THE gravity of the problem hit me in a bar in New Mexico. On offer were no
fewer than 24 beers, all described in glowing terms, all bewilderingly
unfamiliar.
So there I was, fresh from the annual meeting of the Society for Judgment and
Decision Making, and behaving like Buridan’s Ass—the imaginary creature
which starved midway between two troughs of hay because it couldn’t decide which
to go for. Then, a reprieve. At the bottom of the menu was an invitation to try
a “sampler tray”—24 whisky glasses, each with a splash of one of the
beers. Perfect.…
