I'm no beer nerd, let's just get that out of the way.
I drink it, sure, and like most folks I like it. But I certainly don't drink it in the quantities I did back in my 20s (which I'm pretty certain is a good thing. And I'm also pretty certain my liver agrees).
Like anyone, I've had good beer times and bad beer times. I remember being 5 or 6 years old, asking my Dad for a taste of his beer, sipping from the pot glass and savouring the bitterness. I remember drinking semi-warm beers at parties when I was 14 or 15, pouring out the "dregs" at the end of each stubby, which in those early drinking days constituted a good quarter of each beer. I remember walking to parties around this time with 3 or 4 stubbies tinkling away in my backpack, aiming to get "happy", not drunk. I remember drinking my older brother's home brew at one of these parties, and hiding the beers in the bushes rather than storing them in the communal fridge so no-one could steal them. I remember holidaying at the beach when I was 15 or 16, forcing down Melbourne Bitters despite the horrible taste. I remember my first hangover at 16, naked on all fours in the bathroom, vomiting into the bottom of the shower.
I kind of remember drinking at university, hazy images of beer bongs and drinking games, and spending most nights at the local where mates behind the bar would give back $6.50 change out of the $7 handed over for a jug. I guess that up until my early 20s nearly every one of the beers I'd drunk came from CUB. No wonder I wasn't too concerned with how they actually tasted.
I remember being stuck at a laundromat with my housemate, early on a Saturday morning, watching our washing spin and spin and spin. At 10am the pub across the road opened, and we ambled over for a game of pool and a cheeky morning beer. I racked 'em up while my housemate grabbed the beers. He came back with a novelty tall glass, half filled with a frothy head.
"What's this?"
"Some German beer. Schofferhoffernoff. Or something."
I took a sip, and blew my mind.
A few years later, I traveled. Got a regular bar stool in a small pub in Edinburgh, not far from where we were living, and watched pints of Belhaven Best settle on the bar. So smooth they were, and warmed my insides like a great big hug. I drank the purist Budvar on tap in the Czech Republic. Drank a beer that smelled like farts in Hungary. Lived on $8 six packs of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale during a month in New York. Ordered a BeerLao after a hot afternoon walk in Vientiane, and was served a dusty beer off the shelf, a glass and a bucket of ice. It was a struggle to reconcile a beer that gets colder as you drink it.
And now? I don't go out much anymore. Two kids under the age of three will do that to you. These days, it's all about quality over quantity, finding great beers to savour. But it's not enough. I want to learn more. Really understand what I'm tasting, understand how that Grimbergen dubbel I drank the other night revealed such beautiful winter spices, and why some IPAs belt me round the head like a wet fish.
So, I'm gonna brew. Create new memories, with beer I create myself. Ease into it, you know, and see where the road takes me.
You can come along if you want, though I don't think I'll be here every day; I get the feeling brewing beer is a patient man's game. But hopefully the writing and photos that I put up here will be like my beer drinking; quality rather than quantity.
