The Occasional Pleasures of Mass Market Lager
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Thailand was my first encounter with tropical heat. It struck me like a wave of water, not least because of the humidity, which gives the sunlight tangible substance. I was twenty years old and my feet had never touched foreign soil before they padded out onto the Bangkok pavement. Around noon my friends and I found ourselves near a street vendor whose wares included Singha Beer, bottles of which glistened with pearly beads of condensation. I recall that beer still, which tasted of adventure and borrowed maturity.
Dipping into my memory files, I can locate scores of times when the flavors of cheap beer were similarly transmuted by company, location, or moment into vividly pleasurable experiences. There were more foreign encounters: Kingfisher on the ancient city wall of Jaisalmer in Rajasthan, India, clear bottles of Soberana next to turquoise waters in Panama, Mahou (?) with Pinxtos in the Basque city of San Sebastián. But many also happened close to home.
How about that first taste of beer, sipped from my father’s can of Coors, when I was six? Or the cans we have continued to share over the past thirty-odd years, as he cycled through different favorites? There was the time when two students from Korea who lived in my dorm brought back and prepared an amazing fish feast complete with a flat of locally-made Heidelberg (RIP) in stubby 11-ounce bottles. For a time during my early 20s we drank enough Hamm’s that one old friend and I still buy it from time to time when we gather for Blazer games. Later, in graduate school, I learned how Leinenkugel united Badger fans, and taught some arty types how to play quarters with Grain Belt.
As fans of beer we always talk about how the beverage is only a part of our love. We celebrate the culture of drinking along with the liquid in our glasses—wherever we find it. Yesterday, following a series of events leading me to think about industrial beer, I posed a question on Twitter asking about your favorite mass market lagers, and, wow, did you respond! Hundreds of people weighed in, many lost in reveries of nostalgia and romance. People from the east coast cited Narragansett, Genesee, and Rolling Rock. Midwesterners hailed the Champagne of Beers. Texans toasted Shiner. Westerners called out the names of Coors or Rainier. From other parts of the world came names like Carlsberg, Steinlager, Bitburger, and Heineken.
Those old breweries knew how to brand a beer.
Many of you mentioned dads, and two of you mentioned grandmothers. It was genuinely touching to hear one story about sharing two bottles of Moosehead with a grandmother who was turning 100. It had to be watered down, but the alcohol was far from the point. People weighed in not to celebrate the excellence of these beers (though some did), but instead leaned into the experience of drinking them—those occasions, moments in life, or selected circumstances that called for something fizzy.
A few of you, including estimable figures like Stephen Beaumont and Garrett Oliver, took issue with the question. (I did put a bit of mustard on my tweet, as one does on Twitter—which most people took in its joking spirit.) They prefer drinking local. Fair enough. When those were the only beers around, it was certainly a more benighted time. Big breweries don’t always prepare their products with the highest standards nor play fairly in the marketplace. That’s certainly true. Yet this isn’t the fault of the style or breweries like Schell’s (maker of Grain Belt) or Yuengling, still proudly independent. Nor do they prevent us, now, from enjoying the pleasures of triple hazy IPAs. And for those who hold big companies in faint moral contempt, the picture is confounded somewhat by the union jobs many offer, and their more diverse workplaces.
But really, mass market lagers are just beer. Some people honestly can’t stand them, and their memories aren’t flecked with the same lovely pictures as mine. We like what we like and the great benefit of this era, as I mentioned on Tuesday, is that we now have so many ready choices.
But liking what you like works both ways. Another memory was relayed to me by a friend at my wedding. He and I had brewed beer for the celebration, but I didn’t think to buy a case of Henry’s. He overheard my sister in law, looking dejectedly at the witbier, IPA, and stout on offer, said out loud, “Isn’t there any real beer?” I recognized in that moment my failure of generosity. It would have been so delightful to have been able to grab a couple bottles and share one with her.
Mass market lagers are a part of our world, and enjoyed by millions. I am very glad I didn’t cut myself off from experiences that now fill my happy memory files. These beers may not be gastronomically adventuresome, and some may not even be good, but the experiences of drinking them has that rare ability to transform. So here’s to all those good experiences we’ve had with sometimes bad beer, and perhaps, a few more to come. 🍻