Don't Just Stare At It; Eat It

On September 8th, 2004, I began my employment at a liquor store in West Yarmouth. Adorning the upper-middle shelf of Aisle 5, on its left-hand side (if you're coming from the beer cooler) was a four-pack of beer called Samichlaus Bier. On September 9th, 2004, I became aware of and simultaneously fascinated with this brew.

Prior to my tenure in the industry, I'd always simply thought of beer as just that - beer. Something Uncles drink at barbecues, and which my Auntie Jeannie likes to have a few of with her bologna sandwiches. At the time, if it wasn't the King of Beers, I could scarcely tell it apart from anything else on the shelf. But in my first day working the bottle-redemption center, I'd seen enough beer labels to ascertain that beer is usually about 5% ABV. Which is why, when I spotted the (boldly) printed Alcohol Content of 14 percent, I was intrigued. Then upon glancing down at the price of $21.99+ deposit for FOUR beers... I was really curious. I mean, if Budweiser was the King of Beers, why was a sixer of that only $5.80 plus deposit, and this mystery brew so much more for so much less! It just didn't add up. I shared this sentiment with my friend and co-worker Andrew, whose knowledge of beer was stronger than mine, but who still found Samichlaus intriguing.

Five years and probably two hundred forty-eight thousand beers later, my knowledge and palate have both, at least somewhat, evolved. At least enough to the point where with beers like Dogfish Head's Worldwide Stout and Sam Adams' Utopia in existence, all of a sudden that Samichlaus didn't seem so bizarre. However, in these five years, I had acquired not only a breadth of beer knowledge, but an inordinate amount of bills and debts to pay off. Therefore, I'd be damned before I'd spend $25 bucks on four 11.2 oz bottles of beer. In case you're curious, that means that for every sip I would theoretically take, I could consider myself $0.55 less wealthy.

So for now, I was happy - at least relatively so. With no money yesterday, I still had a few brews in my fridge. Granted, they were all of my last resort leftovers from various mix packs. But I wasn't without beer. All be it some of New York's finest. Can't knock Genesee though - remember how Samichlaus is about $0.55 per sip? I ran some calculations of Genesee, and right now it's about $0.55 per can. Even if it tasted like piss, it'd be a fair consideration for quaffing.

Yes, I was satisfied with my cheapies.

Yesterday, however, upon casually noticing at work that the shelf-talker I'd put up for Samichlaus was off-center, and after re-adjusting it, I stared at the four-pack. When was I... or rather, was I ever going to try Samichlaus? Or was it going to be an elusive concept until the end of my days? But as quickly as that terrifying thought swept my conscious mind, so too did the consequent revelation: yesterday was November 2nd - Andrew's birthday! A man with whom I'd shared this fascination, and with whom over the course of the years I'd become very close - close enough to live with him, anyway.

And before you ask, we're not that close. I do have a girlfriend.

Knowing the child-like smile I'd be putting on my now 24-year old buddy was almost enough motivation to purchase it for him as a gift. However... knowing his generosity would allow for no other alternative than to share it with me was DEFINITELY ENOUGH MOTIVATION.

Fast forward four hours, twenty-five dollars, and one hasty wrap-job later, Andrew's first words upon opening his gift in front of me were: "Shut the fuck up" - a heart-warming sentiment!! Gleefully, he insisted that we drink some of this malt liquor together, and watch a movie I'd never seen before called American Psycho.

Now, if you've never seen this film before, then you're probably not thinking much at this point. However, if you have, then you're most likely realizing what I eventually knew - a highly alcoholic beverage mixed with such a bizarre, high-octane movie, creates a mood almost as insane as the tone of that film. After my first glass and a half, I found myself feeling capable of performing what Patrick Bateman did in the following clip.





Patrick Bateman, despite his faults, did have a few pearls of wisdom, not counting his knowledge of Whitney Houston tracks. During one scene, he encourages a prostitute he dubs Christy to bend over, so that the other prostitute he calls Sabrina might "See her asshole". There was a brief period of time where Sabrina stares at Christy's nether-regions, clearly very unsure about the next step. After his seemingly mundane diatribe, Bateman asserts possibly his greatest line in the film:

"Sabrina, don't just stare at it; eat it!"

After my laughter and mild applause, it occurred to me that I could make a very fitting metaphor with this scenario and apply it to my experiences with Samichlaus.

I can consider myself, obviously, to be Sabrina. Samichlaus Bier would be, in this case, Christy's asshole.

Now although sometimes a decision is hard to make, sometimes you've got to make it. Expensive though it may be, monetarily or otherwise, it's got to be done. Otherwise you just go your whole life staring at it, wondering what it might taste like. And the only way to know for sure is to submit to Patrick Bateman's goading.

Which is why I can proudly say - I have tasted the asshole, and it is good.

Like some men can say proudly, "I am a man of God", I can with equal zeal say "I am a man of Whiskey." My love for whiskey - bourbon in particular - is perhaps the only reason why the alcoholic "burn" of this malt liquor didn't singe my tonsils. Upon opening the bottle, the smell does tend to pervade the nostrils. It, to some extent, masks any trace of malt, hops... anything reminiscent of beer. But upon closer inspection, I tended to detect something dark and sinister, yet oddly soothing in the bouquet. How appropriate that we cracked this open while watching American Psycho? Perhaps that's where I draw my sinister thoughts from. Or perhaps it's from the deeply black bottle, with a simple black label, void of much decoration aside from the silver lettering and the boldly stated ABV. It's taste is as dark, if not darker, than the odor. Like some dark, fruity licorice that's been in the microwave for eleven seconds, then in the freezer for five. It is good - as good as I expected - and dangerously so. Despite its intoxicating factors, it is as smooth as the Genesee I'd been drinking prior, and less astringent. Tempted though I was to quaff this, its alcohol content and its cost prevented me from doing so. One glass lasted me a two-hour long movie. I suspect that when I buy my own four-pack someday, I will keep it for a few years, just to see what happens.

The Spam of Craft Beers? Well, When in Rome...

I did pretty well on the SATs. Overall, I scored a total of 1240. My math prowess was extraordinarily underwhelming, and in fact I'm quite surprised it even entered the triple-digit realm. However, my verbal skills were something else, apparently, having ushered my overall score up over the realm of failure to which it would surely have been doomed had I not scored so well. Which is why I'm fairly confident that the following example of an analogy is entirely correct.

Me : Maintaining Personal Finances

General Custer : The Battle of Little Bighorn


Now while my legacy won't be to go down in a barrage of arrows in one of the greatest blunders in history, it will not far too short of that mark should I persist in my ways. Currently, I have an allotted monthly budget of... oh wait, I don't know. I haven't taken the time to figure out my monthly salary, minus my monthly bills. That's right folks - I wing it every month! And until now, that has been a good policy. But with a current net worth of -$180.00 as of eleven o' clock this morning, I do believe my financial strategy has encountered a hiccup.

Which is why I spent fifteen dollars I did not have today on a twelve pack of Butternuts Beer & Ale.

Their presentation is what has been torturing me to purchase their product for months. When first the product arrived in my store, I thought to myself: "Now what sort of boxed wine is this?". Because surely, with its pastel blue coloring and Ode to Agriculture attitude, I thought surely that this had to have been wine. But when the truck driver haphazardly dropped the two cases onto his hand-truck, that tell-tale clatter of aluminum awoke that beast not-so-deep within me that seeks out any sound related to beer.

Upon further inspection, I discovered that not only was this adorably decorated box filled with beer, but - at least ostensibly - with beer that had gone beyond the macro adjunct lagers that are usually housed in aluminum. There are four different styles in the variety pack; the Moo Thunder Stout, Snapperhead IPA, Porkslap Pale Ale, & Heinnieweisse Weissebier, which is a Hefeweizen.

My hop-murdered palate, its Stockholm Syndrome acting up, proceeded to eyeball the fish on the (it's still weird to say it) can of IPA really caught my attention. I thought to myself: "Someday, these cans shall adorn my fridge!"

My co-workers and friends' first instinct upon exposure to these beers were that it was, quote, "The Spam of Craft Beers!"

Well, this afternoon, with the knowledge that I had enough money so that if someone gave me two crisp one hundred dollar bills, I would have twenty dollars, I was inspired. When man is broke, man often makes sacrifices in their various luxuries in order that they might save money. And one such spending sacrifice is one that my nana had taught us all as children; when you earn pittance, don't eat ham; eat Spam.

Unfortunately, I had devised my own interpretation of this septuagenarian's motto. I decided to apply the principals of my Financial Plan, and spend $15 of the $40 I have to carry me over the next two weeks on this 12-pack, and drown myself not only in debt but in Butternuts: The Spam of Craft Beer!

In front of me me, perspiring on a stack of envelopes containing unpaid bills, is a cool can of Butternuts' Moo Thunder Stout. With an approximate ABV of 4.9%, Butternuts has already convinced me of their Outside the Box view of beer, as Stouts are traditionally somewhere in the ballpark of 7% ABV - nothing Thunderous about the punch behind this. However, what it lacks in drunkability, it makes up for in its subtle yet ever-present flavor, filled with rich malt character, reminiscent of a slightly more masculine Mendocino Black Hawk Stout. I have not given myself the luxury of a glass to observe this beer's appearance, nor does my 20/100 vision and colorblindness really grant me the luxury of providing you an accurate description. I must say, however, that to see a dark residual spill of stout building up in the rim on top of the can is a curious sight.