This series of posts is dedicated to the many, many six packs, pony kegs and pints that have sauntered into my life at one point or another.
I live in a place where we pay for things with beer. The sudsy goodness hasn’t fully and completely taken the place of currency in the state of Wisconsin, but it’s an imaginable outcome. For now, beer is simply the prime commodity in the congenial barter system that guides most personal transactions, from helping someone move to acquiring some previously prized belonging that’s been relegated to a dusty corner of the garage. Or, as I was happily reminded this past weekend, when borrowing a friend’s cabin for the weekend, the only fee is a well-chosen six pack (or two) left behind in the fridge. Of course, I needed to make sure I sampled the wares, which led me to having my first bottle (or two) of Classic Amber Lager, from the small town brewery that fueled a lot of my collegiate revelry. That long history makes me uniquely ill-equipped to offer an assessment of the beer, weighty nostalgia creating a powerful bias. This weekend, though, far removed from bustling responsibility, it tasted to me like the perfect potable for a lazy summer day by a lovely lake.
Previous entries in this series can be found by clicking on the “Beers I Have Known” tag.