I´ve become rather comfortable here in Argentina. The locals have welcomed me into their homes and have shown me the many faces of this beautiful land. I can say with confidence that this has become my second home; nevertheless there are a few things that make me homesick. For example, the sadsad fact that my beastly romantic relationship with Tex Mex is now nonexistent; that there is no such thing as Kentucky Bourbon in bars, clubs, nor in the markets; the desperation I feel when I can´t find a place to have breakfast for dinner; the emptiness I experience when I realize micheladas and bloody mary bars have become a distant dream; the lack of karaoke joints and therefor no opportunity to scream 90s tunes to an encouraging tipsy audience; and… well the list goes on.
It seems to me that beer is our only hope to wash away this sickness, this desperation, and to feel more at home. So begins the hunt for better beer. Not to say Quilmes and Brahma don´t do the trick. I can find these brands ev.er.y.where, and I´ve grown completely tired of them to be frank. They hydrate but they fail to quench. Even Stella Artois and Heineken have unfortunately become house hold and restaurant staples. I feel incomplete. WHERE IS THE GOOD BEER? How can I make one beer turn into 7 or 10, and all of different delicious varieties? Is there better beer in Argentina?
I found myself at the end of my rope, until I met a stranger who led me to the light.
Along came a Stranger.
American: Excuse me, do you know where I might find beer?
American: No, not that beer. Better beer. I say, do you know where I might find better beer?
American: Ok so turn right at this light and then keep straight?
American: Fantastic. Thanks for the help.
American: Sure, you can join us. That would be nice. We never turn down a drinking buddy. Do we? Especially one who knows how to get to the pot of gold.
Stranger: gfmnsdm kvs
American: Oh, nothing really. By better beer I simply mean, beer. It’s just that we´ve been here for a few months now, and have run out of holes in the ground to burry your Quilmes and Brahma.
American: Oh sure, sure! They are definitely good beers, for sure, without a doubt. I didn´t mean to offend your taste. However, we are looking for something that doesn´t taste like….water going down.
American: Water was a bit exaggerated. You´re right. I´m sorry, I apologize. What I meant was, spiked water?
American: I tell you what, if you show me where this place is, you´re first one is on me.
Stranger: ngfid asj
American: Heaven above. It´s an artisanal beer bar! And they have their own brewery by the coast! We´ve struck GOLD.
2 hours later
American: oooooooohhh nsdoij nasdfiasdfnio dsndnnfd ooooooooooooo sdkjnfosoooooo sdfnnooinsdfnionklpe sdfouuuueuufuuud sdjknnueeee ufffff asdlkijo uffeee asdfljj uuuufff
Stranger: That, my strange friend, is how you drink a beer.
Stranger: Shall we go for another? Or do you prefer the spiked water?
They close the bar, and decide to become friends.
The night progressed as such… with several Barley Wines, to get rid of the water residue.