No, not that one

Michael Jackson is dead.

The significant one, that is, the one who wrote so much and so well about whiskeys and beers. I came of age at a time when microbrews and international alternatives to the Big Two were becoming widespread — the first pint of draught been I drank was a Sleeman’s ale, back when Sleeman’s could still be considered a microbrewery — and Jackson’s was one of the early voices that got North Americans interested in such things. As something of a would-be epicure in the domain of alcoholic beverages, I can only be grateful.

RIP, Michael Jackson. I’ll raise one to your memory.

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