blinky, who has now imperiously proclaimed himself to be the Alpha Male of the Committee. In fact he does indeed exhibit tendencies that suggest he has an innate need to cling to power and he does rather tend to growl a lot at our sessions. Will he return despite the groups defiance in holding an additional tasting session in honour of Labour day despite his very express and fiery forbiddance?

(Webmaster's Note, (I told him he more closely resembled the omega male and he was flattered. Apparently knowledge of the greek alphabet is not one of his strengths.!))

And remember Aw the wit I the warlds no I ae pow... All the wit in the world is not in one head. And we verily thank thee for it O' Lord as we cant rely on Blinky to lead us anywhere but to the fiery infernos of eternal damnation.