I got my Henna win on the Oznr app.

By “win” I mean I merely reserved a right to drive an hour west to purchase an allotment of beer. By “beer” I mean a rare barrel aged pastry stout deemed worthy of agents of celestial hierarchy.

As I exited Interstate Toll Highway 90 at the Huntley ramp, due North, scanning the horizon I began to have the sneaking feeling that this second MoRE location might be a used car dealership. I set that thought aside for a second as I found it to be overstimulating.

Most breweries I’ve sought out over the past decade have been located in an array of former and repurposed venues.

A deconsecrated Catholic church.

A dilapidated laundromat.

A tiny storefront in a suburban plaza next to a Chinese restaurant. 

As I spiraled my Nissan Versa hatchback into the Auto Mall passing Huntley Ford it officially hit me that the massive production brewpub actually does exist in an old Nissan dealership and service center.

The reclaimed wood and sleek décor highly offset the depressing drag of the idea of having to go get my oil changed. The transposition was astoundingly ingenious. Instead of waiting there for ninety minutes to have my tires rotated and get fluids serviced, I got to sit there for ninety minutes to have my fries allocated and get served fluids.

No salesmen. No upselling. No bad news about an expired warranty. No sad vending machines, no Keurig coffee, and no blue polo shirt men tapping behind computers. 

Intentional or not, MoRE has maintained the vague ironic spirit of the auto dealership. Complete with retracting doors over a side dining room which used to be the maintenance center, the only thing better would be if you could actually get your car serviced there while you dine. All I’m saying is that I would agree to those new windshield wipers and air filters more merrily if I was a few hazy IPAs in. I would just hate to ruin craft beer in the scheme of things.

My Henna stout was Cinnamon Babka. Wood-soaked, thick and viscous. The sweetness of the breaded yeast-leavened dough was left with a bitter addition from the cinnamon, and heat from the bourbon.

I didn’t get out much during that time of life. One-year-old twin babies and a Covid era 2021. I was on life break for a few hours.

I sipped my used motor oil on the back patio while I ate Nashville hot chicken under spun sugar clouds and an electric blue sky.

O the joy of increase, growth, recuperation,

The joy of soothing and pacifying, the joy of concord and harmony.