While wandering through downtown Boston last week I stumbled into an old used bookstore. I made my way between the dangerously leaning stacks to aisle 3A, the food and cooking section. After a few painful minutes crouched down near the floor, I came upon the book Beer by Michael Jackson for only ten bucks! Jackpot!

(I know what you’re thinking and no, it’s not the King of Pop. This is Michael Jackson from the world of beer. The King of Hops if you will.)

Picture one of those skinny, hardcover books you read as a child to learn about dinosaurs or outer space and you have Beer in a nutshell. The book is stuffed with large, easy to read font, step-by-step descriptions of the beer making process and pictures of just about everything. It is idiot proof. Instead of discovering the life cycles of a black hole, little children could easily learn how to brew a barely wine with this book. I, however, will pour over it with more fervor than a law student and keep it as a handy reference book, conveniently having it on my person at all times.

Content with my find, I went to pay for my treasure. After leaving the cash register, I flipped to the front cover and found this inscription:


Brady, I don’t know who you are, but your father seems like an awesome fellow and I can’t believe you sold this book! Next time I’m I Boston I hope to find you in a lame sports bar chugging Bud Light so I can kick your ass.