Being a craft beer lover I'm pretty sure I'm in the minority when I say "I hate IPAs" but after trying at least 5 different IPAs in the last year or so I have yet to say, "Mmm, I actually liked that one." I recetly stumbled on an article written by a beer lover with my sentiments and here are excerpts from his article that I relate to:
"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.
They taste like bougie garbage water
It all starts with that musty, grassy odor. People claim to love it, but that IPA stench hits my nose like a Christmas tree that drenched itself in expired Pine-Sol, then went out clubbing. You know that scene in Se7en, where Brad Pitt & Morgan Freeman find a rotting dude's corpse covered in taxi-cab air fresheners? Spoiler alert: they do. Spoiled beer alert: IPAs smell like that, and yet somehow, they taste even worse.
Once it hits your lips, it’s so filling
In addition to tasting like Dumpster jambalaya, IPAs fill me up way too quickly. I can drink 10 normal beers and inhale some disco fries, then get out of bed and brunch like an American hero. But merely one IPA will turn me into a bloated acid-reflux machine who can’t take a step without burping up “nutty finishes” & “hints of cardamom”. Sometimes, this gut-busting feeling gets so bad, I wonder if I should drink less, or even begin to exercise, both of which are patently insane. Stop messing with my head, IPA.
They make me feel like I’m taking crazy pills
Whenever I admit my prejudice against IPAs’ viscous villainy, I’m shouted down by legions of diehard fans. They tell me I’m out of my mind, that I haven’t tried the right ones yet, that I just don’t appreciate good beer. The chillest hopheads get in my face, insisting that I must just be a novice who doesn’t “understand” the “subtleties” of something that tastes like microwaved clementine peels. Maybe I do like them, I wonder, pondering my reality. Maybe I don’t even know myself anymore? I should give IPAs another try. This time, when the cedar-y backwash slithers its way down my gullet, I might actually enjo-- OH MY SWEET LORD! THE HUMANITY! OH IT BURNS!
I’m jealous of all the fun they’re having
I didn’t even realize how proletarian “normal” beer names were until I got to college. There, I figured out what “proletarian” meant, and also discovered how much fun IPA lingo truly is. I would love to impress my friends by drinking rad-sounding brews like the Epic Hop Zombie, and displaying the rad-looking bottles in my apartment like trophies. But I can’t stand what’s inside, so I’m left out from all the fun of fetishizing. If the beer aisle is Mean Girls, IPAs are the cool ones, and I’m the sexually aggressive mathlete who never gets to bed Lindsay Lohan."
"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.
They taste like bougie garbage water
It all starts with that musty, grassy odor. People claim to love it, but that IPA stench hits my nose like a Christmas tree that drenched itself in expired Pine-Sol, then went out clubbing. You know that scene in Se7en, where Brad Pitt & Morgan Freeman find a rotting dude's corpse covered in taxi-cab air fresheners? Spoiler alert: they do. Spoiled beer alert: IPAs smell like that, and yet somehow, they taste even worse.
Once it hits your lips, it’s so filling
In addition to tasting like Dumpster jambalaya, IPAs fill me up way too quickly. I can drink 10 normal beers and inhale some disco fries, then get out of bed and brunch like an American hero. But merely one IPA will turn me into a bloated acid-reflux machine who can’t take a step without burping up “nutty finishes” & “hints of cardamom”. Sometimes, this gut-busting feeling gets so bad, I wonder if I should drink less, or even begin to exercise, both of which are patently insane. Stop messing with my head, IPA.
They make me feel like I’m taking crazy pills
Whenever I admit my prejudice against IPAs’ viscous villainy, I’m shouted down by legions of diehard fans. They tell me I’m out of my mind, that I haven’t tried the right ones yet, that I just don’t appreciate good beer. The chillest hopheads get in my face, insisting that I must just be a novice who doesn’t “understand” the “subtleties” of something that tastes like microwaved clementine peels. Maybe I do like them, I wonder, pondering my reality. Maybe I don’t even know myself anymore? I should give IPAs another try. This time, when the cedar-y backwash slithers its way down my gullet, I might actually enjo-- OH MY SWEET LORD! THE HUMANITY! OH IT BURNS!
I’m jealous of all the fun they’re having
I didn’t even realize how proletarian “normal” beer names were until I got to college. There, I figured out what “proletarian” meant, and also discovered how much fun IPA lingo truly is. I would love to impress my friends by drinking rad-sounding brews like the Epic Hop Zombie, and displaying the rad-looking bottles in my apartment like trophies. But I can’t stand what’s inside, so I’m left out from all the fun of fetishizing. If the beer aisle is Mean Girls, IPAs are the cool ones, and I’m the sexually aggressive mathlete who never gets to bed Lindsay Lohan."
