Why It's OK To Hate Fancy Beer

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This article was originally published on The Good Men Project.Remember when there were onlyfive kinds of beer, and they all tasted the same?It’s time to admit it. You hate thebeer you drink today. You know you do. It looks and tastes like a loaf of pumpernickeland has as many calories.Magic such-and-such. Brewed inBrooklyn. Raspberry notes.How’s this for raspberries? Yellow,fizzy and brewed in Milwaukee. I want a beer in a can so cold I have to guzzle it just toget the feeling back in my hand.There was Budweiser and therewas Miller. The King and the High Life. If you lived in the west, there was Coors, whicheasterners thought was for weirdos. And there were second-tier suds like Pabst andSchaefer and Old Milwaukee, followed by whatever cheap-ass swill they brewed in your town. That’s what you’d drink if you were having a party and needed nine cases for under 60 bucks.How Fancy Beer Is Ruining Your Bar Experience

Bartender, what’s on tap?”“Bud. BudLight.”“I’ll have the latter, kind sir. Anddraw one for yourself.”“Thanks, mac! That’ll betwo bucks.”See? Civilized andeconomical. But today, in the age of pricey, twee beers, here’s what we’rereduced to:“Bartender, what’s ontap?”“There’s the list, next toyou.”“This one?”“No, that’s the phone book. The big one there, next toit.”“Ah. Yes. Hmm, I’ll have … uh…”“Hey, pal. You gonna order a beer or yougonna read?”“Uh … Sure! I’ll have… um … What’s this? I’ll have an Atomic Wedgie.”“IPA or Blueberry?”“BlueberryAtomic Wedgie, please.”“Sure. That’ll be ninebucks.”It's OK To Be A Beer Square

Today, you can buy high-end beers that have, like, 6-7% alcoholand taste like turpentine. That used to be called Schlitz Malt Liquor. But at least TheBull was cold. At my neighborhood’s liquor store, strolling past row after row oflukewarm emetics with cutie-pie labels, it dawned on me: I love beer, but I hatethese beers.And so do you. You candeny it all you want, but I’ll never believe you wouldn’t rather shoot poolwith a couple of Pabst Blue Ribbons than with a cedar-spiced holiday ale.My friends think I’m the one who’s nuts. They’ll drink an Indiapale ale from Portland, then a weissen with notes of clove, followed by… on and on. I’m missing out, they’ll tell me. They call me a beer square.Guilty as charged, your honor. If I’m going to get a carbon dioxideheadache, let me get it drinking something that doesn’t require an advanced degree to appreciate. I’ve heard the complaints about beer with no taste. Listen,I’m all for taste. I just don’t want beer that tastes like a filthysock.My taste in beer was formed by commercials in the '70s and'80s. Billy Dee Williams, those Clydesdales at Christmastime -- “tastes great, less filling.” I was too young to drink it. Let me rephrase that; I was too young tobuy it -- but I was already an informed beer consumer.Beer commercials promised that you’d be a cool guy if you drank Miller. If you had thetime, they had the beer. Or that when you said Budweiser, you’d said it all. Andthey didn’t kid themselves about how we drink beer. “The one beer to havewhen you’re having more than one.” And “One beer stands clear -- beerafter beer.” To me, that says styrofoam cooler, two bags of ice and a case ofWiedemann. These commercials were for working men. Guys in hard hats, climbing towers inthe broiling sun “with enough juice at your fingertips to light up the county. Butnow it’s Miller Time.” You worked your ass off, pal. Crack open abeer.How It All Changed Course

Then, at some point, there started to be commercials for weird beers that didn’t come in cans. No cans? How’m I s’posed to sneak THAT into the upper deck? And who’s that guy on that commercial? He’s got a beard! And aturtleneck! What’s he drinkin’? Low-en-what? Getthefuggouttahere with yourLoewenbrau.That was where it began. Beers that had Europeanroots and that smelled like B.O. found their way to America and began the infiltration.You wouldn’t find them at the American Legion Hall or anything, but they becamemore and more common, paving the way for the tidal wave of endless skunky, musky brews wesee today.Look, I’ve lived the lie, too. I told myself Iliked warm pumpkin ale. I’ve drunk flat, black beer and beer with fruit in it. Likeyou, I was afraid to admit I hated it. Standing at a party, a Black Chocolate Stout in hand, I longed for refreshment, for a crisp, cold gulp of Budweiser. Please! Someoneplease bring me a beer!Psssshhhht! Ahhh. The sweet, foamy soundof CO2 escaping from aluminum. The rhythmic ulk, ulk, ulk of emptying half the 12-ouncecan down your gullet. The burn in your nose, the huge, immediate burp. Like I said, ahh.Repeat. Continue Reading

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