As I am on vacation this week, I have decided to recycle an old one from my days writing about beer for Want2Dish. Yes, I’m bringing back the Frederick beer version of The Night Before Christmas…
No mash-turns were stirring, nor were the soused;
The winter seasonals chilled in the cask,
While the mall St. Nick sipped from his flask;
Beer geeks were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of ales and lagers danced in their heads;
Each night mother sipped from a pint as we drank our nightcaps,
After hanging at bars with some choice winter taps.
When down on the brew floor there arose such a clatter
I eased from the couch to see what was the matter.
I slipped on a ledge as I chugged beer all a flash,
And landed in the turn, and was covered in mash.
With ale in my belly and my eyes aglow
I peered out the tank at the objects below,
When, what to my jaundiced eyes should appear,
But lush in a sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
Sipping a little Old Scratch as he flew along
Jolly ole St. Nick mumbled a song.
Something about beer as they came,
Before he whistled and shouted and called out names;
“Now, Caruso! now, Brophy! now, Brooks and Bowers!
On, Flores! on Pomerantz! on, Maggie, and Tom Barse!
To the top of the bar! to the top of the stools!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away fools!”
As dry hops that before the wild winds do snik,
When they meet with an obstacle, from pints they drink
So up to the bar stools the beer-folks they flew,
With the pints full of beer, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the rail
The drinking and pouring of each little ale.
As I climbed from the tank, and was turning around,
With Frederick’s brewers came St. Nick with a bound.
He carried a few cases of the city’s local beer,
Which he distributed to folks dressed like they’re deer;
A couple of kegs he tapped and poured some fine ale,
And he kicked off the party pouring a pale.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
He two-fisted his beers as he licked his thick lips,
A mug in his left, a pint in his right as he alternated sips;
He had a broad face and an impressive beer belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
As he poured a glass with a twist of the cap,
Soon he passed me a beer and moved to the tap;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the pints; then turned with a jerk,
He poured K-9 and Three Kings for all our delight,
And Snowmageddon was poured all through the night;
He sprang to his stool, and raised up a toast,
with beer full of malt and flavorful roast,
And I heard him exclaim, ere he had too much cheer ,
“Hoppy Christmas to all, and to all a good-beer.”
And I will talk about this week’s BoW with next week’s. Be well, drink good beer, and have a great, great holiday from all of us at Frederick Beer Week.
Slainte, mother hoppers.