Uh, pass the beer, please?

Winter arrived in Ohio at approximately 4pm Monday afternoon. The weekend had been suspiciously warm and there was something eerie in the air. Some kind of evil was approaching and it was set to the “Jaws” theme song. As soon as the weather broke and flurries floated in the streetlights, I knew: Thanksgiving with the family.

Thanksgiving is by far my least favorite holiday. Kids and pets tangled around my legs, strangers in Cosby sweaters, relatives with wildly differing politics who like to talk politics. But I will admit that these events became far more endurable and entertaining once I reached legal drinking age.

Any seasoned beer drinker / relative of mine knows you must head into the Turkey-Day Battle with a plan. Allow me to help you fill your Arsenal of Ales with the proper ammunition. Keep in mind: these people knew you when you were four and probably have photographic evidence of your awkward stage. Choose wisely.

First comes the cheese and olive plates and catch-up with the grandmas. Start with a light beer, one with a delicate flavor and low alcohol content. Try a pils perhaps, or a small pale ale, as these will offset the richness of the cheese and will clear the palate better than those silly little pickles you love but can’t pronounce. And yes, I know it goes against your gut, but you need a session beer to start with. You’re going to be entrenched here for a while and it’s best just to accept this. I urge patience and restraint; this is only the first time you’ll be asked why you don’t have babies yet. 

You have made it into the mid-afternoon and on to the aunts, now shouting from the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready. You’ve heard this said many times in the hours since you’ve arrived, but this time the turkey, yams, stuffing, and green bean casserole are on the table. Before you sit down uncomfortably close to cousins you hardly know, grab a Belgian. They are strong and hardy and sharp enough to cut through the heaviness of meat and bread and potatoes. If you are a vegetarian like me and eat only salad and the stuffing that’s not cooked in the bird but in a little pan especially for you (and you won’t forget that!) a Belgian will just get you drunk faster.

It has become dark and now-alert cats and dogs (who do live together) are prowling the dining room for fallen scraps, and the nephews are throwing rolled up bits of cheese at them and squealing. The men are leaning back, making jokes about tight pants with hands on their guts, and a wife or two is whisking away plates with passive aggressive clattering because no one else is helping. Don’t make eye contact. Slip as inconspicuously as possible into the kitchen, dodge the grandmas with bottles of whipped cream, and grab yourself a beer for dessert. At this point you have earned something big: a chocolate or imperial stout or maybe a coffee porter. Something rich enough to go tête-à-tête with your aunt’s pecan pie.

Lastly, because there’s always still a lot to say at each other even after dinner, find yourself something to sit and sip, preferably out of a snifter, but your niece’s plastic Dora the Explorer cup will do. Many beer gurus suggest barley wines or other similarly complex beers; I propose that you get a head start on all those Christmas beers everyone brought to dinner. Some are nutmeggy, some sweet, others (like Sierra Nevada’s Celebration Ale) delightfully hoppy and red. So go on, indulge, Christmas is your next favorite holiday, right?