We all love Guinness: It’s classic, dependable, and ubiquitous. But that doesn’t mean you have to resign yourself to drinking eight of ‘em on Saint Patrick’s Day. These stouts all share similar tastes (roasted malts, bittersweet chocolate, coffee), but interesting details shine through to make each one a unique choice that sets them apart from the big names. Pick any (or all) of these up and take a break from the same boring options you stocked your fridge with last year.
Today I get the stinkface from the Bud Hut lady if I try double-ﬁsting at the ballpark. But in June 1974, as part of a promotion during a game against the Texas Rangers, the Cleveland Indians let patrons sextuple-ﬁst for a mere sixty cents. Fantastic decision if you’re a sociopathic alcoholic hell-bent on mass destruction. Horrible decision if you’re trying to build local support for your baseball team. Shitfaced fans flooded the ﬁeld with knives and chains, which makes sense because I always keep my beatin’ chain on me when I’m in Cleveland. Players fought with fans. Tits and dicks were whipped out. The late journalist Tim Russert just so happened to be at this game. Looking back on the events of that night, he told the Cleveland Plain Dealer, “I went with $2 in my pocket. You do the math.”
Pasta in Padova, not gondolas in Venice. Bullfights in Seville, not pickpockets in Barcelona. Boxing in East London, not Big Ben in the Queen’s London, and nine more ways to explore Europe without ever setting foot in a tourist trap.