So, I stopped drinking, going through one of the most fraught eras in history stone-cold sober, dry but not high. I consulted multiple professionals, took many tests, and still, I remain a medical mystery.
The smallest amount - an ounce of vodka, 2 ounces of organic wine, 6 ounces of moderately low ABV beer - would take me out for the entire next day, putting my head in a vise and my brain in a fog machine that made writing a moderately clever sentence impossible. When COVID-19 locked taprooms up tighter than a drum, I bought my favorites at retail outlets and continued enjoying the liquid gold on my deck through the summer of 2020.īut that fall, inexplicably and overnight, alcohol turned on me.
Relocating to Asheville in 2019, I spent my first year exploring the city’s seemingly endless craft beer options. opened in 2003 - after that, there was no turning back. I only met craft beer once I moved to Nashville when Yazoo Brewing Co.
My relationship with beer continued to evolve with new flavors introduced in every city I lived in: Rolling Rock in Wilmington, Del., where I grew up Miller Lite when I moved to New York City and Lone Star longnecks while visiting my family when they moved to Texas. “It’s ruined!” Alton would declare before tossing it in the garbage.) (God save the child that used one of those glasses for milk. At their Formica kitchen table, while I enjoyed a rare treat of Coca-Cola, they enjoyed Schlitz beer poured into small Pilsner glasses kept in their freezer. My long, and until recently, happy relationship with beer began as a child, Saturday nights at my grandparents’ home in a small blue-collar town south of Philadelphia.
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