I was the rare high school student who literally never had even one drop of alcohol. I’m talking nothing. No beer with friends, no quick swig from a bottle of vodka, not even a taste of Purple Passion. Nothing.I didn’t start drinking until I turned twenty-one, and even then I didn’t really like the taste of beer. I drank it from time-to-time, but mostly I shied away from it.Then, before we got married, my wife and I were at our favorite pizza place in Michigan, and we ordered a pitcher of Miller Lite. Something changed in my brain that day and the Miller Lite tasted good.From then on Miller Lite and I became friends. We shared some good times, good food and good memories. All was well. I didn’t even spend any time going back and forth in the never-ending “Tastes Great, Less Filling” fight. Both were fine to me, so why choose?And then a few months back, I opened up a bottle of Miller Lite. I wanted a beer, it was cold, and I put the bottle to my lips expecting a little taste of pleasure.But it tasted gross.What? Gross? That’s not right. Miller Lite’s not supposed to taste gross. I mean we’d been friends for more than a decade. In my beer cap collection Miller Lite reigns supreme. I liked it so much I even cut them a break when they insulted my intelligence by trying to tell me that some grooves in the neck of their bottle created a vortex that made the beer pour and taste better.But taste buds don’t lie.In the past few months I’ve come to the conclusion that Miller Lite no longer tastes great because I’ve become a beer snob.I’m not happy about this. Snobbery has always been repulsive to me, and becoming a pretentious beer drinker makes me almost as sick as cheap beer. In the not-too-distant past I would have rolled my eyes if someone said they didn’t like to drink mass-produced beer.That’s where I am now though.When my wife and I talk about drinking beer, we talk about things that I’d never even thought of before, and use words that I never even knew before. Actually, I’m not even sure I know what they mean now, but I act like I do!Hoppy, stout, porter, ales, ambers, IPA, wheat. Whatever. I drink it, and if I like it, I drink it some more. Unfortunately, lately I’ve discovered that I’m more likely to want some more of it if it’s an expensive craft beer with a whimsical, or tough, or ironic name that has nothing to do with beer.I’m not going to be a jerk about this though. I mean if I come to your house and you offer me a beer and all you have is Miller Lite, or Coors, or even Pabst Blue Ribbon, I’m not going to turn my nose and say, “I’m sorry m’lord, I don’t drink that commoner beer.”I’ll pop off that cap and drink it down. No need to worry.And the maddening thing about this is that if I ate food that had the same bitterness that I enjoy so much in some beer, I’d spit it out and think someone was trying to poison me. Bitter is bad. That’s what I’ve thought my entire life.And now all of the sudden I’m asking for bitterness in my beer? Oh, and while you’re at it throw in a hint of cinnamon, pasilla chiles and cloves, too. That doesn’t even sound good. It probably is though. And sure, I’ll pay three times the cost of Miller Lite for that weird beer concoction.Let’s not get carried away though. Yeah, I like fancy beer, and yeah, I’ve turned my back on Miller Lite, but it’s just beer. It’s not life or death. The only thing more annoying than someone who’s pretentious about their beer is someone who’s super pretentious about their beer.So if you ever hear me refuse to drink a beer because the hops weren’t grown in the right state, or the color appeared a shade off, or it wasn’t served in the right glass, then please, pour a beer over my head.I’ll deserve it.+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Don't be a Blog Snob. Like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes right now! Please.
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