The Pour

I practice my pour with water. Glass at forty-five degrees, straighten it halfway, bottle just above the rim. The way the guy at the brewery does it. I do this at the sink at seven in the morning, which is not what the phrase "morning person" was meant for.

My wife came in on day four and asked what I was doing. I said, a pour. She said, that's water. I said, it's a rehearsal.

After two weeks I had it. Steady. Clean. Not a drop on the counter. I felt ready.

Saturday I opened a double IPA for a friend. I tilted the glass. I straightened it halfway.

Water doesn't foam.

That's the thing nobody tells you, and I'd practiced with it. The head came up like a science fair volcano, went over the side, and landed on my shoe. My friend said, "That's okay." That's what you say when it's not.

So now I practice with club soda. It foams a little. I'm told it's not the same as beer. I'm told.

But I want to be honest about the water. It lied to me for two weeks. I'm not over it.