MEMO: FROM THAT GREAT WET BAR IN THE SKY

DATE: OCTOBER 27, 2005

FROM: HUNTER S. THOMPSON

SUBJECT: FLYING DOG GONZO IMPERIAL PORTER

A BRACING JOURNEY TO THE HEART OF DARKNESS ... SOME HIGH-OCTANE GOOP ... WITH BEER LIKE THIS, WHO NEEDS COFFEE? ... SOMEONE TELL STEADMAN HE’S HAD ENOUGH

When I got wind that those wackos at Flying Dog brewery in Aspen, down the road from my earthly redoubt in Woody Creek, were brewing a beer in my honor, I was aghast. First off, I’m not one for gimmicks. Not one bit. Second, I’ve always been more of a Heineken man (Wild Turkey chasers, of course). I don’t much go for these so-called craft brews.

But I was wrong, and I can admit that. This is one fine glass of ale, pouring thick and pitch-black like the dark country night, oily like Texas crude. Tastes good too: smacking of semisweet chocolate, strong espresso, a potent smokiness, a hint of anise. Christamighty, I suppose if I had to pick one beer to be named after me, this would be the stuff. It’s got a regal nature, fit to be quaffed by a tsar. And, at 9.5 percent ABV, it’s just the stuff to foment the sort of bad craziness this world is sorely lacking. (A fine job by Steadman on the label, too, even if he’s wrong; I make a much more handsome corpse.)

"I wouldn’t recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they’ve always worked for me." I wrote that long ago. I’m sure you’ve heard it before. It’s still true. But I do recommend this for everyone. Good people drink good beer. Bottoms up.

Available for $9.79 for a four-pack at Blanchard’s Liquors, 103 Harvard Avenue, in Allston, and online from www.arcticliquors.com.