Of Myths and Micheladas...

Just like other holidays that have been whored out and watered down, Cinco de Mayo is no exception. As I went grocery shopping this evening after work, the Tostitos were on sale, as was the Old El Paso salsa that you mix with some Velveeta cheese, pick up a case of Corona Light, and say you've celebrated "Cinco de Drinko." I cringe. That's how most Americanos celebrate a holiday they know nothing about, and drunkenly shout out, "Happy Mexican Independence Day man! I love you dude!" For starters, Cinco de Mayo is NOT Mexican Independence Day. It marks the Battle of Puebla, where the Mexicans defeated the French in 1862. Not a large holiday in Mexico, it has somehow become the Mexican version of St. Patrick's Day. While I'm not one to scoff at a reason to party, I am one for accuracy.

Take, for instance, the michelada. Someone recently asked me, "what is a michelada?" So here I am, on the eve of the anniversary of the Battle of Puebla, here to explain a little bit of Mexican and beer history. This beloved Mexican beverage has become my favorite beer cocktail. Sure, there are times to savor straight up beer (99% of the time), then there are the times to squeeze a lime in your Corona (summer time). Michelada time can be anytime -- whenever the mood strikes.

The first time I had a michelada was in the early 90s, in Mexico City's then-trendy Zona Rosa. My cousin Ady ordered it for me and promised me that I would like it. I was hooked instantly. Even as I write now, my mouth waters in a reflex just thinking about the beer-lime-salt concoction. Fast forward to 2007 or so. Mexico City, random bar in Polanco, one of the city's now-trendy areas. Same cousin, but now orders a michelada Cuban style. I was thrown a curve. What had happened in the span of 15 years? I thought a michelada was beer with lime and ice, with a salt-rimmed glass? Seems that there are different versions of the beer drink, and they are all yummy. You can have it simple, or with Maggi sauce, tomato juice, and/or hot pepper sauce.

Sounds crazy. It is. It works. It's a symphony for the tastebuds. True beer afficionados in those snooty blogs condemned Mexican style beers like Miller Chill, Bud Light Lime, Bud Light Chelada (Bud Light pre-mixed with Clamato and lime!), and Michelob Ultra with Cactus Lime. Sure, they are catchy, appeal to women watching their carb intake, and not true beer drinker's beers. I agree. However, these are pretty good beers to make a michelada. Trust me on this one. Unfortunately, I am unable to get Bud Light Chelada in Upstate New York, so whenever I'm in South Florida I'll stock up. There are so many ways to prepare the michelada, so I'm including a decent recipe from Saveur, and some historical info and recipes from Wikipedia.

Mexican beers are great for making micheladas too (such as Modelo, Tecate, Dos Equis Lager), but I much prefer to drink those solo or with a squeeze of lime and salt right on the lip of the can. Just the way my parents did it when I was a kid. The memory of sampling beer with lime and salt from a can, on the beaches of Acapulco as a small child, breeze running through my hair, smell of ocean and coconuts -- little did I know that was my first michelada.

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Definition of a beer girl...

As I was thinking of a topic for today's blog, the thought came to me: "what exactly is a Beer Girl??" She could really be any number of things to different people. She could be the German looking blonde girl with the braided pigtails holding a stein in one hand, and pushing up her bra with the other. She could be that fat girl at the frat keg parties who could drink all the guys under the table and do marathon keg stands. She might also be the beer afficionado who likens herself to the wine world's sommelier. Or, she could be the girl who is wearing a cute outfit with a beer logo, handing out keychains and t-shirts at a bar or nightclub to those patrons who will buy a particular beer of choice.

So you see, there is no one true definition of a beer girl, but I will try my best to explain why I gave myself this moniker. While I never dressed up as a St. Pauli type girl for Halloween, nor was I ever fat, I did many a keg stand as a collegiate hobby of mine. Didn't matter the beer -- for all I know it could have been the near beer that our colleges' new president was rumored to have served for the above 21 undergraduate crowd. But I digress.

Besides loving beer, how could I give myself the name of "Beer Girl?" Google it, and you'll find tons of sexy pictures of girls drinking beer, or the intelligent woman's blog that sounds like mine but spells it in a snooty way (Bier Girl). In any case, I used to be a real beer girl, or as the promoting world calls it, a promotional model. Living in South Florida, I took a part-time gig with girls 10 years or so my junior, to put on the tight and sexy clothing that the promoters made us wear, and then went out to the hot spots of the time in South Beach and Ft. Lauderdale.(Click here for photos.) It was easy money, and it was fun to dress up, talk to people, hand out freebies and get to hang out in the clubs that had people on the other side hoping that they were on the guest list.

As a promo model, I also worked for cigarette (yuck) and liquour companies. I went wherever, and promoted for Kool, Bacardi, Warsteiner, Beck's, Presidente, Sam Adams, Corona, etc. I only worked for cigarette companies a few times, and there's not much interesting to write about. If there were, I might have named this blog "Tobacco Girl." The only thing that sticks out in my mind is at a nightclub in Hollywood, I was working for Kool, and this girl walks up to me and says, "You're selling CANCER!!" Not Kool.

In any case, it was during my beer promo days that I learned a lot about the beers I was promoting -- I had to memorize Cliff Claven-like factoids to make the product more appealing to consumers. If that didn't work, then we promo models would entice the inebriated with whistles, beads, keychains and the like. It worked! We were never allowed to chew gum or drink while on duty, but once our shifts were over, like hard working construction men, we would pull up a chair and drink a few cold ones with the distributors. Aaahhh. I'm getting thirsty.

Syracuse made a beer list...

OK I know I've been lax about writing here, but I am going to try my best to crack my knuckles and prepare for some major carpal tunnel syndrome in the upcoming weeks, so stay tuned. In the meantime, I found something of local interest...

Read this about the top 125 beer places to go before you die...my hometown made the list twice (#s. 48 & 97)

Just in time for green beer...

I truly believe that in one of my past lives I was a Celtic warrior. Just like in Braveheart. What else would explain my affinity for the frenzied fiddling at the Dubliner in D.C.? Entranced by the Irish dancers at the Festival of Nations? That's the only way to explain it. It just comes from within, this innate sense of je ne sais quoi with regards to the Emerald Isle. I laugh at those Capital One credit card commercials with the Viking looking, vague Brit accented dudes and their brutality. Deep down I get it. That was me! I shiver when I hear bagpipes, but in a good way. I feel nationalistic all of a sudden, but to what nation?

I don't feel this way as the date nears the 17th just because I am --like everyone else --bombarded with all things green. Noooo, not me. I don't fall for those gimmicky holidays that are just an excuse to spend money, get drunk, put on a sombrero or buy some stale chocolates in a fuzzy heart shaped box. I tend to stay away from those things, and FAR away as I possibly can. St. Patrick's day, however, is a bit different. It always depends on where I am. When I lived in Washington D.C. in my younger years, the place to be was the Dubliner. Oh, the times to be had there, green beer and all. Hangovers the next day at work were the norm. At that time, nothing mattered, not even (dare I say?) the beer. Not even the beer. I can't believe I'm even typing these words now, but it was true. While my love for beer began as a seedling, my deep appreciation and affection for the simplicity and complexity that it possesses did not truly begin until much after my D.C. days.

In Miami, celebrating St. Patty's day was a completely different animal. South Beach has The Playwright, and while I never visited it on the 17th, I can say that this was one of my favorite pubs in South Florida. My outings in Miami on SPD were usually in Coral Gables, where one of the most uptight communities closed down the streets and partied hard. Beer a-flowing, bands-a playing, and young Cubanos a-drinking. Somehow it didn't feel authentic. Could it be the 85 degree weather? The Spanish language spoken all over the place? The people dancing salsa to a pseudo rock band? I don't know, and I really don't care. I had a blast though, and it was all about the Smithwick's and the amigos who were all Irish for a day.

This year, I am in Syracuse, New York, which holds one of the largest St. Patrick's Day Parades in the country due to its large Irish-American community. I grew up with it, and even had a brief stint as a flute player in my high school marching band, pseudo-playing around the parade route. My fingers were too cold to actually play, and I knew the trumpets and trombones would take over the songs anyway. Unfortunately, I will not be able to attend this year's event, but will be there in spirit.

To commemorate St. Patrick himself, I may go to Coleman's. Or to Kitty Hoynes. Perhaps I'll have a delicious Beamish at the Limerick Pub. There are so many wonderful Irish pubs to choose from in Syracuse on any given day, not just the 17th. I make no excuses to go out and have a beer, and I don't need one. We'll see where the day takes me this year. Who knows, I may just go home and quietly celebrate by making my own green beer and dream of the days of my warrior past and think about my next beer conquest.

How it all began...

How did my love for beer begin? It all started at about the age of five, when I tried my first sip of the working man's juice. My father, who worked hard to provide for his family, would always drink a can of a cold one after a hard day's work. I would always ask what beer tasted like, but was unable to try for myself. My dad occasionally would indulge me in letting me think I was doing something when I really wasn't. For instance, on numerous occasions he would let me "drive" the family car by sitting on his lap, and with my hands on the wheel, I would pretend to drive. I really thought I was driving! Really! In that same vein, he would let me take a sip of beer. Now before you start to think that Child Protective Services should have been called on him, let me assure the reader that I was not a five year old getting drunk and smoking cigarettes like those smoking and drinking monkeys or little kids.

My little taste buds didn't know whether I liked it or hated it, but I was certainly intrigued. On a hot summer day, those little sips of OV splits sure satisfied something in me! Side note: For those of you not familiar with OV, it stands for Old Vienna, a Canadian Lager. To this day I still have that catchy tune from the '70s in my head:

Just say "OV"
Add an "L"
Add an "E"
And you've got LOVE
LOVE OV
Love that Old Vienna Lager
Old Vienna Lager beer
There's a reason
It's so pleasin'
It's GREAT Canadian beer...!

I'm not even sure if OV still exists, but those splits sure were cute, and maybe the inspiration for Coronitas. I wonder... But I digress. That little girl loved those little moments with her father; the beer was secondary. However, it was how it all began! Thank you Papi!

The Time Has Come...

Well it's about time I write something here! After some major relocating and generally getting my sh*t together, today I am officially starting this blog. How did I arrive at this point? Well, about a year ago, I was searching for some beer afficionado blogs written by women, and I found a handful, but they were of the typical sort -- beer reviews, and often delivered in a snooty way. Sure, I get some good information from these "cervezaliers" but I never came across a blog that praised the nectar of the gods and told a good story. So here I am, in 2009, with lots to share, some funny, some tasty, all BEER related. I really hope you like this blog and welcome your feedback!