Memories left behind

Beck's served here.

Remember when Beck’s beer was your only exposure to a foreign beer?  For me it was about 1983 and it was Beck’s or Heineken.  There was no Mexican beer, no Guinness, no nothin’, just Old Style, Miller High Life and those two exotic offerings from afar.  Just as I chose the White Sox over Cubs because of Bill Melton and Dick Allen a decade earlier, I chose Beck’s over Heineken, largely because of the scene in Das Boot when they are leaving on their mission and the sub is packed with sausages and Beck’s.  I loved that movie, what can I say.  But just as the sausages mouldered, the beer was rationed and the denizen’s of Jurgen Prochnow’s vessel grew ratty beards and started flicking boogers on each other, my beer world became more complex as I was introduced to such brews as Moosehead, Schaefer, Tucher Hefe Weizen and that most exotic of all beers to the folks east of the mighty Mississippi, Coors.  The appeal of Beck’s sunk much like Das Boot in it’s French mooring.  Where is this going?  Well, I bought a case of Beck’s this weekend at Sam’s Club, as it was the best they had to offer, sadly.  Man, that stuff is really kind of bland.  It’s not bad, and I could certainly go through a few quickly on a hot summer day, but I’m so glad that my horizons have broadened and my south side sensibilities have matured.  Beck’s may have fueled the Kriegsmarines, but for my money, I’ll take any one of a number of domestic offering and leave the Beck’s for the hoi polloi.