Taste Test: Guinness Float

I believe in progress. I believe in science. I believe in maximizing leisure.

I stated recently that I felt a root beer float to be a lovelier thing to find in a pint glass than a Guinness.

Jesse Banks suggested I don't have to pick one or the other if I make a Guinness float. I was inclined to think such a thing would not be as exciting as it sounded, but in the interest of science and my pleasant Friday afternoon I decided to test the deliciousness of a Guinness float.

The Experiment


Inventory:
Frosted pint glasses
One (1) 12-Oz. bottle chilled Virgil's Root Beer
One (1) 14.9-Oz. can Guinness
One (1) thing of Breyer's Smooth and Creamy Vanilla ice cream

I put 1/2 cup ice cream in two glasses and filled one with root beer and the other with Guinness. The difference in sizes of the two drink containers was irrelevant as each had remainder fluid.

Root Beer Float
Stupid QuickTime won't let me rotate the video. In reality, the glass was upright, not sideways.

Reactions
Ross had originally stated his appreciation for root beer floats was 5.5 on a 10-point scale. "It's good.... Good root beer," he said of the Virgil's Breyer's concoction.

I felt the root beer float was good, but did not compare to yesterday's, which was made with A&W root beer.

Guinness Float

Again, QuickTime is stupid and the glass is not really sideways.

Reactions
Ross grimaced on first taste, then gamely went in for another try. "I think I'd rather still have a plain Guinness," he decided. "The beer is still quite bitter. It's kind of an awkward pairing for me."

I agreed with Ross about the awkward pairing, although by the time I had tasted the Guinness float more ice cream had melted, making the bitterness less of an issue.

Conclusions:
Not an utter failure, but Jesse Banks' recommendation was not entirely appropriate. The curious alchemy that occurs when root beer and ice cream meet cannot be recreated with beer.

If one is inclined to make a Guinness float, I suggest letting the ice cream sit and diffuse into the liquid for five minutes or so before consumption, but this may not be the best way to pass a warm afternoon.

Ross's suggestion is practical: "What I'd like to do is drink two or three Guinnesses, and then drink a root beer float."

I'm sure you're or so

JTR has a voicemail-to-text service that depends on super-accurate voice-recognition software.

"hey baby call me back i wanna talk about ben i'm sure you're or so"

Actual quote:

"Hey, Piggy. Call me back, I want to talk about Ben and Jerry Horne."

It seems likely that this service will be weirding out a lot of Piggies out there. This system needs work and study. I will test the limits of the service's capabilities with the following quotes (anticipating these translations):

Tea, Earl Gray, Hot
(Me, you're gay. Hot?)

Open the pod bay doors, Hal.
(Old Ben will say 'borsch,' pal.)

I am bringing home a baby bumblebee. Won't my mommy be so proud of me?
(Hire Ringling Bros to play me jubilee. Haunted memory smells of chicory.)

When Barry met Zahi

Zahi Hawass, who as chief antiquities dude in Egypt has claimed to be responsible for every archaeological discovery in the past decade, apparently gave Mr. Obama a tour of his personal property, the old rock mounds on the Giza plateau.



If Hawass had his way, Obama's face would be obscured by that giant ridiculous hat.

Bush Doctrine Riichi!

Now in bootleg English translation, Legend of Koizumi is the story of how former Japanese PM Junichiro Koizumi established Japan's seat at the table of nations through his mad Mahjong skills. In the first issue, international Mahjong-hustler George W. Bush bamboozles Japanese Representative Taizo Sugimura into a high-stakes game. When he cannot pay his debts, Taizo is given the full Abu Ghraib treatment by Condi Rice and Don Rumsfeld.

Eventually Koizumi sweeps in and determines, "...we'll only be able to settle this with a game of Mahjong." The stakes: F-15 Eagles.

Bush plays without flaw or mercy, putting Koizumi and Japan deep in the hole.

Things look bleak for the grim-faced Prime Minister, but he has one final surprise in store for the domineering foreigner. You see, Koizumi is not only a master of Mahjong, he is a master of the ancient Japanese art of cheating. Taizo objects, but the Prime Minister (more or less) tells him that cheating built Japan, and by gum, cheating is every Japanese person's patriotic duty.

Koizumi's victory stroke stuns Bush, who can only mumble, "R... Rising Sun...?!*"




*This is not the name of a Mahjong play; as far as I can tell it is a straight-up nonsequitor.