Evansville interlude.

I'm reporting live from the beautiful Hotel Volga in downtown Bucharest, Romania, where the mystery meat in gray sauce was featured at the recent Plenum of the Workers' Party 18th Conference ... no, wait; my mistake. Actually I'm at the Executive Inn in Evansville, Indiana, for my family (mom's side) reunion.

It's got me rapping:

One NABC growler down
With Lite beer all around
They say my grandaddy drank Miller
But this Publican ain't no swiller

BUT SERIOUSLY ... I've nothing whatsoever against the city of Evansville, and my regrets are two-fold. First, I'm only here for one night, which means that the only chance to see my relatives precludes visiting Turoni's for excellent pizza and craft beer. Second, in order to make it to Indianapolis tomorrow in time for the beer dinner at Opti Park, I may have to miss the opportunity to savor barbecued mutton at the family's picnic near Henderson Friday afternoon.

Not to mention the brain sandwiches that are an Evansville staple.

There'll be time in the future. For now, my Friday plan is to hit the road after breakfast, head north to Terre Haute, then pick up I-70 into the state capital. I'll have four growlers in the trunk, a bag of homemade (by the Mrs.) trail mix in the front seat, some hoary Elvin Bishop cassette tapes to play while driving my mom's 12-year-old Crown Vic, and a wonderful goal: Great Indiana food, great Indiana-brewed beer, great company and a weekend that proves how damned lucky I am to be in such a great business.

I get paid to drink beer. Who'd have thunk it?