Grin and Beer It
Idon’t know much about beer. I learned the beer minimum back in bartending school a zillion years ago and, in those days, I could pour a mean pint. But I still can’t tell my lager from my lambic, don’t know the difference between mash and malt and couldn’t say if an ale is pale, red, amber, brown, cream, old or India. (Our beer guide article helps explain some of the many beer types and terms.)
What I do know about beer is that it was forbidden to drink it in Iceland until 1989. The Czech Republic drinks the most beer of any country. And in Austria, there’s a beer-filled pool you can swim in. My beer knowledge is the sort picked up at trivia games somewhere. (Read our article about playing trivia.)
It might seem odd to admit under these circumstances, but I don’t actually drink the sacred liquid. I’ll happily sip on beer’s cousins, like ciders or a nice Mike’s Hard Lemonade, but I just never had a taste for the ol’ brewski. To me, it’s too bitter. But then, my bitterness-detector works overtime. I blame my parents for that — bitter sensitivity is a genetic trait. (But my folks also gave me a good sense of direction and strong shoulders, so it all evens out.)
Besides, many people like it bitter. Everyone is hopping up their beer with hops, going for that high bitterness level, or IBU (see, I’m learning the lingo), but I’ve always gravitated more toward wine or sweet and girly cocktails. (We’ve got an article about what to drink when you don’t want to drink beer, and another article for those who don’t want to drink at all.)
After working on this issue, I have a newfound, major respect for beer — there are so many flavor profiles and nuances and variations, and there’s so much that goes into bringing a brew all the way to the bottle or tap. (Our article on breweries and brewmasters looks at beer-making and the people behind it.)
Whether you’re a beer connoisseur or a sometime-sipper, or if you just appreciate it from a distance like I do, there’s something in these pages for you. Cheers to beer!