Paul v. Walters

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The Breathtaking Beauty Of Beer.

I have just finished J.R. Moehringer’s wonderful novel, ‘The Tender Bar’, a memoir almost entirely devoted to the art of drinking and bars, something rather close to my heart. In the book, I was struck by a piece of dialogue where Steve (the hero) asks of his mother when seeing a bunch of men heading towards The Tender Bar.

“Why do those men act so silly?

“They’re just - happy.”

“About what?”

She looked at the men thinking –

“Beer sweetheart. They’re happy about beer.”

I too have fallen for this golden goddess, this nectar that beckons on hot days like a siren calling from the sea and indeed the amber fluid has enfolded me in its gentle clutches for as many years as I can remember. Drinking beer should, I feel be an almost religious experience or an Olympic sport.

Why?



Well, it was those clever monks back in the dark ages who applied their talents to the task of converting wheat and barley into a liquid so pure that converts to its merits have worshiped at the alter of beer ever since.

It was a splendid achievement and one no doubt inspired by escaping the rigors of copying the Bible by hand in elaborate copperplate.


In a way I have made it my quest to at least try and consume as many different varieties of beer as I can possibly manage in the few years that I have left on this planet.

Take the Belgians for instance. In my humble opinion they have done more for beer than any other nation on earth.

If you have wondered as to the portly frames of most Belgian men, then you only have to wander into one of their bars that, like London, occupy most corners of the streets of their cities. Gleaming taps, resplendent with brass plaques offering the name of each different brewer line the mahogany bar. They stand like proud sentinels simply waiting for an appreciative drinker.

Bars have always drawn me like a moth to a flame and, provided the selection of beers was up to my high standards, for a while I became a ‘regular’.


Since time immemorial taverns have been the most egalitarian of all gathering places and people turn to them for everything from glamour to succor and for some relief from that scourge of modern life – loneliness.

It is a little known fact that that the Puritans, after landing in America built a bar before they built a church! Beer has that unique quality in that it can act as the catalyst that bonds the most unlikely characters together while they imbibe the golden fluid.

I have sometimes overheard the poorest man in town pontificating on the volatility of the stock market with a senior broker from a major bank. Or perhaps when a feeble minded individual, who happened to be seated next to college professor said something so profound that the professor could be seen making a note of it on the back of a napkin.


Since the time of Chaucer alehouses, taverns and bars have provided shelter, food and more importantly beer for the thirsty, the tired and the disillusioned that gather for the camaraderie that is oiled by that one thing.


As I ease once again into my life on the island of Bali, bars and restaurants that sell one of Indonesia’s favorite brands, Bintang, surround me. This comes in two standard sizes, Large (basar) and small (kecil) and every outlet proudly displays the green bottles on their shelves.

Even my local tailor has a fridge at the back of his store and will happily sell you this most wonderful of beers while he does your mending. The temperature in the dry season often reaches thirty degrees by eight o’ clock in the morning and apparently the only way to ‘beat the heat’ is a to partake of a large Bintang. No one will look askance at you or frown, for this is nectar that quenches the thirst and calms the spirit. The breakfast of champions!

And so I will continue my quest to find the best of the best when it comes to beer.

The only trouble is, I am beginning to look like a portly Belgian.

First published in British Literary Journal 2015