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Ever notice that beer writers never talk about getting drunk?
You might think, from reading the beer press and online postings by craft beer enthusiasts, that we are indifferent to the mind-altering effects of our chosen beverage. You could be led to believe the pleasure we get from beer comes almost entirely from its color, aroma and flavor. Look up any craft beer online, and you’ll find detailed references to, for example, its “brilliant ruby hue,” its “piney hop aroma,” its “soft mouthfeel” and even its “lace” — the pattern of foam the beer leaves inside the glass. But good luck finding any mention of its buzz-inducing properties. And if the subject of alcohol consumption is actually broached, the conversation safely treads the waters of common sense. A recent discussion thread on BeerAdvocate.com began with someone asking, “Does anyone else feel strange when mentioning their beer habit or having to explain it [e.g. to a doctor]?” Dozens of beer drinkers posted sympathetic responses, saying that they, too, found themselves having to explain or hide their “habit.” The kicker was that a large percentage of these people claimed to consume a modest-sounding “one to three beers a day.” Their ruling sentiment was, “I don’t drink to get drunk.”
Really? Isn’t that kind of like saying, “Sure, I smoke pot, but not to get high?”
I have a hard time believing people who spend a sizable chunk of their time reading or writing about beer are that responsible about their alcohol intake. Even if we assume that by “drunk” the BeerAdvocate contributors meant plowed to the point of passing out, that still leaves a lot of room for behavior that qualifies as “under the influence” but could still be considered acceptable. Like getting tipsy enough to yell loudly at the football game on TV or sing along to “Yellow Submarine” in your friend’s kitchen at 2 a.m. These actions would indicate that you were legally too far under the influence to operate a vehicle, but does that mean they’re undesirable (provided you’re not driving)?
Come to think of it, what does “one to three beers a day” even mean? Always one but never more than three beers a day? Or is it an average range based on weekly consumption, where some days count for zero beers and others count for six? And are we talking one to three 12-oz. bottles of session-strength beer or one to three pints of double IPA? In short, are you a pillar of moderation or kind of a lush?
I drink craft beer, as well as good wine and reputable spirits, because I like the flavor. I also drink these things to get drunk. There, I said it. (But, if “drunk” is really too strong of word for you, please feel free to substitute any of the following words or phrases: “merry,” “jolly,” “pleasantly woozy,” “comfortably numb”). The whole appeal of alcoholic beverages, to me, is that their flavors and effects are bound up together. You can’t have one without the other.
Getting drunk, sorry, “jolly,” is one of the pleasures of being an adult. Sitting around with friends at a bar or a kitchen table, drinking and gabbing — and occasionally singing and dancing — until the wee hours of the morning is my idea of a good time. And I’m guessing that a fair number of the people in that BeerAdvocate forum feel the same way. So why, as long as we’re legal adults, are we afraid of admitting this in public?
Let’s start with the fact that we live in a nanny state. Anyone who doesn’t keep their drinking, smoking or helmetless bicycling under wraps invites scrutiny, even scorn. In such circumstances, it is especially important for people who write about alcoholic beverages to be on their best behavior. It’s bad enough that we’re promoting drink. If we let slip that our well-being improves after a few pops, we might risk a major backlash from neo-Prohibitionists.
Another reason we avoid the topic of drunkenness is that, as beer connoisseurs, we’re still fighting for credibility. We strive to distance ourselves from the average Joe, who guzzles his bland light lager in pursuit of mindless inebriation, not the betterment of his palate. And we’re always having to prove to those snooty wine drinkers that beer is every bit as complex, varied and worthy of writing books about as their beloved fermented grape juice. We’ve come a long way in convincing the public that beer is a respectable beverage for educated, worldly people, and we don’t want to besmirch that image by admitting that we like Belgian tripel because it gives us a kick-ass buzz.
And so we’ve been policed, and have policed ourselves, into a sometimes comically polite way of talking about beer. In the beer writer’s world, alcohol is the proverbial elephant in the room. I’m sorry I had to call attention to the beast, but it’s Friday night and there are several 750 ml bottles of ale chilling in my fridge. Don’t worry, I’ll limit myself to three.
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