I wonder each time that I pass by
Just what is so good at Chipot-lie
The décor of the place?
The server’s pierced face?
It must be the free range E. coli
When I was in college the choice of beer was mostly determined by the price of a pitcher, the beer on tap, the ambiance of the tavern and the price of a pitcher. Before the arrival of micro-brewed beers that are hoppy or flavored with blueberries or rhubarb or beer served with a fruit or vegetable stuffed into the bottle we drank Pabst Blue Ribbon and Blatz and Stroh’s and Black Label because those brands were priced as local beers and I as I recall, in college, price was a determining factor in beer selection (Budweiser was a premium beer, meaning it was more expensive because it came all the way from St. Louis). I liked Pabst Blue Ribbon as in, “What’ll you have? Pabst Blue Ribbon” and my roommate, who was a bartender, would keep my glass half full all night (in case the owner came in)—“Thanks, Rick.”
The years slipped by and I continued to enjoy Pabst just like Clint Eastwood did in “Gran Torino” although in that case the movie’s main character would probably have been drinking “Fire-brewed” Stroh’s because the story took place in Detroit. Then with the arrival of beer snobbery we learned that we can’t like what we like and that we have to check with the snobs before ordering a beer. I drink and enjoy Pabst Blue Ribbon, Blue Ribbon, PBR. Ridicule, for choosing Pabst Blue Ribbon? Doesn’t bother me.
And now I find out that PBR is the official beer of hipsters, Pabst Blue Ribbon. Isn’t that something? I drink Pabst Blue Ribbon so I guess all I have to do is wear skinny or slim fitting pants or a hoodie and go vegan and I get to be a hipster (I’ll probably have to choose the hoodie option unless I can find a pair of 44 skinnies). That’s it. What could be simpler? Me, a hipster. Who would have thought? Wow.
“What’ll you have?”
“Pabst Blue Ribbon, of course, and a beet sandwich.”