There are as many types of beer as there are types of people. First, there’s beer you drink when you’re at the house party of a friend with poor taste when you forgot to bring your flask. Then there’s the beer you drink when you’re trying to impress the cute guy in the skinny jeans and heavy glasses who brews his own on weekends in between his days running art therapy pottery throwing classes for children on the autism spectrum.
Sorry, I think I got distracted for a minute there. Anyway, this post isn’t in praise of that beer. This post is in praise of the beer that provides the primary fuel to allow the museum workers to survive day in and day out being asked how cavemen could ride Stegosauruses* or what rock was the rock referred to when God said “and on this rock you shall build my church”**.
This beer doesn’t come in a can. This beer doesn’t come in a bottle. No, this beer comes in a stein that is as large as your head and weighs more than your poor, abused liver*. This beer should ideally be served by jolly men in lederhosen or women in low cut blouses and striped thigh highs who earn more tips than a redhead at a Boy Scout program. This beer is enjoyed in the company of an accordion wielding cover band and as many of your coworkers as you can round up from Wednesday (when you realize it will be necessary) until Friday (when you get paid your very small check which gives working for a non-profit a whole new meaning but means beer). Yes, there will be pictures and tweet that you don’t remember, but at least it will dull the pain of having the Flintstones or Scooby-Doo being quoted at you as a valid source of knowledge. It won’t make the pain go away, but at least the urge to dance on a table will replace the urge to go cry in the snake room.
So, from the depths of this Irish American girl’s heart, I offer thanks for German beer and pseudo-German theme restaurants. Oh, and beer cheese. Thank coagulation for beer cheese.
**Pumice, because it’s holy.
***Yes, I do know that livers don’t weigh as much as a liter of beer. It was a creative turn of phrase. Frak you too.
In keeping with the theme of my night, here’s a song reinforces that we should drink beers the size of our heads: