Hide it if you like it

The best of this country can be found in the run down, side road spots shoved off the main drag and into obscurity. The places with buzzing, half-lit signs, more letters missing than glowing. The haunts you only hear about word of mouth, unadvertised, a place virus hopping from patron to patron. Sergio's, like most of the places we'll talk about on this blog, is one of those locales. It's in Shelbyville, KY -- a place you have never heard of.

Beer places are weird. Most people drink what's on TV, your Bud, or Bud Light, or Corona if you're feeling "imported." The real artisan shit, beers that are as much as bottle as an 18 pack of whatever, no one likes. It's expensive. Doesn't get you any drunker. Tastes harsh. Strange. To be into it, you have to LOVE beer -- and Sergio, my friends, loves beer. He loves beer in a way that makes me surprised he did not name his son Barley, and his dog Hops. He loves beer in a way that means the only time a smile sneaks onto his shy face is when he's talking about a brew, or when I am asking him a stupid, half-buzzed question about catering my wedding. More on this later.

Sergio's is in actuality a restaurant. Well, according to the buzzy, red lettered sign out front, it's an "aunt." Either way, the food is incredible. The night we gathered intel for this piece was my last night eating meat after a several year break from being a vegetarian -- as soon as I decided to become a herbivore again I knew what I wanted to go out on, a Philly Cheese Steak sandwich from Sergio's. His skill at crafting this thing makes no sense; Sergio is Brazilian, a Philly Cheese Steak is not. Still, I have never had a better Philly. The sandwich is some preternatural meal, mounds of steak, cheese, and peppers rammed into bread that has to have been baked that day. It's enough to feed two grown men. And there are fries, but I can keep enjoying those at the date of this writing, and am thus less inclined to wax poetic about them. Of course, there's a lot more to Sergio's menu, but why bother. Get the Philly.

Back to beer. Sergio's is a beer church, a beer cathedral, the walls are lined with reliquaries of impeccable beer glasses, beer bottles, flags from beer making countries, and license plates from states where, presumably, they drink beer. Flattened six pack cartons serve as wallpaper, stacks of beer cases, kegs, and taps serve as altars. The bar is the pulpit, where Sergio stands behind a congregation of beer taps, ready to offer succor in some twenty varieties at a time. If there was ever a place to espouse Ben Franklin's quote about beer being proof of God desiring our happiness, this is it. This sacrosanctity is key to a visit to Sergio's. This is not a place to get wild. In fact, when you're too buzzed it's tough to figure out which bathroom is for men and which is for women (the doors are covered in beer cartons and there's only a tiny sign pointing out which parts are allowed in), and I bet that's on purpose. Sergio's is a place to come and genuinely enjoy the beer you're drinking, to have some amazing food and chat with friends, and sure, to get your buzz on -- and Sergio is there to always make sure there's a designated driver when someone orders a particularly heady brew. But it is not a place to get wild.

That comes after a good visit to Sergio's. And then the next morning, spent hung over eating strawberry pancakes with corn on the cob at Rick's in Frankfort, KY, when Rick says "Who's the freak who ordered pancakes with corn? Oh yeah, the guy who looks like he just got out of a clothes dryer," reminds you why sometimes, it's best to stop at the beers Sergio gave you and not go off thinking you're good to go four rich beers in. At that point when I was drunkenly leaving Sergio's, paying my tab, slurry asking him "Hey Sergio, will you cater my wedding?" he just shrugged, smiled, and said "Sure."

I'm holding him to it.

WHAT I DRANK:
Clipper City Loose Cannon (Hop3) Ale -- I'm a hoppy guy, hoppy like a bunny, the hoppier a beer and more I love it, and Loose Cannon is a delicious, hoppy ale. Smooth, pleasantly bitter, and strong enough to stay interesting. It has a bit of a sweet taste which gives it some distinction from others IPAs like Dogfish Head IPA. Also, my girlfriend is from Baltimore, and she'd probably frown at me I didn't dig this beer. I don't like when she frowns.

Sapporo Dry Lager (22 oz. can) -- I won't pretend I didn't order this beer for the steel can it's in. But this steel can is amazing. It's not truly round, more like some strange polygon that is hammered into the rough shape of a can. Sapporo is good though, your usual dry lager, but I'm a huge Asahi fan so Sapporo is usually pretty pleasing. Bonzai.

Dogfish Head 120 Minute IPA -- This is my favorite beer. It's 21% alcohol, so I'm not sure if it still qualifies as beer, but it's still my favorite whatever it is. It's serious. It's so hoppy it might jump off your table. The high alcohol content makes it have a bold, sweet taste not unlike Kentucky Ale's Bourbon Barrel Ale, but much, much stronger, as if you cold added bourbon to the beer itself. Yet, it's smooth. Extremely palatable. And Sergio serves it in a Dogfish Head goblet. It's good to be king.

HOW LONG UNTIL DAVE FELL DOWN AND HURT HIMSELF:
Surprisingly enough, I didn't fall down at all this trip, and there were some adverse weather conditions so it's double surprising that I didn't stumble into some ice. I did, however, throw up what appeared to be a whole pancake the next morning. Paul took a picture, but you might have to e-mail him for it.