Beer

It was in Vail, Colorado, in late Winter of 2001. My first official beer. I was 19, almost 20. We walked into the cabin and, after looking about, Jeanne mentioned the assortment of refreshments we might want to enjoy. "There's some water, an old Sprite here, a Diet Coke there...my Dad's beer." "Hmmm," I thought. "Interesting."

"Can I have a beer?" "Sure!" It was a Fat Tire Ale. I sat on the couch and began to sip. Bitter. Hmmm. I confessed to Jeanne that it was my first, and she nearly fought me to take it back out of some forced sense of guilt. The Damoffs had brought me along on the trip (absent George), paid for everything, which was one of the most generous birthday gifts ever. I sat and enjoyed the beer, trying to finish out of the pure satisfaction of knowing it would officially be my first.

Oh, I had sips, slurps, and smells of my Dad's Coor's, Miller, and Budweiser in my early years... as in elementary school and maybe junior high. I was never really interested and had a strong faith conviction against it. It was meaningful and important that I kept my distance. I even remember going to one particular beer party in junior high, where I fearfully stole and poured out the beer of two friends that I cared about dearly. One, Simon, my cousin, had a heart defect at birth (an upside-down heart), was especially skinny, and was drinking his weight in some cheap beer. I carefully stole about three that were left in some plastic bag behind a door, went out back, and poured them all out. My hope was that it might prevent him from killing himself. Being the irresponsible teen he was being, he ended up puking up blood that night. But no worries, he's a minister to homeless and needy ragamuffins nowadays.

Then there was Rebecca. It was her house. She was one of my best friends, and she had a trunk in her closet in which she had a cleverly stashed collection of varied items, including assorted cigarettes which she had stolen one by one from her mother and assorted beers and wine coolers which she and Lindsey had stolen from their mothers. She was proud to show me her stash and, in particular, a bottle of Zima that she planned on drinking. She stood there smiling, and I took one look at it, grabbed it, and ran. And, I mean ran. She screamed at the top of her lungs at me, "Blake! Blake! Blake! I'm gonna kill you! Give it back! Don't do it! Don't do it!" She knew I wasn't proud of her interests in alcohol. I got away by going through the back yard, around the house, into the car garage, and hiding behind her mother's car. I heard Rebecca come out of the back for a brief moment yelling and then giving up. She went back inside.

I actually sat there for awhile pondering the situation, and, before you know it, I had popped the top off and taken a sip. That's right, I wasn't going to let it go completely to waste without educating myself in my friends' sinful pleasure. But one sip was all I needed or wanted. I poured the rest out in the yard, took the bottle to a trash can, and headed back inside. At some point in the night, I stood outside with Will, who I didn't know as well as I would have liked, and he told me how he was impressed that I was not drinking anything and that he would like to get to know me further. It was one of my proudest moments...although we never got to know each other as well as I would have liked.

Since my experiences in elementary school, junior high, and as a 19 yr. old (almost 20), I have had more experiences with beer. That summer after the trip to Vail, I moved to Waco and lived with my brother and some friends. I learned to appreciate a small glass of Merlot with spaghetti, lasagne, and other pasta dishes, and I had the opportunity to take sips of a variety of Daniel's beers. Daniel also let me listen to a lot of Weezer, Lifehouse, and Coldplay that summer; Coldplay is now probably my favorite band.

But it wasn't until I was 21 that two important things had happened: (1) I had experienced a disconnect from the anxiety-ridden religious convictions that had prevented me from enjoying a beverage with fermented hops, wheat, barley, or grapes; (2) I was finally at that legal juncture when I could feel the freedom from any guilt stemming from my respect for the law and my fear of somehow being mysteriously 'found out' by either my Baptist brethren or the legal authorities. So, particularly after I moved to Seattle that year, I began to enjoy whole bottles and glasses again, the first time since Vail. For the next two or three years, I never drank more than the equivalent of about one bottle of beer or one glass of wine every month. One month, I might have two beers and a glass of wine, but the next two months, I might never encounter a particular reason to do so.

Now, I am 24, married, living in Seattle, and enjoying the fact that I'm just beginning to understand some of the basic distinctions between a lager, an ale, and a hefeweizen. For you who continue to pretend that you 'get it' but really still don't, let me break it down for you really simply: drink lagers with spicy foods, like Mexican or Thai dishes, drink ales with all-American dishes, particularly if they are grilled, like hamburgers, steaks, grilled poultry, or if you're just standing around eating appetizers like cheese and salami at a party. Hefeweizen's are wheat beers derived from Germany, so drink them with anything German, sausages, roasted dishes, baked poultry, if you like, or even with your morning crepes (yes, I know crepes are French; I'm just saying).

The key for you fellas out there (this is where I give you the greatest yet most simplistic advice you'll ever hear) is this. Never drink beer out of habit. Never drink enough beer to give you a light-headed feeling if you're alone, and if you get that far with companions, make sure you stop drinking at that very point (or, of course, earlier). If you're not sure which brands or kinds of beer to drink, don't be an insecure anxious awkward faker; just be genuine. Ask lots of questions. Never drink the national brands unless they end in the word "Select," which means they're trying to offer a version that is more like a micro-brew (a.k.a. finer ingredients, more history, slower, more thoughtful process, better beer masters). Just drink micro-brews when you can. Pair the right beer with the right food, but keep it simple; it's okay to have a handful of favorites and never drink anything else but those. At some point, there is no need to branch out anymore until you have some friends give you a hearty recommendation; otherwise, you're just going to waste good money on a lot of crap.

So, be wise, don't be neurotic, be fun to be around, if you're going to drink, which means don't be an ass or a fake, and stick to the classics. I like Alaskan Amber Ale with salmon and steak, Dos Equis Lager with fajitas, nachos, and other Mexican dishes, Pacifico Lager specifically at El Rancheon restaurant with their tortilla soup, Mac & Jacks with steak, seafood, appetizers, without food, or with just about anything, and Pyramid Hefeweizen with a light seafood meal or any light but flavorful meal. My newest favorite is Red Hook Amber Ale. Corona has a subtle fish oil element that is disturbing unless you're standing on the beaches of Cabo San Lucas or have a ripe lime to hide it. And remember, it's okay to put lime wedges in your beer but only if it's a Mexican lager and, even then, try it first without the lime to test your appreciation for the flavors of the beer. And, for heaven's sake, if you'd prefer the Thomas Kemper Root Beer that is available, don't drink the Budweiser Select just to feel more 'acceptable' to those around you. They don't care.