Beer and Pickles

I got several good blog ideas after asking for suggestions on the Facebook page. I’ll definitely cover a few more of them in the future, but I thought I’d start with a subject that is near and dear to my heart. A topic that seems to incite a fairly passionate response from all those who might happen to stumble across its unpredictable and viscous tentacles of discussion (regardless of their age, race, creed, sexual preference, or their unique tastes in antique furniture).

That’s right, you guessed it. I’m talking about beer and pickles.

You see, I’m the type of fella that has never met a beer he didn’t like. In some professional circles they might call this type of fella a borderline functioning-alcoholic, but I personally prefer to call someone with this condition “a habitual seeker of unnecessary adventures”. Beer for me is not simply some frosty beverage that I feel a higher being certainly must have placed on this earth because he wanted to make me happy, but it’s one of the pillars that comprises the very foundation of an entire lifestyle. Beer is the fuel that keeps this somewhat dysfunctional jalopy running lopsided along the shoulder on the road of life, and it’s the dull chisel that has sculpted the pile of Play-Doh in a polyurethane bag that has become my torso. I like to try a bit of everything, but here are a few of my favorites:

Maybe it’s the Midwestern boy in me, but I think an American standard of beer-drinkery that every adult should experience at least once is having entirely too many Pabst Blue Ribbons in one sitting. Regardless of the satanic headache and the possible complete evacuation of the lower intestinal tract that may or may not accompany the experience several hours afterward, pure happiness in a glass or aluminum receptacle can indeed be had for a bargain price. Some of the best and worst times in my life have been caused and/or soothed by Pabst Blue Ribbon. PBR me, ASAP.

Red Stripe is also one of my staples. It’s a Jamaican beer that fills a void for me if I want a beer that isn’t really “light”, but also isn’t so heavy that I feels like I should be chewing on it. I actually remember the first time I tried it. The band I was in at the time was playing in a bar just outside of Madison Wisconsin, and fate had it that a truly epic and God-awful snowstorm hit that afternoon. With the bands complimentary beverages being just about the only good thing that came out of the night night, I decided to try Red Stripe primarily because I liked the look of the bottle. I was hooked. Several years later, I travelled to Jamaica just so I could drink Red Stripe in its country of origin.
(Okay, that’s not really why I went to Jamaica. And I get the impression that Red Stripe might be considered to be “swill’ to a fair percentage of people in Jamaica. But either way, the endless Red Stripe was one of the many lovely things that came along with that trip for me. And it flowed freely and spontaneously, much like the salmon of Capistrano.)

“Skunky”?... Perhaps.
“Good”?... Absolutely.

Man, I don’t have enough time today to cover all the thoughts that have now popped into my head about beer in general. I think I’ll revisit this as time goes on. But one last subject I want to touch on today is “Tequiza”. It might have been a somewhat short-lived liquid scheme originally based on the initial malt-beverage craze that began with Zima, sure. It might have been an ill-fated palette-combination between tequila and beer, sure. But it was unadulterated heaven in my mouth back in the day.
Will I be considered a pansy for listing a “malt beverage” as my favorite beer of all time? Perhaps.
Will I stand behind my choice and buy ‘Tequiza’ if it ever makes a comeback? Absolutely.

Oh yeah, and pickles? They’re okay.

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