Tag Archives: snobbery

It’s Just Beer(!)

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#whatimdrinkingnow #whatdoyoumeanyoudontcare

#whatimdrinkingnow #whatdoyoumeanyoudontcare

I’ve always had a difficult time mustering up a sufficient amount of care for my own hobbies, which is what I call my beer drinking, because hobbyist sounds better than drinker. I don’t spend time posting in beer chat forums, I don’t post #whatimdrinkingnow pics anymore (I bored myself), I rarely drink out of proper glassware, and I don’t spend a lot of money on it. Because after all, it’s just beer.

But I’m a total beer snob. This is the paradox in which we beer appreciators are stuck.

Beer is a beverage celebrated and sold for its relaxing properties. It’s the drink you have when you get home from the office or from the factory; it’s the drink with which you celebrate both special occasions and your slow days off from work. It’s the everyman drink; the drink to chill out with. When some of us turn up our noses at certain beers, pay $18 for a bomber, or go so far as to call beer our hobby, we risk running contrary to the beer drinking ethos.

For me, this is beer, exclamation point

This is beer(!)

Once you admit that, yes, beer is a hobby — you know a lot about it, you spend time and money on it, you really, really look forward to that seasonal releasing today — you are effectively rendering null the it’s just beer sentiment. Obviously beer is more than just alcohol to you. It’s beer, exclamation point! When you take it a step further and start caring about hop aroma and mouthfeel and shit — well, then you’re the kind of snob that drinking beer is supposed to keep you from becoming. Continue reading →

Taking a Page from the Wine Snob Playbook

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Tools of the bookseller

What non-writers imagine writing to be

I’ve been drinking a lot of wine lately. As a bookstore manager, it is in my contract to provide several gallons of economically priced wine for every store event and occasional slow afternoon. We’ve had many events recently and it occurred to me that I’m probably drinking the wine equivalent of the High Life. It got me to thinking: as much as beer nerds may love to pick on wine snobs, there are many things we could learn from them. Examples:

1) Take time to taste your beer. There actually is a right way to taste a beer, and it doesn’t involve punching a key into aluminum. Much like wine, the appearance and smell have a lot to do with forming an educated opinion of the beer.

howtotastebeer

  • First, take in how it looks in all respects: color (natch), but also how the head appears (frothy, thin), the opacity (clear, hazy), and how it presents itself (bubbly, creamy, dull and a horrible conversationalist).
  • Secondly, stick your nose in there and take a big ol’ whiff. Beer comes in an astonishing array of scents. Each ingredient–malt, hops, and yeast–bring their own unique smell, as does the actual alcohol. Swirl the beer to better release the scents. Breathe in as you drink.
  • Lastly, take your time sipping. Let the beer sit in your mouth to note the mouthfeel (do you know what that really means?) before swallowing. (Don’t spit! That’ll get you tossed out of a bar, tout suite.)
Comfy bean bag chairs are like quantum physics, only occurring in theory

Like sober beer tastings, comfy bean bag chairs only exist in theory

2) Treat it like your mother. You wouldn’t invite your own mother to your place and then force her to sit in a dirty beanbag chair and eat SpaghettiOs out of a can, would you? Wine snobs know to treat their beloved beverage with the respect it deserves. Continue reading →

Picking Apart Picky Eating

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incredible, edible

The most reviled ad campaign of my childhood

“I would pick it out if I saw it and throw it on the floor,” Julia Child said. It was no grotesque vermin that prompted this declaration, no poisonous bit of flora. It was cilantro, an ingredient that many foodies would eat by the fistful.

She’s hardly alone. It’s rare to find someone who really and truly enjoys eating everything. My father winces at the sight of asparagus, my boss gags on any tomato sauce that is too sweet, my friend Dave turns pale at the thought of white substances located anywhere along the mayonnaise/sour cream/Alfredo sauce continuum. What’s more, I’d be hard-pressed to name the favorite dish of any of these people. The items that repulse them are just weirder and more interesting.

But where do these strange food hatreds come from? Is it cultural? Physiological? Psychological? There’s a whole field of psychological research behind the notion of conditioned food aversions (also called Sauce-Bearnaise Syndrome). One nasty encounter with a food, and our minds can turn us against it for years to come. The theory is based on the idea that our foraging ancestors had to learn to stay away from noxious berries and such, but anyone who ever did too many shots of Jägermeister will be intimately familiar with the basic concept. The thing is, many foods become guilty merely by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was hardly the fault of that can of red cream soda that I drank it right before I got a bad case of the stomach flu when I was eight years old, but it was many years before I could drink any of its brethren.

But the conditioned response explanation seems to me, at best, incomplete. Continue reading →

Lunch at the End of the Line: Making Frankie and Albert Proud

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Sinatra's MugI’d heard Morris Park, near the end of the Eastchester-Dyre 5 line, was sometimes called the Little Italy of the Bronx. Given that, there were certain things I expected to find there (pizzerias, Italian bakeries, cigar shops with young Sinatra’s mug shot blown up and displayed prominently), and I was not disappointed. When I spoke to a couple of Morris Park natives, they gave me some tips about the longstanding neighborhood favorites like Patricia’s (a classy Italian joint famous for its Spaghetti à la Frank Sinatra), Emilio’s (a pizza place that they assured me was “cheap but really good”), and Hawaii Sea (an Asian fusion restaurant where one of them had worked as a busboy when he was sixteen).

What I hadn’t anticipated was that the entire eastern side of the neighborhood would feel like an urban university campus because it was home to the Albert Einstein College of Medicine. Students are notoriously good at ferreting out good and inexpensive lunch spots, so I did some asking around. A young man of imposing size and thoughtful sincerity told me that “everybody” went to the pizza place named Coals. Several others had mentioned the same place, and when I walked past, the fragrant promise of copious amounts of garlic coaxed me inside.

This, perhaps, is a good time to address the problem of pizza snobbery that is rampant in New York. Continue reading →