I had the idea, which I don’t know was somewhat childish or true, that an authentic draft beer ought to be crowned with a layer of foam, albeit not very thick. Lacking this foam, this beer seemed like a shirt without a collar. This was the first reservation I had regarding that draft beer.
In gazing at the beer against the light, (…) [I saw that] it had a small number of tiny gas bubbles. I felt that a strong dose of these gas bubbles, of a certain size, were necessary to prepare the palate to savor the beverage, and from this feeling arose a certain reservation on my part concerning that beer.
I took a drink of that conveniently icy draft beer – at that time I had not fallen into the misfortune of having to avoid cold things. I liked everything that was cool and windy. Above all, I was a great enthusiast of the winds; the winds, beer, and cool temperatures. I took a drink and tasted the flavor well enough, but because it was somewhat flat and lacking a head of foam, the beer didn’t seem to have any life.
There was no discourse with that beer, it was monotonous, like idle gossip. A few seconds after having drank the beer, notwithstanding these defects, I noticed that a flavor tastier than the beer itself remained in my mouth. It was, in a manner of speaking, the after-taste, more or less like that feeling one gets a few minutes after having reflected upon something and having discovered and arrived to a conclusion concerning that reflection. This reconciled me with that draft beer.
There is nothing that better bears the charms of glacial cold than draft beer. Not ice cream, nothing. Between draft beer and icy cold there exists a natural marriage, both special and which renders [the beer] conspicuous. It is also true that, like everything that exists, beer is but a rough sketch of a more perfect ideal being. Perfect being signifies two things: first, not having any defects; second, elevating qualities possessed to the maximum.
I would not have understood that draft beer if I hadn’t managed to picture the perfect draft beer. After having conceived that perfect draft beer, though I saw that I wasn’t drinking anything save common draft beer, it still led me to comprehend a possible being, and this is the joy of my life.
Without a doubt, the color of beer is very beautiful, but if it were endowed with a more consistent golden hue…It is lacking a bit more gold.
On the other hand, beer makes an attractive domicile for light. Light enters the beer and remains within it, becoming more beautiful than light within water. This is saying a lot because, from a certain point of view, water is the ideal abode for light. But it isn’t: beer can be a more attractive abode.
A life lived thus is much more entertaining. A child seated before a glass or mug of beer can amuse himself much better than if he were but gazing stupidly out a window. This is because a beer says much more than a window.
A beer mug is a commentary upon beer itself, made not for someone in particular, but for an ambience.
An ensemble of persons feel the same as regards the beer and an artist, with more capacity to express what all are feeling, expresses this sentiment by means of a beer mug.
In the beer, I saw the possibility of its being more than it was, and this possibility spoke to me of God.
It is necessary to accustom the spirit to tasting things in this manner. A person who likes beer and only knows how to interpret it in itself winds up drunk. Necessarily, this operation of ascending toward the marvelous must be done regarding a great number of things, and then will temperance more normally establish itself.
