Beer snobs get on Stacy McCain’s nerves:
It pains me to see these poseurs pestering a bartender in quest of some obscure imported premium ale — dark as sin, with the flavor and texture of a peat bog — just so their friends won’t see them drinking a Bud.
I don’t find those quasi-exotic brews particularly paludifying myself, but I don’t think it’s entirely a matter of keeping up appearances: it’s highly unlikely that these guys will swill a six-pack of Nasty Light the moment they get home, away from public inspection. It may well be that they don’t want to see themselves drinking a Bud, whether or not anyone is watching.
Then again, when I was a serious beer drinker, as distinguished from a drinker of serious beer, I was overly fond of Schaefer, which is, as many of you may remember, the one beer to have when you’re having more than one. You may blame this on the following facts: (1) the drinking age used to be 18; (2) before I was 19, I was relocated — at the behest of Uncle Sam — to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, where this stuff was well-nigh ubiquitous.
That said, should Mr McCain find himself chasing a story here in the Big Breezy, I will gladly buy him a beer or [insert relatively small integer here] of his choice, even if it does vaguely resemble a peat bog.