(Why, yes, yes I did think of the pun in the title all by myself! I’m so happy you mentioned that!)
So. Straight to the point! One outstanding thing about Mexico is the beer here. It fits perfectly with the climate and its ultra-cheap. And while I do relish the occasional Guinness when the mercury starts to fall, gimme a nice, cold, preferably lime-injected, cervecita when the sun is shining any day.
Now, all the beer snobs out there are shaking their heads right now over my admonition of respect for the brewing prowess of our friends to the south. “But it has no body!” they say, “The amount of hops is completely insufficient for my hops-destroyed, IPA-swilling tastebuds!” they cry, in (they think!) mockery of my still-functional ones, “I only drink craft beer made by dudes with large beards because beards,” they mumble form behind a bird’s nest only a mother or a female hipster could love, and so on, in a similar vein. Of course, there is a time and a place for delicious craft beers (actually, there’s a specialty beer store next to where I’m staying) but that time is not now, and that place is not this post.
So now, for your reading pleasure, a brief anecdote about cervezas.
Cerveceria Modelo and Cerveceria Moctezuma are two of the big breweries around these parts (and by these parts I mean “in Mexico”) and produce a substantial amount of cold, bright yellow, fizzy, and delicious beer, guzzled in gallons by good little American boys and girls every Cinco de Mayo. (Which is not, incidentally, Mexican Independence day. For reals.)
One of these beers, brewed by Cerveceria Moctezuma, is Sol.
An oft-forgotten cousin of the likes of Dos Equis and Corona, Sol is a fizzy, yellow, refreshing brew that bottles up the very essence of the Mexican Caribbean: that is, its fucking hot so drink some super-cold-ass beer that doesn’t make you feel like you just ate a bunch of potatoes. Then go swim naked in the ocean or something.
(These can’t swim naked in the ocean, but you get my point.)
Now, since Texas was blessed by the Good Lord with (among other things) proximity to Mexico and a large Mexican immigrant population, back home, brews like Dos Equis and Modelo are readily available in even the most back-water of Texas highway towns; right alongside the Natty Light, pork rinds, (disgusting) moist chewing tobacco, and (disgusting-er) huge-ass cans of Mountain Dew. This means that our Mexican beer is generally fresh, crisp, shelved near some rock-hard and dried-out limes, and bursting with heat-busting Beerenoids (patent pending) just waiting for a good little American boy to convince his older cousin to buy him some so he can get that girl he likes drunk enough to consider sleeping with him.
Unfortunately, the Good Lord saw fit to not put the Modelo and Moctezuma breweries in Texas (mysterious ways and all that), so, every once in a while, what should be a crisp and refreshing experience full of tradition and all that nonsense turns into a malty, skunked out tongue-lashing. (Pun #2!) And therein is the reason for this post.
Truth be told, the last couple days have been difficult for me. Culture-shock, the heat, not really having anything pressing to do, the fact that all the other residents here are like seven feet tall, super hot, and Australian or something, and only sort of understanding what people are saying to me have all conspired to render me a fearful, blubbering mess. Because of these unfortunate circumstances, I decided that tonight would be a good one for beer, so that’s what I had for dinner.
(Shut up, the bread had raisins in it. That’s a vegetable or whatever. Also, a joke about bimbos.)
I gave the Sol a try because I hadn’t had one in forever and thought it might hit the spot. (It did.) My drinking experience, however, was far from the vaguely interested “hmm, this is pretty good” kind of reaction I thought it was going to be. Instead, it was, by far, the best cerveza I have ever had. And out of a can, no less! Without a lime, no less! I caught myself pulling the can from my lips and looking at it in astonishment, thinking, “surely this was just poured by a buxom-yet-still-slender Mexican lass in traditional garb!”
(Like this, except with beer and a colorful frilly skirt. Also, she totally digs me.)
But nope, just out of a can. I was, and remain, amazed.
And that, my friends, is the entire reason for this post. I was feeling sad so I drank a beer (I know, even more sad), it was really tasty, and then I spent half an hour writing a blog post about it. I could be on Quinta Avenida watching interesting tourists walk by, I could be out meeting the other residents, shit, I could even be at church right now! (The local parish church is literally next door and mass starts at 8:00.) But nope. Instead, I took one for the team. I bought beer for less than a dollar a can, drank it, and then wrote a long post with Salma Hayek in it about how delicious it was. Just for you.
ciao – Mathieu