Beer #2

I don't drink beer.

It's not as if I am morally opposed to hops, fermentation, or cool drinks. I just don't drink beer.

But then again, I don't refuse to drink beer, either.

So earlier this year, I had a beer with some people I see once or twice a year, because we went out to a bar, and that seems like a place to have a beer, if you're ever going to have one. But I jokingly told my companions that I drink only two beers each year, so they should feel privileged to be around for one of them. (The estimate on the number of beers each year is not the joke. It's about right. The joke is that anyone should feel any special pride about being around for the consumption of one.)

I've now had Beer #2. I'm in England, in Stratford upon Avon in fact, and for dinner last night we ate at a real English pub. So, I felt obligated to eat some batter-fried fish, chips, peas and then accompany it with a beer.

So, is that it? Am I done for the year? Well, honestly, I don't much care for the taste of the stuff, so it could be. On the other hand, I'll be in England a few more days, and the beer I tried was not very English, so I feel a cultural curiosity to try something more traditional. I had something called a Stella, I guess. It seemed quite a bit like what I've had before in the US. Oh, and it was served cold -- I'm told that a true English Pub Beer is warm. So I'm pretty sure I have not had a "real beer" yet.

As we were discussing beer drinking and cigar smoking the night before, someone postulated that most people who drink beer remember the first beer they ever had and remembers not liking the taste. An Irishman in our group said he didn't remember that; he couldn't recall the day of his birth that well. It was pretty funny.