Tasty Old Bread
By Johnny Hanuse
A fine beer may be judged with only one sip, but it’s better to be thoroughly sure. – Czech Proverb
I grew up in Squirrel Cove, Cortes Island. There was a boy that lived up the street from me who was a few years older and his name was Steve.
One day when Steve and I were just hanging out thinking of ways to get into mischief and we came up with a grand idea of stealing a beer from his old man’s fridge. We opened up the fridge and there was a half finished 12 pack of beer in there. The Budweiser was gargantuan compared to our hands, but we weren’t afraid to tackle it down as a team. Even though Steve’s father wasn’t home we decided it would be a good idea to hide somewhere where nobody could find us. In the garage storage there were shelves that granted us an easily accessible route to the rafters above the carport. We climbed up and sat on top of the doorframe and positioned our feet soundly on the 2 by 4’s that stretched across the length of the garage. Steve with a mischievous smile asked,
“Alright are you ready?”
I looked at the beer and nervously nodded my head. Steve cracked the top and the foam formed; we both let out a giggle. He took the first sip, it was a small, but his facial expression was not promising.
“What? Was it really gross?” I asked.
“No it’s really good, here try it,” Steve replied.
He passed me the can. I looked down at the beer and spun it gently.
“Look, I did it so that means that you have to do it too.” He said.
“Well okay I guess I’ll have to giver a go.” I said.
I took a sip and it didn’t take long to send alarms screaming to my brain. I didn’t want to projectile vomit beer over everywhere, but that’s exactly what I did. The beer went through the plastic covering and dripped down onto the concrete of the carport making it visible to anybody that would walk by. With the fear of getting caught Steve instantly shouted, “What the hell man? Some one might see us.”
Cringing at the thought of my parents discovering yet another mischievous deed is one thing, but this was far more major than anything we had done before. This sort of mission required the utmost secrecy.
“Hey Johnny I got an idea. Wait here for a sec I’ll be back.”
Steve crawled down the shelves and ran into the house. The Budweiser was sitting next to me. It was staring at me and toying with my psyche. The label was far more professional than any of my favorite soft drinks. I picked the beer up to get a closer look at it. One of the most common adult beverages was right in front of me but it was so alienating to hold it and say that it was my own. I spun the can around in circles again to attempt to get familiar with it. The bitter smell of the beer that I had spat all over the place was beginning to stink. On many evenings I have seen my parents and their friends sit around and have casual beers, but I knew it was something that I shouldn’t be doing unless I was 19.
Steve walked out of the house with a large jar and a spoon in his hand. He opened the door to the storage,
“Here help me with this,” he said.
He passed me the jar I had to lean down as far as I could to reach it. I grasped the top of the jar and carefully lifted it without spilling the dark liquid that was in it. He climbed up the shelves with the spoon in his mouth and sat next to me. He grabbed the Bud and poured roughly half of it into the jar of grape juice; he took the spoon out of his mouth and stirred. He brought the jar to his mouth and took a gulp and let out a big sigh of refreshment. He passed the jar to me and simply said, “Try it.”
I grabbed the jar and took a generous slam. Swishing the liquid back and fourth in my mouth did not make it any easier. It was like swallowing cough medicine but eventually I choked it down. And like a game we passed the jar back and forth taking sips until we got half way through. After that point we decided that it was quitting time. Luckily we didn’t finish the beer or else our climb down the shelves might not have been as easy as we had anticipated.
beer |bi(ə)r|
noun
an alcoholic drink made from yeast-fermented malt flavored with hops : we’ll have three beers | I'm dying for a barley sandwich.
After I take down 8 bottles of beer from the wall,
There are still 92 still left.
Throughout the entirety of it I’ve been making visits to the stall.
The meanings of the mornings are often bereft.
People have had some times never to forget,
Or perhaps not even remembered a trace.
From the seediest to the cleanest it’s deemed legit,
And is enjoyed no matter the place.
Sometimes I’ll dabble in a cup of tea or water,
But come the weekend I’ll take a brew or two
Stout, draught, ale and lager yeah you gotter.
I will say this and I say it true:
Just because I drink during the day light hours
I’m not addicted to it dear,
It don’t exactly make my breath smell like flowers
But I just really really appreciate beer.
The problem with the world is that everybody is a few drinks behind- Humphrey Bogart
After that day Steve and I didn’t touch a beer for a very long time. Eventually, curiosity killed the cat and I ended up not saying “No” to having a beer and in fact over time I welcomed the idea. It’s not that I was peer pressured into drinking a beer; it was simply an experiment that had some side effects such as: habitually going to weekend parties, smoking marijuana and having pre-marital sex. There is this strange feeling inside me that says maybe beer helped me grow up a bit. That might seem completely ludicrous, but maybe for some of us being completely chaotic and irresponsible is one of those check marks that just needs to be checked. I could understand if it’s not because it’s certainly not a pro health choice. Addiction, one of the key contributors of automobile accidents, liver problems and the list goes on.
But as you know, after a few beers people’s emotions loosen up and have more of a liberal outlook to our self-restraining social regularities that can sit like a monkey on our backs. But can also make you look like a fool it you’ve had too many.
You get all of this!
And it also includes a nice little hangover, which is a constant reminder that we have consequences to pay if we have too much fun.
hangover |ˈha ng ˌōvər|
noun
a severe headache or other after effects caused by drinking an excess of alcohol.
On example of having too much fun, which I’m sure some people can agree with me is the first time that I had a beer in pub with my old man. My plane landed in Auckland New Zealand. My parents, Julie and Gil, greeted me and we caught a cab to the hotel. After dropping our belongings by our beds we sat down and after an hour of sharing adventure stories.
“So, you guys are on vacation you must know where a good pub is?” I said.
“Well there is one down the street from our hotel. It’s called the Red Lion of something like that.” Dad said.
“How would you guys like to go for a pint?” I said.
“Are you serious? It’s two ‘o clock in the afternoon.” Mom said.
My dad and I already had our jackets on and were putting our shoes on.
“Later mom, we’ll be at the pub.” I said.
Queen Street was as busy as it always was. My dad and I walked towards the pub.
“So how are things going in Australia?” Dad said.
“Well they are really good. I get to surf all the time with a bunch of new friends of mine.” I said.
“You working?”
“Yeah I’ve been back and forth between a bartending and landscaping. It’s pretty good I get cash in hand.”
“Good.”
The sign read “Red Lion.”
“Ah, this is it boy.” He said.
“Alright let’s go get ourselves a pint.” I said.
The dim lighting made the red walls look quiet compared the bright lights advertising the choice of spirits guarded by the kiwi-accented gentlemen. The Mac’s gold was served into two pints and put onto the bar. The head was a finger and a half in height and barely bowling over the top. The Kiwi-accented man named his price and my old man was reaching for his wallet and he asked, “how much was-“
“No it’s fine, I got this one.” I interrupted and handed the man a 20.
“Alright, I guess I can let this one slide pup.”
Magic must have sped up the clocks because that was probably the fastest 6 or 7 hours that had gone by in my life. Beer is good for you, but also really bad. Drink responsibly.
