Somewhere deep in the Washington wilderness lies Deer Park, a place where men are men, women are women, and Yoke's has a craft beer section.
The latter might not sound earth shattering -- nor might the former -- but the three odd trips I've made there over the past year have accumulated to an interesting social experiment. Deer Park, as it seems, isn't Craft Beer Drinker Central, yet, for some unknown reason, the vast majority of beer in people's carts are either Kokanee or Kokanee Gold. It's kind of strange. Strike that -- it is strange.
The craft beer cooler, meanwhile, has been shun into a corner between the Red Box, chips, and chilled wine. It's an eclectic and probably vintage machine, one you have to raise your voice when you walk past. The engine sounds like it's about to blow up, quite literally, and I assume it's somebody's designated job to kick it back into shape once an hour.
And speaking of vintage: When in need of vintage craft beer, this is the place to go as, apparently, no-one buys it here. Last July there were three bottles of Mirror Mirror left. I picked one up, and, when returning a few months later, two were still sitting there. It's like having my own private beer cooler. (That admittedly has to be kicked at regular intervals.)
You'd think Yoke's was Yoke's was Yoke's, and in a sense it is, but in Deer Park it's just a bit different.