BE OF GOOD BEER

I’ve previously mentioned that a decade ago my wife created the joyous happy Hanukah Beer Monkey, who proudly presents me with a different delicious brew each of that holiday’s eight nights. Well this past December, while she was busy trapsing all over Hawaii on a vacation without me, my wife also indulged me with another set of delicious gifts called the ‘12 Beers Of Christmas’.  Before leaving, she had prepared a dozen different individually wrapped holiday brews, one for each day counting down to the 25th.  Feel free to sing the famed 12 Days carol using Christmas ale names in lieu of the usual ‘golden rings, calling birds, French hens and Partridge Family’s pear tree…’ I know I did.      

She also left a nightly scavenger hunt bag of goodies, each hidden around the house too. No, it was not just guilt about going on the near two-week trip without me, she actually is that sweet all the time.  The treats were fun, but the 12 different unique specialty beers were definitely the (Christmas) star of the show. One particularly unusual one was a thick spicey stout called Prairie Artisan Ales Christmas Bomb which tasted a bit like a dense loaf of pumpernickel bread baked with copious amounts of clove, nutmeg, cinnamon, and cherries.  The beer was filling and delicious but what really got my attention was the label which featured two very similar ‘can you spot the 11 differences’ Santa illustrations, like the ones you might find in the old Sunday paper funnies or Highlights magazine (if there were only a Goofus and Galant beer).   

I don’t mean to sound like a drunken sot or a lush, but obviously I like beer. Sure, the mood modifying effects of the alcohol are a nice fringe benefit, but versus some folks who just chug for a buzz, I actually enjoy slowly savoring the taste of a good brew.  I certainly do not feel the need to drink all the time though.  Like lately I’ve been dieting so I have not had a beer, or any alcohol, since I finished those gift ones back around New Years.  

Yet that long empty bottle of Prairie Artisan Christmas Bomb is still sitting tucked in a far kitchen counter corner halfway behind my espresso machine. I told my wife I was holding onto it till I finished the puzzle. The truth is though, it makes me smile whenever it catches my eye, so it might take a while to get that done (wink wink). The amusing bottle not only reminds me of how lucky I am to have such a thoughtful wife (she does not even like beer), but it’s been triggering other beer-related memories too.    

Years ago, I was in a Los Angeles grocery store shopping for liquid refreshments with my buddy Charlie when we spotted a case of Lucky Lager. Before we met our respective wives, he and I spent a lot of goofy bachelor times together…which often involved beer. That particular trip was memorable because we were both on the cusp of life altering events. We knew our worlds were changing, but they hadn’t quite yet.   

In the era long before I personally was buying beer, when locally brewed regional brands ruled the marketplace, Lucky Lager was a beloved top seller in California. By the time we had spotted it that night, it’s shine had long since been replaced by better advertised corporate national beers and trendy microbrew craft concoctions.  It was now a castoff forgotten brand being brewed in Canada alongside of Budweiser, by the conglomerate that bought out the original owners. Having lost its niche, it had been reduced to being the low-end generic store brand at the unrelated chain of Lucky Supermarkets.    

Frankly, as an East Coaster that grew up with the cheesy jingles for Shaefer, Rheingold, and Schlitz echoing in his juvenile skull, I only knew of the Lucky brand because a shady character in the 1993 movie Kalifornia swore by it. (“Is it just me, or did this trip go downhill since we ran out of Lucky Lager?”) Even though it was a sub-average beer at best, a group of us indulged in mass quantities of it that week because we all got hooked on the rebus puzzle that was under each bottle cap. Being a childhood fan of the quiz show Concentration, I was pretty good at them… even after emptying the contents of the bottles.  I guess because of the puzzle, that Christmas beer on my counter constantly reminds me of Lucky Lager (“This ain’t Lucky Lager!!!!”).  

My oldest brother Sam has never been much of a drinker, but while visiting him during the summer after I graduated High School, we went to backyard picnic. The folks had a keg of beer set up and I recall my brother teaching me how to properly get the perfect cup of beer out of it. He told me that ‘I would need to know how to use one since I was about to start college.’ He was right and he saved me from yet again embarrassing myself around beer, like the first  two times I was ever handed a can of beer to drink.    

I did not really have much choice about joining the Boy Scouts. With my three older brothers having all been members (two of which became Eagle Scouts, the highest possible rank) and my dad being one of the local troop’s leaders (later being awarded the distinguished Silver Beaver Award – the 2nd highest lifetime honor possible), it was a foregone conclusion that I would join. No one ever considered asking me if I wanted to. Not that it mattered, my obvious negative answer would have been ignored.   

To say I flourished in the Scouts, would be a gross exaggeration. Yet, under the steely eye of hindsight and self-introspection, the forced shove out of my self-imposed comfort zone was definitely beneficial. But at first it sure was not easy.  I was only 10 when I joined and almost all of the other kids in the Troop were 15 and older. I guess if you liked constantly being teased, shoved, punched, or having a dodgeball repeatedly slammed into your head, it was a great experience. Luckily after the first three years, when all the older kids were finally gone, I shifted from being the butt of everyone’s jokes to being the more experienced butt-er making the jokes.  Unfortunately, that did not last long because I moved out of state when I was 15 and had no desire to start over elsewhere. 

During our Troop’s two-week summer camping trip when I was 12, a few of the older Scouts snuck into town one night. They bought a case of Schaffer beer and hung out with some local girls. The next day they called me over to their lean-to.  I knew by their suddenly friendly demeanor towards me, that I was being set up again, but I had learned the hard way that there was not much I could do about it but brace myself.    

They invited me into the camp-site open-front wooden structure and asked if I wanted a can of Schaefer. Not that I let them know, but it was my first beer… EVER. To try and fit in, I casually replied “sure”, like this was an everyday experience.  They told me about the night before and said one of the girls had a younger cousin visiting that could not wait “to hook up with me”.  I didn’t really believe them, but more importantly, I worried what if they were NOT lying. I had never kissed or dated a girl yet, but again, I did not let them know. Although, it likely was obvious. Luckily, I was too busy trying to choke down the beer to show my fear about ‘hooking up’ with a girl for the first time… in front of everybody else no less.  

I tried to nonchalantly sip my beer, but it tasted terrible. And frankly, since I did not open it, I did not trust that they did not put something in it. I sat on the front step of the lean-to with my feet in the dirt and after every fake sip, I acted like I was putting the beer down on the ground but actually I was slowly splashing the liquid out of the can and sliding dirt on top of the small puddles with my foot. Far more went into the ground than my belly.

They kept prodding me to join them, and knowing there was no way out, I finally agreed.  Later that day we all slipped out of camp to spend time with the girls under the nearby bridge that headed into town. For the next two hours they all had a good laugh at both the cousin and my expense. It was blatantly obvious my disagreeable date “that was dying to meet me” was equally pressured and set up too.

She absolutely did not want to be there and had even less desire to be anywhere near dorky Dan. The descriptions we were both given of each other were obviously 99% fiction. There was lots of whispering and giggling as everyone else watched the two of us uncomfortably squirm through the situation. Worse yet, this time there was no place for me to surreptitiously dispose of my unwanted second beer of my life. You would think after those two bad beer experiences I would have been done with the stuff for good.

I don’t recall exactly when I acquired a taste for beer or grew finicky about which brand I consumed. I occasionally drank some in High School but never to stupid excess. My first week at college my buddy Mike and I went to some eye-opening beer-soaked Animal House-esque frat parties, but that was never my scene. I was more comfortable with the rituals of the old New York neighborhood German pubs where the locals would sit down and put a five-dollar bill on the bar in front of them. Then for the rest of the evening the grizzled bartender would slowly serve them a steady stream of 25cent small glasses of draft, deducting payment for each one from the money on the counter. I’ve always thought of beer as a social beverage and appreciated a quiet pub over a loud club. 

This morning while making coffee, that empty bottle caught my eye. I suddenly remembered how I finally felt like a grown-up when my Dad started asking me if I wanted a beer with him when we all went out for dinner. It was such a big deal the first time. My folks were visiting me in college, and they took Mike and I out to Steak And Ale. It almost made up for the margaritas Mike’s folks let us get tipsy drinking at Ciscos Cantina a few weeks earlier.  

I hope my wife does not get tired of that Prairie Artisan Ales Christmas Bomb bottle with the puzzle, sitting on the counter.  As long as it keeps stirring up these old memories, it might live there all the way through summer… you know… till I get the puzzle done.

CLICK TO HEAR SCHEAFER BEER AD FROM 1973