Cheers!

My first drink, I'm pretty sure, was from my older cousin.  A grown-up, he was visiting and I charmed a sip of his screwdriver.  Yummy!  That sloe gin!  Much later, my brothers and I discovered that my father's bar had things like blackberry brandy, Cointreau, Galiano.  I grew bolder, incredibly tall, and--showing my age, here!--since the drinking age in Iowa was only 19 at the time, I managed to walk into most gas stations and buy my own beer.  Sometimes I managed Mad Dog  or Boones Farm.

It's not that I liked it.  Budweiser, the drink of choice for my age-group, tasted terrible.  (Honestly, I still think it tastes terrible!)  And cheap wine...well, the sugar I added to my glass to help me finish it didn't help at all!  I remember cringing in college whenever someone yelled "Kegger!"  I just knew it was going to be awful.

I feel lucky, now, that I didn't start really enjoying alcohol until I was out of college and living in the Pacific Northwest.  Microbrews!  I started with a small local brewery that used blueberries and apricots.  Yum!  I found Hefeweisen, and then learned how to say it...By the time I left for cooking school, I had established preferences for ambers and stouts, been initiated by Guiness, and collected three different sets of beer glasses:  pilsner, lager, stout. 

In France, I met a Belgian student who drank beer like water, and not just any beer.  Belgium is the Mother of Beer.  (And fries!)  Forget Stella Artois.  He passed me bottle after bottle of lambic, chimay, cider while we waxed philosophic on cooking, running, biking, life. 

I know beer has a reputation:  puking college kids, redneck tailgaters, beerbellies and beer bongs.  That's not my beer.  I don't chug.  I don't guzzle.  If I drink two in a night, I'm surprised.  The beer I buy doesn't come in twelve packs. (The great ones are often only four to a pack!) It never appears in a can.  I pass by the stacks of Bud and Miller that line the grocery shelves.  I find myself making trips to beverage specialty stores to find something obscure, small, personal.  My motto has become "Drink Artisan."

I know beer is not for everyone.  (If this is you, I encourage you to try a Belgian lambic.  Start with cranberry.)  I know the Big Three (Budweiser, Miller, Coors) have taken this ancient art form and created a shadow of beer's former self.  I know there are passionate people who resent this and spend their time and money creating beer as art.

A great beer can change a meal, enhance a gathering, bring closure to a bad day. Beer is the perfect partner to bratwurst, anything Mexican, smoked and grilled dishes. A beer is a remedy for a hot day.  You can't visit the ball park without a beer, scoop up chili without also lifting that beer mug, manage hot wings or 3-star Phad Thai without a great lager. 

Equally important, an artisan beer represents the struggle of David vs. Goliath, quality over quantity, the Little Man against Corporate America. Choosing microbrews supports someone's small business, someone's passion, someone's family.   With every bottle of Dogfish (Check this guy out!  He's amazing!), every glass of Pyramid, every sip of Red Trolley (local!  Love it!), I get to walk my talk.  Fight the Good Fight:  Drink Artisan!