Sure I love wine, actually I think because I’m Italian the blood coursing through my veins is part wine. But I have a soft spot for beer, and some of my happiest memories are intrinsically tied to the hoppy delight.
As a kid I remember taking my Dad long necks, he’d twist the cap off, lick the lid and stick it on my forehead. I thought this was hilarious and it became my new favourite game (much to the liking of my Pa). When I was 16 he gave me my first bottle cap of beer, and in my late teens after I’d finished my sugary alcopop bender, he took me out to get my first schooey at the local RSL.
Dad did pretty well to raise four girls all avid beer drinkers, at one time or another we’ve all tried to go toe to toe with our old man, and ended up absolutely wiped.
Once, after experiencing a taxing break up Dad took me out to cheer me up. I went schooner to schooner with him and drank 11 beers in total. The beer and Pa led me through an intense purgation of emotions, I was a blubbering incoherent mess. Exhausted from my apparent catharsis and unable to operate basic motor skills I made Dad carry me home. My arms strewn around his neck, head against his chest, I felt warm and content as I listened to his heartbeat. We walked down the deserted Bathurst streets lit by moonlight, and he told me he never liked that guy and things were going to be OK.
The next day I felt fine.
One of my first dates with Ollie entailed heading to his house to brew beer together. I was really excited when I found out my prospective bf shared my passion for beer and could provide an unlimited, free flow of the golden goodness. Our friend beer was there to help ease our nerves and alleviate any awkwardness. Ollie showed me through the artisan process, we talked about hop varietals, looked at different grains, and slowly got to know each other. Again, I found beer at the forefront of an emotional turning point in my life.
Beer is also kinder to me the next day, and imparts a far less heinous hangover than wine. Wine gives me acid reflux nasties, that bubble and burn their way from my gut to my throat. Beer hangovers just lead to bacon.
There are a couple of drawbacks to my love affair with beer. It’s expensive drinking beer in Sydney. Some muppet tried to charge me $10 for Pabst Blue Ribbon the other day. What you hipsters think because it was referenced in a David Lynch movie, that’s acceptable? It ain’t.
Also, since moving in with Ollie and having a homebrew set up/unlimited beer, I’ve developed a keg of my own which resides under my boobs. Beers fattening, but what alcohol isn’t? Someone told me once one schooner contains the same amount of calories as a sausage roll, I stopped talking to that person.
I love you beer.