It’s more than just barley and hops. It’s an exhale at the end of a long day. Eyes closed, ice cold, you know the feeling.
Like most things, beer was invented accidentally, in some remote dark cave I imagine. Experimented, developed, nurtured, into the sweating bottle on my table this quiet Saturday evening. A low-maintenance drink with minimal demands. It’s happy with company, a party, or in solitude.
I’m taken back to my first sip of San Mig Pale at 10 years old. How is something that used to taste like piss to me, now the only thing I long for at the end of the week?
Word 4: Beer
