The India Pale Ale, or IPA, is as elusive as a Bengal tiger, as flavorful as chana masala, and sought after by virtually every Western expat—as well as some Indian’s. It is a beer without equal and without boundaries. It is the thirst quenching, dry-mouthed, aromatically hoppy king of craft beers, and there isn’t a decent one on all of the Indian subcontinent—save what I and a few other expats bring with us when we return from a trip.
India offers tourists unmatched access to perception-altering sights, sounds, and flavors. Forget The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel; The Darjeeling Limited; Slumdog Millionaire; Eat, Pray, Love; Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom—these movies don’t even begin to reveal the real India. To understand India’s quirks and irks, ceaseless cacophony, and amalgamated intrigue, pity, and revulsion requires a visit.
One of the best things about being an avid reader is discovering most writers, journalists and editors have a great sense of humor. Although content on the Robert J. Richey blog often includes some playful banter, a sense of whimsy, and occasionally droll satire, it often lacks the darker sarcasm found in our home—much to the chagrin of the big thinking, rocking hot spouse. Thankfully, news outlets everywhere provide a sufficiently combustible mix of solemnity, irony, and mockery to ignite one’s self-restrained stockpile of cynically sarcastic juices.