I used to drink beer only as a last resort, when the money ran out before the month did. It didn’t matter what kind, because it’s all nasty. (I suppose a budget that led to drinking Mickey’s or Buckhorn could account for that.) I didn’t know the difference between a lager, an ale, a stout or a porter. For that matter, I didn’t even know they existed! Beer was just this fizzy yellow stuff that came in a can.
You’d think I’d have been a beer drinker if only for the memories associated with beer. It seemed like such an adult drink. There was always a six-pack of Budweiser in our refrigerator, and my brother and I would fight over who would take one to Dad when he got home. Sometimes I'd even get to pull open that pop-top, wrinkling up my nose when that bitter odor tickled. Remember those tops? Not these silly things on today's cans that just push a piece of aluminum down into your drink. Real pop-tops that had to be grasped carefully, peeling away that little tear-drop shape bit of metal. Twist it wrong, and the ring would pop off, leaving the metal tab in place, and a grown-up would have to get the pliers to finish opening the can...
Summertime always included cook-outs, with everybody's dad standing around the grill with a beer talking about whatever it was the men talked about, everyone's mom in the kitchen talking about whatever it was the women talked about. We didn't know or care about the conversation, really. All was right with the world as long as we were playing in the backyard, catching bugs, and keeping an eye out for the stray pop-top in the grass, waiting to cut the unwary foot.
And I envied my older cousins when they were allowed to have a beer with the adults. They had arrived! I didn't know what kind of mysteries that might now be made known to them, but they were grown-ups. I could hardly wait to be a grown-up, too. I wanted to drink beer.
But the problem is, even after I was old enough to drink, I didn’t like beer. I drank cheap wine, cheap whiskey, cheap gin, cheap vodka, but only fell back on cheap beer when I was broke. Even after I got out of school and had a real job, though, I found out that it was a case of champagne taste and beer budget all the way. In hindsight, that might not have been so bad. At least if you're buying bottles of beer, you don't have to wonder about how long it's been since your glass was washed. With the establishments I could afford on my budget, that was a legitimate worry...
Then my brother went to work for a local brewpub. When he was working, I usually ate and drank cheap or even free, as long as I was drinking their beer – and telling other patrons how good it was. But it’s not very convincing if you grimace every time you take a drink, so my brother would toss a dash of Chambord into the palest ale on tap so I wouldn’t make faces. In my view, it was a workable compromise.
Eventually, I got curious about the other beers. Luckily, I was with true beer fanatics, who felt it was their mission to enlighten the rest of us. They didn’t mind when I asked questions. Is there really a difference between those beers? Why are they different colors? Why does the porter taste like used motor oil? My gurus patiently answered them all.
More importantly, they encouraged me to taste and compare beers, and therein lies the secret of becoming a beer chick. There are so many varieties that it’s hard to imagine that it would be impossible to find something you like. Many restaurants now feature micro-brews, macro-brews, and local brewers, making it easy to try something new. Most beer bars and brew pubs are glad to let you try a taster glass or two.
Make friends with the bartenders. A good bartender is a fantastic resource; he or she will be able to find out what you like and make suggestions. And good beers are relatively inexpensive. A six-pack is not a budget breaker. If you hate the idea of wasting a beer you don’t like, find some friends and arrange a swap – trading out a few bottles makes it even easier to try something new.
Since discovering the pleasures of beer, you won’t open my refrigerator without finding a six-pack. Or two. I even drink porters and stouts (although there are still some that I think taste like motor oil). But while I’m a micro-brew fan, I’m not a beer snob, happy only with obscure libations. That beer might well be Budweiser, although it could be Boulevard or Flat Tire. But it won’t be Buckhorn.
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