Palate wars: a short fiction

Shimmering clear, pale gold. Rich, dark brown. The glasses glistened side by side, and the drinkers stared at each other sidelong.

The bartender smiled pleasantly and announced, “One Hopapalooza and one Devil’s Dregs. They’re two of our best. Enjoy!”

“You got the IPA,” Cath said skeptically.

“It’s my favorite,” Steve said, taking a careful sip from his glass. “And you?”

“Imperial stout,” Cath answered, slurping the chocolate-colored foam on top of her glass.

“I don’t suppose you…want to try mine,” Steve said.

It was a question Cath had been hoping for…and dreading. The pivotal proposal that would plunge their courtship into a new level of intimacy. “Sure.…” she said, trying to smile.

They traded glasses.

They sipped.

“So…” Steve began.

Cath stammered, “What did you…”

“Think?”

“It’s…” Cath hesitated, “very fragrant. Very strong nose.”

Steve nodded. “Yours is…hearty.”

“So you liked it?” Cath asked hopefully.

“I…” Steve began. “I…” he tried again. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I can’t do this. That beer was awful. It tasted like someone dumped old oatmeal into three-day-old diner coffee.”

Cath gasped. “How could you possibly say something like that?”

“Well, it was pretty tough, because I just drank some tar that was clogging my throat.” Cath gasped again, if possible even more indignantly. “Oh come on,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you really thought of my IPA?”

Cath shrugged. “I think if I wanted something sour and bitter at the same time, I would just chew a grapefruit peel.”

“That bad?”

“It tastes like jet fuel,” Cath continued, “but like a really crappy brand of jet fuel.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t drink jet fuel you’d still have enough taste buds to appreciate a nuanced flavor profile!” Steve lashed out.

“And maybe if your soul wasn’t puckered and shriveled from so much hops, you might remember what it’s like to enjoy a drink,” Cath shot back.

“Hey, can I get a Bud Lite?” a voice beside them asked.

A hush fell over the bar. The bartender gave an apologetic smile to the newcomer. “Sorry, friend. We only pour beers brewed right here in house.”

“So, no Bud?”

“We’ve got a real nice lager you can try.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

“No, I’m sorry,” Cath insisted.

“Let’s never fight again.”