IPAs disgust me.
I’ve never told anyone this before, for fear of being set upon by homebrewers, hopheads, and frat bros that’ve been totally numbed to reason by high-ABV swill. But I feel like I can trust you -- yes, you -- with my secret: At the merest hint of an India pale ale, I’m overcome with loathing so severe, it’s all I can do to resist smashing every tinted longneck in sight. I’m a wretched imposter, doomed to silently endure the world’s heinous praise for this “once and future” craft beer king, or else be laughed out of the liquor store. Heavy is the head that has a mouth that hates the brown… beer.
Why can’t I just enjoy it? Why does every single IPA make my gut bubble like a Jacuzzi full of soup? Every cicerone is my mortal enemy, every bar with rotating taps, my hop-hell. Oh, you disagree? Pound sand/shred me in the comments, because the reasons for my IPA hatred are completely unassailable: