Beer Week: The How to the Why
After my last post, you know why I started boozing. Now, you'll find out how.
Growing up in the rough & tumble suburbs of Albany, NY, where every day's a struggle, we found ourselves buying 40-ouncers from some run-down foreign-run convenience store at the intersection of Drive By Boulevard and Gangsta Way. Well, truth be told I don't know the exact intersection, but you get the idea. Maybe a little crazy to have 6 kids who haven't shaved yet packed in to a station wagon, but the point was clear -- this was beer and this was cheap.
The strangest and most disagreeable brew I've had was a particular brand of malt liquor called, "Phat Boy." I've never seen this since, so it must have been like the unknown beverage foray between Coca-Cola and Snoop Dogg or something.
Even though nobody really likes the taste of beer, we learned to like it based on it's effectiveness at turning us into brainless drooling idiots. Maybe that's some sort of psychological thing, like beer really tastes awful but as a planet we'll never know because our brains keep telling us to drink up. What do they call that? Something about "diction?"
I had an advantage during my freshman year of college. I had a headstart. Most of these preppy New England brats (I went to Providence College for that year) had no clue how to sip, chug, funnel... I mean, they couldn't even puke right. It became a stumbling block for me since I was constantly wondering who I'm going to have to sneak out of the ER before Physics tomorrow.
By the 2nd year (now at Union College), it all cut loose. We filled an entire wall of our common room with empty cases of Milwaukee's Best Ice. You might know it by the alias, "Beast." When you think of it, it was the true work of 4 engineering students (which we were, then)-- it's got 10% higher alcohol content at 15% reduced price.
The next year, we moved to high class. The highest class, in fact. The Champagne of Beers. Miller High Life. It stuck with us through that year and into Senior year, where we started adding Saranac into the mix (Saranac is a local brewery with a very very nice selection). In three short years we'd gone from the backwash to the best. Evolution, I call it.
Which all brings me to here, really. My relationship with beer is still young-- we've had our rocky, tumultuous times, along with some really good ones I'll never forget. A few more that I'll never remember, and a bunch that I wish I could forget. But it will grow. The relationship, I mean. It will grow and prosper, as I wait to bear the fruits of it-- baldness, sloth, liver damage, a criminal record, etc., but it'll always be there. I've got scars to prove it.
posted by BJC @ 7:55 PM
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When I went to do my internship in Charlotte, any time there was a drinking contest or anything at the local bar we went to after work; people objected because I was a "ringer" from Georgia Southern.
D
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