Family Brews in Fall Rivah

Battleship Brewhouse
101 President Ave.
Fall River, MA




“Blue collar cities = Budweiser crap.”
          -- Cousin757 email to Suit757


You can tell we’re kin, huh?

Yeah, Cousin757 loves double IPAs even more than I do. She probably wouldn’t drink a Sam Adams if it were free.

I guess that’s where the similarities end. I’m pretty sure I’ve never turned down a beer.

Ever. Not even a Bud.

But Cousin757’s warning about the perils of finding a good place to sample local double IPAs near her home in Fall River, Massachusetts was well taken.

This is the town that is famous for two things: the gang rape trial depicted by Jody Foster in “The Accused” and Lizzy Borden -- who axe murdered her parents.

Not exactly Chamber of Commerce marketing material.

Folks in this gritty former textile town are perfectly happy with their bottles of Bud, thank you very much. Hoity toity beer snobs like us can keep their “fancy beer” inside of Route 128.

But Cousin757 mentioned a strip mall brewhouse that serves an unusually nice selection of suds in this blue collar town.

Battleship Brewhouse in Fall River.

Deal. Count me in.

If USAir doesn’t ruin my life, I’ll be there at 7:30pm on Wednesday night!

To add yet another layer of festivity, my sister unexpectedly decided to drive four hours round trip to join us.

The lengths people will go to down a few brews with Suit757!

I was honored.

And thirsty when I pulled into the nearly empty trash-strewn parking lot on the outskirts of downtown Fall River.

Next to a nail salon and a Chinese take-out joint, Battleship Brewhouse’s parking lot view didn’t look too promising.

But the inside was much better, freshly painted with pictures of the namesake USS Massachusetts battleship parked on the Fall River waterfront.

Other than a small scattering of a few lonely beer drinkers, we had the place to ourselves.

I kicked off this 757 family reunion in style -- with a beer flight, of course.

While Fall River doesn’t appear to have climbed aboard the craft beer bandwagon with a local brewery, the beer menu offered some tasty options from other parts of the People’s Republic of Taxachussetts.

I chose an IPA from Ipswich Ale and a porter and IPA from Mayflower Brewing in Plymouth for my maiden flight of three.

I thought Mayflower’s IPA was a little thin, but the porter was toasty, malty and full of flavor.

The Ipswich IPA was definitely a notch above the Mayflower. And isn’t that why we order beer flights -- to compare and contrast -- and declare a winner?

Congratulations Ipswich IPA.

But that was just the warm up for one of the greatest beers to ever grace my liver -- Vermont’s Otter Creek Backseat Berner -- a hoppy IPA masterpiece with aromatic piney hops balanced perfected with a tasty malt backbone.

Four beers into the festivities (don’t worry, three of them were 5oz samplers), it was time to join my cuz on the heavy double IPA side of the beer menu.

I opted to leave New England for Colorado’s Left Hand Brewing. Their Nitro Stout is a Suit757 Hall of Famer, so I was anxious to try the Twin Sisters. She didn’t disappoint. Twin barrels of hoppy deliciousness.

By this point in the evening it was past time to start thinking about actual non-liquid sustenance.

Cousin757 had warned me, “The beer selection is decent but you probably won’t be buying the shirt.”

Well, we’ll see about that.

As they say at the kick off of football season, “That’s why they play the games.”

Like many blue collar sections of America, Fall River has developed its own unpretentious culinary traditions (and language) that you just won’t find on your local two-for-twenty Applebee’s menu.

Chourico (pronounced “shar-eese”), Linguica (pronounced “ling-weese”), Quahogs (pronounced “stuffies”), Clam Chowder (pronounced “chowdah”) and Pork Altejana (pronounced “pork and necks”).

Many of these dishes originated in the islands off of Portugal and were transported here to the southeast coast of New England by Portuguese settlers generations ago.

Cousin757 has exactly zero Portuguese blood. I know -- I’ve researched our family history.

Just don’t tell her.

She sure sounds like she knows what she’s talking about because she married into a native family.

She warned me that Battleship Brewhouse probably isn’t your first, second, third or fourth choice in Fall River (pronounced “Fall Rivah”) for sampling authentic local Portuguese dishes, but I was determined to give it a shot.

After all, I can order another cheesesteak or overcooked burger anywhere.

The clam chowder was creamy and chock full of local clams. Not as thick as I usually prefer, but pretty darn tasty.

The quahog was an oversize clam shell stuffed with diced clam bits and seasoned breading mixed together with spicy seasoning. Instead of a crabcake, think a clamcake -- on the half shell. Probably the highlight of the meal.

As a sausage connoisseur, I just HAD to try some local chourico -- a dense local Portuguese sausage. So I opted for the “Mac & Cheese and Chourico Flatbread”.

I hate to say it but it was a bit of a disappointment.

It was basically a thin pizza with some macaroni piled on top.

Cousin757 asked, “Where’s your ‘chareese’??”

On top of the macaroni was a thin sprinkling of red flakes, kinda like bacon bits. No thick slices of sausage I was hoping for.

Basically the flatbread was just a disappointing mouthful of carbs.

Fortunately, the meal was salvaged by the Pork Altejana, a stew of diced potatoes and pork chunks in a well-seasoned garlicy, peppery broth.

Wow. You could put that sauce on my flip-flops and I’d gladly eat them.

The littleneck clams on the side lended a nice balance to this Portuguese version of surf and turf.

While my sister and I were pretty infatuated with this dish, our cuz was left underwhelmed.

“The clams are supposed to be steamed in the broth,” she griped. “I can make better Altejana than that.”

My sister and I took that as an open invitation.

And that’s one of the great perks of this traveling life.

Flight delays, 3am hotel check-ins and TSA crotch gropings aside, the opportunity to drop in on family and friends scattered across America on a random Wednesday night makes it all worthwhile.

After all, double IPAs go down even better in good company.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

The Glamour of Backseat Pizza

Vito and Nick’s
8433 S. Pulaski Rd.
Chicago, IL





I just want you to know something -- this gig isn’t as easy as it looks.

I know. You think it must be fun traveling the backroads of America discovering cool new places to eat, drink and have a good time.

Well it’s not all dollar beer nights and gourmet chili cheese dogs for Suit757.

It’s hard living out here on the road.

Do you think I bother to even break out the laptop to write about a sack full of McDonald’s Dollar Menu cheeseburgers when the Golden Arches are the only option open at 1am?

Or the microwaved burritos at the dive bar adjacent to my Best Western?

Or the hot dogs rotating unappetizingly on the little metal rollers behind the cash register at the airport smoking lounge?

Hell no. I only attempt to entertain you with my adventures…if they are at least somewhat entertaining.

Most of my days are spent racing across town in Pine-Sol scented rental cars, dashing through airports and having my genitals radiated by TSA bureaucrats.

Suit757’s life isn’t anywhere near as glamorous as I might lead you to believe.

Today was a perfect example.

I was in Chicago -- one of my favorite eating cities.

I was determined to squeeze a memorable dining experience into my itinerary already jam packed with four meetings spread across the Chicagoland Metro region.

I just happened to recently see an episode on the Food Network with that guy with the spiky hair featuring a popular and unique pizza joint that combines two of Chicago’s favorite delicacies: pizza and Italian beef.

Thanks to national chains like Uno’s, everyone knows about Chicago deep dish pizza, even though, not surprisingly, the real thing is much better than the stuff served at your local mall.

Italian beef is the lesser known Chicago specialty.

Chicago Italian beef is tender slowly marinated shreds of meat stuffed into a big sub roll.

If that’s all you get, it’s not bad, but a bit bland.

But “not bad” isn’t good enough for Suit757.

I always get the “combo” which adds a link of Italian sausage to the sandwich.

Oh, and you want to add another Chicago specialty, giardiniera.

Giardiniera -- or giardineer, as they spell it at Vito and Nick’s -- is mix of celery and diced peppers, either sweet or hot depending on your tolerance and/or preference.

The idea of adding the ingredients of a Chicago Italian beef sandwich to a pizza sounded like the best invention since 2am pizza delivery.

As luck would have it, Vito and Nick’s just happened to kinda sorta be on the way to one of my meetings in the southwest suburbs.

Vito and Nick’s is far enough out that you can’t really say it is in the city. But it isn’t far enough out to be in the suburbs. It’s located in that urban no man’s land where one way streets and tenements give way to medians and strip malls.

My first task was convincing my travel partner of the day to give the place a try.

This is not a problem I am used to.

We Suits usually travel alone.

If I want to risk my life and digestive track on some urban greasy spoon dive, I’m not risking anyone’s wellbeing but my own.

And if I trash the rental car? Well, that’s an Enterprise problem, not mine.

As it turned out, having a fellow Suit to chauffeur me around Chicago on this day was quite an advantage. This meal was not a one man job.

Coincidentally, my fellow Suit is a native Chicagoan.

But convincing him to try Italian beef on a pizza took a bit of Suit757 persuasion.

“I love Chicago pizza. And I love Italian beef. But I’m not sure I want them together,” he complained.

My response was, “Dude. It’s going to be awesome.

“We’re going.”

Ah, the subtle art of persuasion.

The fact that I was a mere passenger in his car did not deter me from setting the lunch itinerary.

I must admit I started to have second thoughts as soon as we walked in.

The TV show pictured a packed house with pizza guys tossing wooden pizza boards through the air frantically trying to keep up with the hordes of patrons lined up out the door.

Our experience was very different.

Only two other occupied tables in the entire restaurant. And this was the noon “lunch rush.”

“This might not be a good sign,” I mumbled to myself without letting my companion in on my self-doubt.

I mean, usually when these places make national TV it ruins it for the rest of us. You can’t even get near the place.

It didn’t take long to figure out why no one comes here for lunch.

We placed our order of Italian beef pizza with Italian sausage and “mild giardineer” at the stroke of high noon.

By 12:40 it was time to hit the road for our 1pm meeting out in the suburbs.

Just one minor problem.

We still didn’t have our pizza.

Holy crap. This is a working class neighborhood. Last time I checked, most people who work for a living don’t get more than an hour for lunch.

No wonder the place was empty. Maybe Vito and Nick’s should relocate to the Obama side of town where people don’t have jobs.

Or only open for dinner when people have time for a two hour meal.

I told the waitress we had to go. I guess we’ll eat it cold later this afternoon when all our meetings are over.

Our pizza was just coming out of the oven. The pizza man boxed it up, I threw the waitress a twenty and a ten (they don’t take credit cards) and we dashed out the door.

I tossed the pizza in the back seat of the car and I think I heard tires squealing as my fellow Suit swerved his car onto Pulaski Road heading southbound.

By the time we got to the first traffic light, my traveling companion looked at me. I looked at him. We both looked into the back seat where the most intoxicating aroma of our lives was emanating.

Stomach growing, I said, “I’m going in.”

“Hell yeah,” he said.

I unbuckled my seat belt and turned around in the passenger seat to get a better look and opened the box.

An absolute masterpiece.

Melted cheese, green giardineer, toasted sausage and beef, crust charred perfectly on the edges.

I picked up the first piece.

The traffic light turned green. My fellow Suit hit the accelerator.

I tumbled into the backseat spilling Italian beef and giardineer all over his floor boards -- and his suit coat hanging precariously just above the pizza box.

The sight, the smell and the taste of this masterful pie was too much to resist.

In our 15 minute commute through suburban Chicago, we were going to eat that pizza. To hell with the dry cleaning bills.

Eating scalding hot pizza while driving wasn’t the most difficult part (of course that’s easy for me to say since I wasn’t the one actually driving).

The difficult part was transferring steaming hot pieces of pizza intact from the back seat to the front seat of a moving vehicle swerving through an urban minefield of construction cones and red light cameras with no plates or utensils.

Fortunately, I remembered to grab a stack of napkins in our mad exit.

This was one of the most extraordinary pizzas of my life.

The crust was thin and crispy and held up well to the topping onslaught it was subjected to.

The Italian beef marinated in garlic, oregano and basil was delicious with a smoky char from the oven.

The spice from the Italian sausage married perfectly with the sweet diced giardineer peppers.

Negotiating Chicago traffic with his knees, my driver kept alternating bites with exclamations like, “This is unbelievable!”

“I never thought Italian beef on pizza could be this good!”

I was in total agreement -- if a bit nervous about the lack of available hands for turn signals and steering wheels.

We pulled up to our meeting -- alive and well -- at exactly 12:59.

We wiped ourselves down with more napkins, checked the rearview mirror for stray giardineer in our teeth and popped some breath mints.

Who knew that backseat pizza while negotiating the streets of Chicago could be one of life’s best meals?

This traveling life might not be glamorous, but it’s definitely not boring.

Rating: Would Have Bought the Shirt -- If We Had Time.

Pizza and Brew With A View

Backcountry Pizza
20 East Lake View Dr. #212
Nederland, CO 80466




You know what they say about real estate;  it's all about location, location, location.

And you'd be hard-pressed to find pizza with a better view than what I found at Backcountry Pizza.

Tucked away on the second floor of a quasi-strip mall in the scenic Rocky Mountain town of Nederland, CO, Backcountry Pizza is an unexpected gem.

The mountain towns in Colorado are like visiting a different country. The culture is foreign. The pace of life is slower. And for some people living there, being "high" is a lifestyle. There are at least two pot dispensaries in this town with a population of just over 1,400 people.

Nederland is home to the Frozen Dead Guy Festival, in which they celebrate some guy who had himself cryogenically frozen and, at his request, had his frozen body brought up to the town of Nederland.

It seems with the dying off of the mining industry in Colorado that many of these mountain towns are quite economically depressed. I don't know if I should blame the unions, NAFTA, the EPA, or perhaps all of the above.

In any case, the people of Nederland, and other mountain towns, are rugged. You'd have to be to live above 8,000 ft, with harsh winters far from civilization.

After a full morning of snowshoeing just outside of Nederland, we were quite hungry, so we meandered our way into Nederland.

Having been there previously, I had a pretty good lay of the land. Wanting to try something new we found our way to Backcountry Pizza.

As soon as we walked through the door, our noses told us we were at the right place. Thankfully, a table opened up just as we walked in, as the place was pretty well packed.

The place smelled amazing, and after seeing the pizza, we couldn't help but be excited for the deliciousness to come. Of course, being that this is in Colorado, they had a decent selection of craft beers on tap.

I ordered a Gilpin Black Gold Porter from Hogshead Brewing in Denver, CO. After a nice morning of snowshoeing, a dark malty beer is exactly what I had in mind.

After looking over the menu, we decided to go with an order of chicken tenders and The Works Pizza, complete with ground sausage and beef, mushrooms, banana peppers, feta and mozzarella cheeses. It usually comes with olives, but considering that olives are a communist plot to ruin pizza, we had those deleted.

The chicken tenders came out first, and they far exceeded our expectations. Here we thought we were just ordering the standard run of the mill pizza joint chicken tenders. Not the case. These were hand-breaded and served with a house-made BBQ sauce. So good...

Then came the pizza. I'm not sure what measuring system they were using, but supposedly we ordered a 16" pizza. Maybe they meant 16" radius, instead of circumference. This pizza was massive.

And delicious. And we'll be eating it as leftovers for the next couple days. Everything about this pizza was great. The crust was perfect.

If you ever find your way out to Nederland, CO for some snowshoeing or for the Dead Guy Festival, I highly recommend checking out Backcountry Pizza. Good pizza and brew with a view.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Drinking in the Black Hills

Independent Ale House
625 St. Joseph St.
Rapid City, SD




A couple months ago, while discussing the condition of gun laws in South Dakota, I had a friend comment that he was under the impression that the state gives you a gun as soon as you cross the state line.

Sadly, this is not the case in South Dakota, and my friend was greatly disappointed to learn this as well.

I have traveled to the great state of South Dakota more times in the last few months than I thought I ever would in my life.

Don't get me wrong, the state is beautiful. Well, at least the western part with the Black Hills.

Apparently there is a divide in the state: West River vs. East River. And apparently, these two worlds do not get along.

Personally, I still don't understand why there is a North and South Dakota, and why they can't settle their differences. It is like a Civil War due West that has never been settled.

Brother pitted against brother. Dogs and cats living together. Mass hysteria.

Anyway, back to the gun laws...

For a state as red as South Dakota and as many anti-government individuals living there, it shocks me how much work has to be done here.

Then again, it is a state completely run by Republicans, most of which are probably closet Socialists.

I could go on, but we aren't here to talk about the politics of South Dakota. Well, okay, kind of we are, but really we are here to talk about good food and drink.

And good food and drink is exactly what I got to experience at the Independent Ale House in downtown Rapid City.

After a day's worth of driving, I met up with a couple friends and already had in mind the plan to visit this establishment. I try to make a practice out of visiting any place that calls itself an "Ale House." Usually that is synonymous with "we serve good beer."

The place was pretty well packed. We ended up grabbing a few seats at the bar. Hanging above the bar was a giant chalk board, absolutely filled with an impressive list of craft beers from around the country. Giant chalkboards are usually a good sign. It means that they carry a lot of options and that those options change frequently.

The first beer I ordered was a Deschutes Black Butte Porter. This beer was delicious. Excellent malt character and good balance.

Of course, we didn't just come here for the beer. We came for food as well.

Independent Ale House is pretty one dimensional when it comes to food. They serve hand-crafted pizza.

Honestly, I don't mind the single dimension, so long as they do it well.

The menu is pretty unique, with plenty of specialty pizzas to choose from.

I went with the Althea, which came topped with Olive Oil, Fresh Garlic, Spinach, Sun-Dried Tomato, Feta and other cheeses.

Strangely, I ordered a pizza without meat. What is wrong with me? I don't know, the combination just sounded wonderful, and it was. Thankfully, my friends bailed me out and gave me a slice of their pizzas which was topped with all sorts of meat, which was delicious as well.

After finishing my pizza, I noticed that I overlooked a beer on the menu from my home state of Michigan.

I couldn't believe it. Here out in the Great Plains, beer was being served from the Great Lakes State. I usually spot Michigan breweries no problem. Whether it is Bells, Founders, New Holland, etc., I am usually on my game.

Apparently, I am out of practice, because I was totally shocked to see a beer on tap from Dark Horse Brewing out of Marshall, Michigan.

And how great a name for this beer: Plead the 5th Imperial Stout.

Being that this was a higher gravity beer, I decided that it would be best to get a half glass.

It was wonderful and made me miss my homeland even more.

If you are ever in Rapid City, South Dakota, I highly recommend that you visit the Independent Ale House.

Good beer, good food, good night.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Fighting Command and Control Capitalism in Kalamazoo

Kalamazoo Beer Exchange
211 E. Water St.
Kalamazoo, MI





“There really is a Kalamazoo.”

If you need an emergency souvenir at the Kalamazoo Airport, a t-shirt emblazoned with that saying is your only option.

That should give you some insight into the self-esteem issues this frigid West Michigan city must grapple with.

But like most small college towns, Kalamazoo has nothing to be ashamed of, hitting far above its weight with a vibrant downtown full of fun bars, brew pubs and thirsty college girls.

That’s a hell of a lot more than Detroit can claim.

Hitting up a few of those beer halls was at the top of my agenda.

But I had no idea my evening of beer drinking was going to turn into an economics lesson.

First on the list was Bell’s Brewery -- probably the best known brewery in all of Michigan.

Bell’s is most famous nationally for its Oberon wheat beer and Two Hearted IPA. As always, I was more excited to try some of the other two dozen brews on tap that I can’t find at my local Total Wine.

My fellow Suit and I each ordered up a flight of a half dozen beers, handwriting our selections on a preprinted list which I submitted to the bartender -- after standing in a long, loooong line.

Clearly efficiency is not a goal at Bell’s.

Every customer in the crowded brewpub has to stand in the same line every time they want a new beer.

Shouldn’t an important economic lesson be that if you have a crowd of people who want to hand you their cash, you make it quicker and easier for them to do so?

Indecisive out-of-towners like me ordering a dozen samplers probably don’t help to speed things up.

But a flight is the only way to go.

It increases the odds that I might reach that pinnacle of beer drinking -- finding that one life-altering brew so exquisite, so unique that it will go down as one of the greatest beers to ever grace Suit757’s liver.


That search is what forces me out of bed every morning.

Well, that and the fact that I have a job that requires me to get on a plane at 6am and fly to Kalamazoo.

I mean, I have to find a way to pay for all this life-altering beer after all.

And at $36 for a dozen five ounce samplers, we clearly weren’t getting any hometown discount from Bell’s.

My selection leaned toward the darker, heavier, more potent offerings, including an unassuming 9.5% alcohol barleywine named “Bull in a China Shop”, a toasty and hoppy “Experimental” black IPA and powerful black imperial “Expedition Stout”.

The “Third Coast Beer” was a crisp ale that served as a nice reprieve from the powerful dark brews.

Of course I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try Bell’s ultimate imperial IPA on draft -- Hopslam -- which lived up to its name.

But the whole point of this exercise is to learn something new. Discover a previously unknown brew that will help fulfill the meaning of my beer drinking life.

I take this stuff seriously.

So I can’t just sample some beers and enjoy the evening.

No. This is science. This is journalism. This is research.

All rolled into one sudsy experiment.

I had to declare a winner.

That honor went to Bell’s “Smoked Stout”, a malty manly beer with just the right amount of smokiness.

Wow. This would go great with some of Bell’s meat smoked on premises.

How about the brisket sandwich?

In all this excitement and science and stuff, I hadn’t paid much attention to the food menu.

Or the time.

So my fellow suit went to stand at the end of the long line with clear instructions -- food and a full pint of smoked porter.

Fifteen minutes later he finally reappeared with a couple beers -- and some bad news.

The
kitchen was closed.

WHAT???

What packed brewery in a college town shuts down the smoker at 9pm? Haven’t these people ever heard of beer munchies?

First rule of economics -- if you have a crowd of hungry beer drinkers on premises, sell them food!

Now I was irritated. And hungry.

My mood didn’t improve when I learned that before I could wander the streets of downtown Kalamazoo in search of sustenance, I had to go back and stand in that damn line again just to pay my $50 beer tab.

Now what?

After a series of texts to three different Suits who all spent their college years drinking beer in Kalamazoo, there was a consensus -- Kalamazoo Beer Exchange. Serving food until 11pm.

That works for me.

Housed in a cool looking old downtown warehouse, Kalamazoo Beer Exchange sported a nice selection of local and national craft beers.

Most interesting of all, the prices for the draft beers fluctuate every fifteen minutes based on supply and demand.

Suit757’s inner economist (Austrian school, of course) suddenly got very excited about this concept.

When the demand for a particular beer increases, the price goes up. When nobody is ordering it, the price goes down.

All of this is tracked on a big stock exchange electronic score board above the bar that I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of.

Did I tell you I was an econ major in college?

Yeah. Pretty exciting stuff.

Even cooler still, our waitress informed us that occasionally there will be a “Market Crash” when all the beer prices tumble to bargain levels. Despite my eager anticipation, that never happened the entire two hours we were there.

Supply and demand is the most foundational of all economic principles. Virtually all of economics branches off from this basic concept.

Being the shrewd economist I am, I quickly strategized that rather than ordering a local brew like Bell’s, perhaps I could maximize the return on my investment by going for a more obscure beer that might be in less demand.

Sure enough, Green Flash Double Stout out of San Diego seemed to be priced well at just $5.25 per pint. A strong 8.8% sweet malty brew like this was a virtual steal for five bucks.

Sure enough, after I ordered it, the price jumped up to $5.50.

Then fifteen minutes later it dropped back down to $5.25.

And stayed there the rest of the night.

Huh? Shouldn’t there be a bit more volatility in this beer market?

My Milton Friedman deep inside me grew suspicious that maybe this “free market” might not be so free after all.

After ordering a Penny Dreadful, a dark 6.8% beer from Brewery Terra Firma out of Traverse City, I soon realized that all the beers were trading in a very narrow range of about 25 to 50 cents.

This is no free market after all!

It’s like Chinese command and control capitalism. What the ChiComs call a “Socialist Market Economy.”

It has the façade of a free market but the prices are actually set by the central government and never trade outside a narrow band.

Just like the interest rates set by the Federal Reserve.

Or the Yuan that the Chinese hope will replace the U.S. dollar as the world’s reserve currency after the Fed finishes its mission to destroy the buck.

I was soooo disappointed.

Kalamazoo Beer Exchange is a neat concept, but like our supposedly American capitalist system, it would only work properly if the central authorities let it operate freely.

Otherwise the fluctuating prices of the beer are just an irritation.

Unfortunately, the food did nothing to cheer me up.

The steak nachos with their crispy baked tortilla chips and pile of sautéed onions and peppers, tomatoes, sour cream and guacamole weren’t too bad -- except for one very serious problem.

There was virtually no steak on my steak nachos.

Dude. First rule of Econ 101: Do not cheat Suit757 out of his meat if you expect a good review!

The “Blue Plate Special” was a sausage and peppers pizza for ten bucks.

It sounded like a good deal, but ended up just as further real life evidence of yet another important economic principle: You get what you pay for.

Forget eating this pizza with my hands -- the way God intended pizza to be consumed.

In fact, it was so soggy, a knife and fork wasn’t enough.

A straw would have been a more appropriate utensil to eat this damn thing.

The more of it I attempted to slurp down, the more irritated I got.

And the marginal pleasure I derived from each additional beer I consumed seemed to lessen with every sip.

Could this be the “Law of Diminishing Returns” setting in?

Considering how much high potency beer I had consumed and the approaching midnight hour, I don’t think there was any question.

It was time to go back to the Best Western.

I was learning yet another important economic lesson.

Kalamazoo Beer Exchange and Bell’s Brewery could learn some lessons too.

You can’t fight the basic laws of economics. Sometimes you just have to obey them.

Rating: Wouldn’t Wear Shirt if They Paid Me.