I only started drinking beer at University. Earlier it was Marque Spew at $6 a bottle and, if I was feeling fancy, Chandon.
But when I got to University it was all jugs of Canterbury Draught on Fridays at the Student Union and who was I to say no. One was a virtual Dorklander if you didn’t, so I threw my stomach lining to the wind and clinked plastic with my fellow liberal lefties who were going to change the world.
(One of my friends was going to be a lawyer for Greenpeace. The fact she ended up working for Shell succinctly sums up many an idealistic student’s life trajectory.)
I did have to work at my fondness for beer, initially it reminded me of a cross between vegemite, honey and socks, but just like a trainee porn star I closed my eyes and swallowed, and eventually got a taste for it.
I did not, however, have a yard glass at my 21st. I had seen some charmers throw up into theirs and still finish it, which strangely didn’t endear to me the concept. Also call me crazy but I wanted to conclude with fond memories and nice serving platters, not waking up with someone called Spike whose name is tattooed on me.
I’d say the pinnacle of my beer drinking was in 1997 when I visited the Amsterdam Heineken Brewery Tour. I had worked up a thirst watching a live sex show (I’ve never looked at bananas the same since), and getting stoned twice, so off I trooped to the factory. It only cost a few gilders which went straight to the Red Cross and after the tour you got 45 minutes to drink as much as you could. I managed a few beers but was amazed at the boys around me who could give porn stars a run for their money for open-throating.
I remember nothing of the relatively boring tour itself, BUT I do remember the beerhall afterwards having the best 21st Party type atmosphere ever. After all we were all rosy in the knowledge we were getting pissed for charity… and what better reason than that.