I've never told anyone this before, for fear of being set upon by homebrewers, hopheads, and frat bros that've been totally numbed to reason by high-ABV swill. But I feel like I can trust you -- yes, you -- with my secret: At the merest hint of an India pale ale, I'm overcome with loathing so severe, it's all I can do to resist smashing every tinted longneck in sight. I'm a wretched imposter, doomed to silently endure the world's heinous praise for this "once and future" craft beer king, or else be laughed out of the liquor store. Heavy is the head that has a mouth that hates the brown... beer.
Why can't I just enjoy it? Why does every single IPA make my gut bubble like a Jacuzzi full of soup? Every cicerone is my mortal enemy, every bar with rotating taps, my hop-hell. Oh, you disagree? Pound sand/shred me in the comments, because the reasons for my IPA hatred are completely unassailable:
They taste like bougie garbage water
It all starts with that musty, grassy odor. People claim to love it, but that IPA stench hits my nose like a Christmas tree that drenched itself in expired Pine-Sol, then went out clubbing. You know that scene in Se7en, where Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman find a rotting dude's corpse covered in taxi-cab air fresheners? Spoiler alert: They do. Spoiled beer alert: IPAs smell like that, and yet somehow, they taste even worse.
Once it hits your lips, it's so filling
In addition to tasting like Dumpster jambalaya, IPAs fill me up way too quickly. I can drink 10 normal beers and inhale some disco fries, then get out of bed and brunch like an American hero. But merely one IPA will turn me into a bloated acid-reflux machine who can't take a step without burping up "nutty finishes" and "hints of cardamom." Sometimes, this gut-busting feeling gets so bad, I wonder if I should drink less, or even begin to exercise, both of which are patently insane. Stop messing with my head, IPA.