The Macros Were Micros Once, Too.

Let’s face it, beer is an acquired taste. I don’t recall anyone remembering their first stolen beer (c’mon, we all stole our first beer) as, “light, refreshing, with a thin but prominent mouth feel,” or “hoppy with a dry finish.” Only after we season a bit and after we start making a living so we can buy our beer do we somehow begin to think ourselves too good for the Coors and Millers of the world. Frankly, we transform into Beer Knerds or Beer Knazis.

I’ve already noted that the takeaway message I got from the documentary Beer Wars was that we all need to support our local craft brewers. The lesson fairly blared from the screen. But much more subtle and perhaps unintended, was the notion that the likes of Coors and Budweiser, Pabst and Miller all started out as microbreweries with one arm tied behind their back as their immigrant founders struggled to establish their place in the market, all the while trying to strangle the competition with the one free arm.

I helped put Miller Brewing where it is today but I rarely drink Miller these days. I was raised just up the road from Coors brewery in Golden, Colorado and they hold a special place in my heart, but again, I don’t buy as much Coors product as I used to. I rarely buy Budweiser because I never cared for Bud products and I think the current raft of Clydesdale horsey ads are stupid. Nevertheless, I do from time to time have the occasional bottle of macro-brewed product, usually because it’s being offered at a party or it comes at a ridiculously low price. I’m just not so proud that I’ll ever say, “I’ll go without before I drink a Coors, or a Miller, or a Bud.” Besides, under certain circumstances, it doesn’t matter what the beer is; even if it's not great, it’s just good enough.