By now I know to ask for “fruity” beers and am surprised to find an even more delicious one at Motor City Brewing Works. It’s 100 percent yummy without a trace of yucky. It’s called Summer Brew, is served with an orange slice, and tastes like sunshine.
When I come back for another and announce to the kid behind the minibar how much I love it, he looks very pleased. “He’s the Brewmeister,” one of the other guys says, which seems impossible because he looks like he’s twelve.
Actually he’s twenty-one. “My neighbor is the owner’s sister,” he tells me, “and I would go over to their house and they would be drinking beer in their garage. Everybody else I knew drank Budweiser, Labatt’s. But the stuff they were drinking had all different kinds of colors; dark or light or red. I was fascinated. Now I’m the Brewmeister.”