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Bitburger Hometober Variety Pack

     Our clock must be running fast again -- I swore I wouldn't get to the liquor store early again this Sunday, but when I get there my friend inside informs me there are still three minutes till opening. So we stand with the door open and chat, about the nice October weather and his ten-minute bike ride to work, on this beautiful fall day.

    Now I know I've fested Oktober to death; what with my original review of at least half-a-dozen brands, and then over the past two weeks partying with my friend for his birthday and draining two 5 liter mini kegs of Hoffbrau. But I've been wanting to enjoy Bitburger's charmingly inviting mix-pack, just 6 bottles of Festbier and 6 of their standard German Pilsner -- and they finally had them in the fridge so I grabbed a case.


            Festbier 6.2% abv

    More hoppy than malty, but not overly bitter; especially considering I just had coffee. Very smooth and perfect for a crisp autumn afternoon. The logo displays fat fragrant hops and a giant pretzel -- I think the latter is all I'm missing to properly enjoy this all-around solid German lager. Perhaps not the most exceptional of the Festbieren I have consumed over the past five weeks but satisfying nonetheless.


            Premium Pils 4.8% abv 

    What a contrast: superbly crisp and flat, with that Pilsner sourness very different from the malty sour that did finish my bottle of Festbier even if it was less pronounced at the first sip. Obviously the proper way to drink this case solo on a day like today would be to drain the Oktoberfest sitting on the couch all afternoon smelling the cool breeze on my face, looking out the window at the leaves changing orange and crimson, so sublime the year turning on its axis once again -- and then after dinner and Tuscan wine, to return to the couch and watch a movie or Seinfeld reruns with the kids wearing pyjamas sipping this delightful Pils like spring water (for Foster's may be Australian for beer; but we of German blood just call it water; sorry to St. David and my Welsh side) and munching on a bowl of popcorn while a chill sets in and wealthier neighbors light wood fires and, one imagines, break out the brandy; although it is hard to tell in Cambridge, the nouveau riche probably have poorer taste than my broke ass.

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