I like beer. I like it the way I remember it: foamy, beer-smelling, and cold. I remember tasting it for the first time with my slightly older uncles in a dry county in North Carolina. It was shockingly unlike root beer. This was almost 60 years ago, and I believe we were drinking Budweiser opened with a “church key”, beer that was hidden in a mountain spring to keep it cool. It was just a fun kid thing to do in the summer as young teenagers.I never really drank alcohol as a habit. I used to like beer with pizza and chicken wings, two things I no longer eat. I’ve drunk beer with coworkers after work to be sociable, and I’ve drunk beer while listening to troubled friends or celebrating milestones. I usually “nursed” my one beer during these times, but I always joined in.Once, I was working for a very German company. While out after work with my German coworkers, I was asked what I wanted to drink.“I guess a Budweiser,” I replied.My German friend said no and ordered me a Warsteiner instead. “See that sign for Budweiser?” my friend asked, pointing across the room. “It says ‘King of Beers.’ Now, look at your Warsteiner. It says ‘Eine Königin unter den Bieren,’ a Queen among beers.” My friend smiled. “Would you rather put your lips on the King, or on the Queen?”I fully stressed my druthers for the Queen right then and there.These days, I just like to get a PBR, plain-old, watery, foamy American beer. I am not impressed by IPAs, or hoppy, wheat, and craft beers. To me, it is just pricey nonsense. I want my beer cold, like it has been hid in a mountain spring during summer vacation. I want it to taste and smell like old memories squeaking in a styrofoam cooler.
