My name is Chris, I’m 30, and I recently moved to Boise, Idaho for a new job. One thing I quickly learned after moving here is that Boise has a very serious craft beer culture.
Like… extremely serious.
Breweries are everywhere. Every restaurant has a massive beer list, and everyone seems to have very strong opinions about hops, brewing methods, and something called “mouthfeel,” which I didn’t even know was a word before moving here.
A few weeks ago I started hanging out with a new group of friends from work. They’re all great people and super welcoming, but there’s one small problem.
They love craft IPAs.
Obsessed might actually be the better word.
One night we were all at a local brewery, and someone asked what kind of beer I usually drink. I casually said that I’m not really a fan of IPAs because they taste too bitter to me.
The table went completely silent.
One of them looked at me like I had just confessed to disliking pizza.
“You just haven’t had the right IPA yet,” someone said.
Another person nodded and added, “Yeah, that’s a common beginner mistake.”
I tried to explain that I’ve tried several different IPAs before and they all taste basically the same to me — like someone squeezed a grapefruit into a pine tree.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.
A few days later one of them texted the group chat saying we were meeting at another brewery for something called an “IPA intervention.”
I thought they were joking.
They were not.
When I arrived, there were six different beers lined up on the table, each with a little description card explaining the flavor profile and hop variety.
“This one has citrus notes.”
“This one is hazy and smooth.”
“This one has a tropical finish.”
Everyone took turns explaining why each IPA was different and why I would definitely like this one.
I politely tasted every single one.
They all still tasted like aggressively bitter pine juice to me.
But the real problem came at the end of the night.
Because everyone was so convinced that I’d eventually “develop a taste for it,” they bought me six crowlers to take home.
If you’re not familiar, a crowler is basically a giant can filled with fresh beer from the brewery.
So now my refrigerator contains six large cans of craft IPA that I have absolutely no intention of drinking.
Every time someone from the group asks how the beers were, I just say, “Still working on them.”
At this point I’m considering quietly bringing them to the next house party and pretending I finished them.
Lesson learned: if you move to Boise and make new friends…
Never publicly admit that you don’t like craft IPAs.
Apparently that’s considered a fixable personality flaw.