You might remember we started the Cheers! North County year off with some beer resolutions, including this one:
Drink Less Beer, but Drink Better Beer: That’s better. I drink a lot of beer, and, frankly, I don’t always really enjoy it. Sometimes I drink beer just because it is there. Sometimes I drink it while doing other things. I crack the can. Enjoy that first sip, and then all of a sudden, it is gone.
In 2022, I plan to make time to appreciate more than just that first sip. Brewers are craftspeople, and I resolve to treat their creations with the respect they deserve from start to finish. I may end up drinking less beer as I take more time to appreciate the good stuff* and that’s okay.
I’ve been doing a pretty good job living up to this. When the sun is out, I take a can of local craft picked up from one of our fine breweries or local beverage shops out of the fridge and head out onto the patio. I turn on some music (think Willie Nelson, Ray Charles or both). I listen to the crack-pfft that occurs when I open the can. I soak in the aroma: sticky hops or sweet malt.
This is about the moment when I negotiate with the dog. He is trying to figure out why I’m paying so much more attention to my can of beer than him. After a few pats and scratches, I lift the can to my lips and take a healthy first swig. I spread the beer across my tongue and let the flavors fill my mouth before swallowing. I let myself enjoy the heat of the sun, the flavor of the beer, and the sound of the hummingbirds fighting for sugar.
Except when I don’t because the beer isn’t good. Now what?
This past weekend I was confronted by that very conundrum. It doesn’t often happen when drinking San Diego, but the beer was not good. It wasn’t afflicted by common off-flavors caused during the brewing process. It wasn’t due to freshness — both beers were brewed less than 30 days prior — and it wasn’t lightstruck or skunky.
It was just bad. Now, I have acknowledged many times that what I might enjoy and what you might enjoy may not be the same, but generally speaking, I can tell if a beer is well-made and or of a high caliber that just isn’t for me. This beer was neither. It was a West Coast-style IPA like none I have ever tasted.
After taking that first (typically glorious) first swig, I was left trying to decide if I really wanted to take another. I did because I believe in second chances. The second drink was worse than the first. These were the beers that I pulled from the cooler after reading labels, comparing styles, and trying to decide if I should try something new or follow through on another beer resolution to drink a repeat beer. Now what? What would you do?
I decided to add my list of beer resolutions. The newest 2022 beer resolution is:
Dump It Out: If I am not enjoying a beer, I’ll dump it out. We only get so many beers in a lifetime. I’m committed to enjoying the time I spend drinking a beer, and I don’t want to create negative neural pathways that discourage me from drinking other craft beers. That’s science. I think. I’m not a scientist.
I took what remained of the tallboy can back into the house, walked to the sink, and flipped it upside down over the drain. The 22-year old version of me would have been horrified. It hurt a little bit, but it also felt liberating. No longer will the compulsive side of my brain obligate me to finish a beer just because I’ve opened the can.
After crushing the can, I opened the fridge to discover another problem. I was out of beer. Luckily, there was a bottle of sweet vermouth in the door, and I keep a bottle of Pacific Coast Spirits White Rye Whiskey on the liquor cabinet.
I settled down onto the patio lounger. The sun was just beginning to head towards the horizon. The ice in my Manhattan made a lovely clinking sound in time with Willie, and the dog rested his head on my knee.
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