In the beginning, there was beer. As a rebellious, newly legal-age drinker, I refused to drink the brand of beer my father drank. In my young mind, it carried the stigma of dad beer; budget-friendly, old-fashioned swill drunk by pot-bellied, blue-collar, middle-aged men. Instead I headed out to the local store to buy my own six-pack.
When I walk into a wine shop, I’m like a kid in a candy store, so buying a liquor store seemed like a good idea at the time.
Inspiration struck during cocktail hour one evening when I referred to our routine as our “boozy lifestyle”. In a trendy culture of beauty, fitness, and fashion lifestyle gurus, the idea of being a boozy lifestyle expert carries a measure of irony with it. The word ‘boozy’ expresses just the irreverence I was looking for; not youthful, feminine, or especially well-mannered.
My dad was a Budweiser man (accompanied by a shot of Johnny Walker). He’d come home from work and grab a beer from the refrigerator in the garage that was always stocked with a case of cans. On the weekends, mowing the lawn and gardening activities were punctuated with ice cold Budweiser beer breaks.
Set up right in front of the Baseball Hall of Fame, the America on Tap tents stretch for several blocks on Main Street. Great beer with great friends.