The brewery of Dorian Gray

We’re an old company, it’s true. That’s a good thing in many ways: Our beers know what they’re doing, their hygiene is impeccable, their hops appropriate, their malts complex. Savoir biere, if you will.

There’s a downside, though. The folks who started this company have kids. Kids graduating from college, kids getting married, for Pete’s sake. And, the folks who started this company have canes, prescriptions, eyeglasses, and engraved invitations to any number of undignified medical fishing expeditions that offer more in the way of embarrassment than revelation. Growing old, as they say, is not for sissies.

So, anyways, we went round the houses with our carefully-crafted product, our history of paying bills and carefully husbanding cash (some call us cheap, but we think of ourselves as careful husbands), and we got some good people to trust us with a pile of cash. This windfall-cum-amortization-and-APR has presented us with the opportunity to get some chemical peels, some hair implants, hip replacements, Saville Row suits that make a happy imposture of our aging posture, &c. A cashflow fountain of youth, as it were, should we choose to spend it on our all-too-compromised selves.

But then we looked at our dear brewery. The floor drains have seen better days, and believe us, beer likes to be in shiny and new coolers, kegs and other such packages. So, we’re spending the money on her. She’s getting snazzy automated grain handling, a beautiful new cooler, and, in a few weeks, we’re going to shut the tasting room for a few days and do some pretty serious bust enhancement up in here. The beer will be the same, only better, and there’ll be more of it, and the sound of a running brewery, which is the most beautiful sound there is, will be more precisely tuned, more humming and less clattering if you know what I mean.

Take our advice: If you love it, see just how you can love it more than you love it.