Confessions of an Belgian Blonde Ale Drinker

“Champagne’s funny stuff,” according to Jimmy Stewart’s character in The Philadelphia Story. “I’m used to whiskey. Whiskey is a slap on the back, and champagne’s heavy mist before my eyes.”

Different alcoholic drinks have different effects on people. Some of those effects are apparently personal rather than universal. I have a friend who stopped drinking moonshine because it produced in her a very melancholy drunk. I have another friend who has sworn off tequila because it made him “rambunctious.” Although wild or irresponsible behavior while drunk on tequila is a common trope, there are others in whom tequila produces much more mellow effects.

Some people are made warm and affectionate by red wine. This is something of a double-edged sword. Warmth and affection can both be good things, but wine can only produce these up to a point before they become grotesque. According to Thomas De Quincy in his Confessions of an English Opium-Eater, “wine unsettles and clouds the judgement, and gives a preternatural brightness and a vivid exaltation to the contempts and the admirations, the loves and the hatreds of the drinker… In the sudden development of kind-heartedness which accompanies inebriation there is always more or less of a maudlin character, which exposes it to the contempt of the bystander. Men shake hands, swear eternal friendship, and shed tears, no mortal knows why; and the sensual creature is clearly uppermost.”

But that is only true after a point. De Quincy admits that he always found “that half-a-dozen glasses of wine advantageously affected the faculties—brightened and intensified the consciousness, and gave to the mind a feeling of being ponderibus librata suis,” (balanced under its own weight.) De Quincy’s “sensual creature” only took over after he started in on the second bottle. Before then, the rational man seems to have been the main benefactor of the booze.

De Quincy also relates that “the pleasure given by wine is always mounting and tending to a crisis, after which it declines.” I think that beer also has this mounting tendency, but because of how filling it is and because of its relatively low alcohol content, drunkenness from beer develops more slowly than from wine or liquor. And with an especially strong beer, one often drinks so slowly that the added time makes up for the added alcohol.


Beer of the week: Delirium Tremens – De Quincy had to deal with opium withdraw, but this Belgian blonde ale is named after the effects of alcohol withdraw. It is very pale in color, with a fluffy head that fades fairly quickly. The beer smells sweet, fruity, and yeasty. The carbonation tickles the tongue as the rich flavor really fills the mouth. The aftertaste lingers for quite a while leaving the hints of spice and alcohol behind. Overall, the flavors and alcohol (8.5%) are very strong. I could definitely see some people being overwhelmed by this ale, though I find it delightful.

Reading for the week: Confessions of an English Opium-Eater by Thomas De Quincy – This excerpt compares the effects of alcohol and opium. De Quincy was criticized very strongly for making opium use sound too appealing. He describes getting high and going to the opera. He paints a picture of himself in a mountain cottage, surrounded by five-thousand books drinking tea (and opium.) I understand the critics; De Quincy makes opium sound pretty awesome. (Until the part about the terrifying hallucinations and nightmares.)

Question for the week: Is there any sort of alcohol that you abstain from because of its particular effects?

Sins of the Author

The last time that I quoted Martin Luther online, I got a single response: “He was an anti-Semite.” Since I had somehow never heard that before, I decided to do a bit of research on the topic.

Apparently, in the early 1520’s Luther wrote that “we must receive [the Jews] cordially, and permit them to trade and work with us, hear our Christian teaching, and witness our Christian life. If some of them should prove stiff-necked, what of it? After all, we ourselves are not all good Christians either.” That sounds like an enlightened and reasonable position.

By the early 1540’s, however, Luther wrote that Synagogues and Hebrew schools should be burned to the ground and that rabbis should be executed if they insist on preaching. He also proposed that the Jews should have their writings and wealth confiscated by the state. That does not sound enlightened and reasonable. That sounds awful, really.

I have a hard time understanding how somebody could make such a dramatic shift, but by the end of his life, Luther was apparently a full-blown anti-Semite. This is a truly disturbing revelation. But the next question is a much harder one: why does it matter?

The response “he was an anti-Semite” is a simple ad hominem attack. Even if it is true, the statement does not reach the merits what Luther said. So what value is it? A man I know once saw an elderly Jean-Paul Sartre get off a bus in Paris. He told me that when he saw how old and ugly Sartre was, he immediately thought, “nothing he says can be right.” Obviously, how Sartre looked had no direct bearing on the quality and validity of his writing. Similarly, one could argue that whether or not Luther was an anti-Semite has no bearing on the validity of his writing.

On the other hand, if we agree that antisemitism is not only reprehensible but it shows a fundamental flaw in morals or logic, then Luther’s writings are necessarily suspect. If Luther makes a claim that it is moral and good to steal from or even kill others because of their religious beliefs, how can any of his moral writings be trusted?

Although compelling, that argument is inadequate. Writings should be judged with a critical eye no matter what we think we know about the author. The knowledge that the author has certain biases or prejudices may be helpful in discovering flaws in the writing, but they do not make an otherwise solid piece of writing not worth the reading. The hypocrisies or vices of the author are not necessarily imputed to the work itself. If so, what book would not be guilty of something?

Further, it seems clear that Luther changed his mind about the Jews at some point in his life. So does his antisemitism only taint everything after that change? Or does a late-in-life sin ruin everything that came before it?

As a final thought: Luther was a beer drinker. Does that mean that beer must be bad because it was favored by an anti-Semite? Or does his beer drinking do something to cancel out the prejudice?


Beer of the week: Wernesgrüner Pils – This German Pilsner is reasonably good. I think that it is quite comparable to Pilsner Urquell (which happens to be the beer that I paired with the last Luther reading on this blog.) The aroma is typical pils with a hint of grass. I would like a bit more malt in the body and some more bitterness from the hops, but overall Wernesgrüner is not bad at all.

Reading of the week: Letter to Jerome Weller from Martin Luther – Written in 1530, this letter gives a little insight into the mind of Luther after he wrote the pro-Jewish passage quoted above but before he started advocating arson. This letter is an acknowledgement that nobody is perfect and that obsession over small transgressions is counter-productive to living a good life. Luther advises that when the devil has you worried that all of your little sins will damn you, “drink somewhat more liberally, jest and play some jolly prank, or do anything exhilarating.” Show the devil that you have faith that your sins can’t destroy you.

Question of the week: Could an author do anything so bad that you determined never to read any of his work, regardless of its quality?

Stop losing weight! Don’t you know how bad exercising is for the environment?

Ever since Al Gore won a bunch of awards for his PowerPoint presentation on global warming, carbon emissions have been one of the biggest environmental hot topics. Proposed solutions for excessive carbon emissions include carbon credits, hybrid cars, and local sourcing. But people continue to ignore their personal carbon emissions. They really ought to consider this startling equation from an article in The British Medical Journal:


Well, it is not startling for anybody who hasn’t had high school chemistry for a few years. I’ll translate for those readers whose chemical notation is rusty: one fat molecule (a triglyceride in this example) combines with and 78 oxygen molecules to produce 55 carbon dioxide molecules, 52 water molecules, and energy. Even more simply: whenever your body burns fat, you take in oxygen and literally breathe away the pounds in the form of carbon dioxide. (Water is also released and excreted from the sweat glands or… elsewhere.) Every pound of fat you burn results in 2.8 pounds of CO2 emissions.

Frankly, I do not find any of that surprising. I have always thought it was awesome how plants take in CO2, separate the carbon from the oxygen, and turn it into fruit and leaves and all manner of plantstuffs. Trees turn air into wood. That’s amazing.

Some 250 years ago, Antoine Lavoisier showed that animal respiration is basically the opposite of that; animals consume plant matter, combine the carbon in it with oxygen, and breathe it out as CO2. However, distressingly few people understand this simple biological process. According to that BMJ article, most family doctors, dietitians, and personal trainers surveyed did not know where the fat goes when people lose weight. Most of them answered that fat is simply converted into heat or energy. As if the law of conservation of matter doesn’t apply to beer guts!

Obviously, carbon emissions from losing weight are not the same as carbon emissions from burning coal or gasoline. The carbon in fossil fuels has been locked away for millions of years, and the carbon in your paunch has only been locked away since the last holiday season. Also, it is likely that there are significantly more important factors in climate change than carbon emissions. However, feel free to use this as an excuse for skipping leg day.

Wachusett Light IPA

Beer of the week: Wachusett Light IPA – If you insist on losing weight, you may be tempted to drink “light” beer. The brewers of Wachusett Light IPA claim that it is America’s first light IPA. The beer is hazy orange and has a malty aroma with some of the typical IPA hops. The flavor is a bit more subdued than most IPAs, without the strong punch of hops that one expects from American IPAs. The finish is a bit on the watery side. After swallowing, there is a bit of bite from the hops, but this beer generally light on the flavor. Overall, however, I think this is a decent beer. I get why they call it a light IPA, but I think I would call it it a session pale ale. Of course, I’m not in marketing.

Reading for the week: Elements of Chemistry by Antoine Lavoisier – This excerpt from Lavoisier’s greatest work is somewhat dry, but it presents a few interesting features. First, Lavoisier explains why ice stays ice cold until it is completely melted even though almost every other substance we know of will warm up (or cool down) gradually. Secondly, he introduces a device called a calorimeter for the measuring of heat. The device is interesting in itself, but the name is also worth a bit of thought. Lavoisier defends mixing Latin (calor – heat) and Greek (metron – measure) because “in matters of science, a slight deviation from strict etymology, for the sake of giving distinctness of idea, is excusable.” He then shoves a guinea pig inside a sphere of ice to measure how much heat it produces.

Question for the week: Lavoisier’s word calorimeter is not the only Latin-Greek hybrid out there. Notable hybrid words include homosexual, television, automobile, and claustrophobia. Is there really something objectionable about mixing and matching root words this way?

Intemperate Minds

Freedom is an oft recurring theme on this blog. Often the subject is freedom from economic restrictions or government imposition. But there are other forces out there that restrict one’s freedom. For some people alcohol is one of those forces. As the members of Alcoholics Anonymous put it, “we are powerless over alcohol [and]… our lives have become unmanageable.” The bondage of addiction hints at an important questions about liberty.

Edmund Burk wrote that “men of intemperate minds cannot be free. Their passions forge their fetters.” To be governed by ones passions or addictions is to be a slave. As a consequence, there are those who argue that certain substances and actions should be banned in an otherwise free society. Liberty must be preserved by prohibition. Although paradoxical, the logic is this:

The decision to give up one’s freedom is inconsistent with being a member of a free society.
Therefore, one may not choose to be a slave.
Freedom to consume alcohol is the freedom to become an alcoholic.
But to be an alcoholic is to be a slave to alcohol.
Therefore, a free man may not consume alcohol.

Of course there are other arguments put forward by prohibitionists, but this rationale is the most interesting to me: freedom to drink (or use drugs, or buy sex, or smoke cigars) is false freedom since it leads to intemperance. And intemperance, as Burke said is slavery. So to prevent people from becoming slaves to their passions, they must be denied the freedom to drink (or use drugs, or buy sex, or smoke cigars).

One might argue that the word slavery is being thrown about a little too freely here. It may be a mistake to conflate slavery to addiction with chattel slavery. However, there are certainly those who believe that slavery to alcohol is as bad as actual slavery. As Frederick Douglass wrote “we had almost as well be slaves to man as to rum.” Both an escaped slave and a teetotaler, Douglass looks at the issue from an interesting perspective.

Although I have never been an addict or a slave, I do not think that slavery to alcohol is really comparable to chattel slavery. Further, I do not buy the argument that the only way to ensure freedom is to prohibit things that might lead to dissipation. In fact, I think that it is quite the opposite.

But this is not a new debate. After all, the first prohibition was on eating apples. So why did God put the tree in the garden if he knew that to eat from it was to die? Because, as the serpent pointed out, if there is no choice then there is no liberty.


Beer of the week: King Cobra Premium Malt Liquor – The serpent convinced Eve to eat of the fruit, so it can probably convince somebody to drink malt liquor. Malt liquor, as it turns out, is the sort of thing that alcoholics (and poor ones at that) would drink. As noted before, the designation of “malt liquor” in the United States basically just means “cheap, high alcohol beer”. A six pack of King Cobra is about 15¢ more that a sixer of Big Flats Light, but at 6% alcohol, this is the obvious choice for the drunk on a budget. That is until it is poured (although I think that it is more standard to consume King Cobra straight fro the can or 40 oz. bottle). This beer is very pale and very carbonated. Though the head fades very quickly, it is snow white and made of big bubbles, like a soda pop. It smells of cheap grain. The flavor is not as aggressively bad as expected. It has hints of apple juice and the strong carbonation leaves a pleasant fizzy tingle on the tongue. 

Reading of the week: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass – Just last week I wrote about how unreliable autobiographies can be. But I never said that they are not worth reading. In this passage, Douglass describes how slaves are given excessive amounts of alcohol to convince them that they are better off as slaves than they would be if they had to make their own choices. “Thus, when the slave asks for virtuous freedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance, cheats him with a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with the name of liberty.”

Question of the week: Does the above rationale for prohibition make sense despite its paradoxical nature? Are there other, more valid reasons to support prohibition?

Trust Me

One of the easiest mistakes to make when reading a story is ignoring the narrator. Not ignoring what the narrator says, but ignoring who the narrator is. Like an eye witness on the stand in a murder trial, a narrator’s biases, perception, and credibility ought to be carefully criticized.

Among the most suspect narrators are autobiographers. Who could possibly be less reliable than somebody testifying to their own great deeds? Giacomo Casanova would likely be forgotten today if he had not published outlandish memoirs of his adventures and sexual conquests. Similarly, Benvenuto Cellini would only be known as a relatively minor Renaissance artist if not for his (quite literally) incredible autobiography which features not only daring feats, but supernatural beings. But there is good reason to question the reliability of even less outrageous autobiographers. Neither the Confessions of Augustine nor Rousseau are totally reliable since each man had a specific agenda in writing about his own life. Benjamin Franklin was notoriously self-serving in his public and professional life, so why not in his autobiography?

Even more academic work must be critically examined for author bias. Herodotus, “the father of history”, never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Plutarch was similarly more interested in the stories of his Parallel Lives than the facts. (To say nothing of the fact that both Herodotus and Plutarch include anecdotes about events and conversations that they could have no way of knowing.) And how could Tacitus be objective about the lives of the early emperors of Rome when he was a member of the Senate that had lost so much of its power to those princes?

What is easier, but no less important, is to assess the biases, perceptional flaws, and reliability of fictional narrators. Faulkner has a habit of telling his stories through very unreliable narrators. The mentally retarded narrator Benjamin in The Sound and the Fury obviously has perceptional issues that make it very difficult to be sure what is actually going on. Similarly, his older brother Quentin’s deteriorating mental health makes him an unreliable narrator. In As I Lay Dying the narrators include a very confused little boy, a dead woman, and a young man sent to a mental institution. Clearly they are not all capable of telling the entire story.

Obviously the reader of any story cannot simply take everything the narrator says at face value. That is not to say that the narrator or the story itself should be totally discounted. Despite the observations above, not one of the books that I have mentioned is not worth reading. You can trust me, right?


Beer of the week: Post Road Pumpkin Ale – Halloween is tomorrow, so we are well and truly into the season for pumpkin beer (and pumpkin everything else.) The Brooklyn Brewing Company makes some fine brews, not the least of which is Post Road. This pretty orange beer pours with a fluffy head and smells of gingerbread. The rich, full body of Post Road is balanced nicely by tingling carbonation and spice. It evokes thoughts of warm pumpkin pie without trying to taste like pie. It is still a beer, and it tastes like a beer. A good one, at that.

Reading for the week: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving – This story is a Halloween classic. What I have never considered before, however, is the fact that Irving does not tell the story in his own name. Before the story even begins, Irving tells us that it was “found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker”. Is the story more or less reliable because it was found rather than written by Irving?

Question for the week: This post is about narrators of stories and histories, but what about purely philosophical writings (if such a thing exists)? How much must one know about Kant’s background before he can seriously study Kant’s writings? How much does it matter which pseudonym Kierkegaard used for a given work?

Forget Fear

The fear of forgetting is exceedingly common. More than a few people have nightmares about forgetting to study for an exam or forgetting to prepare for a presentation or speech. And it is not difficult to see why the fear of forgetting is so serious; the consequences can be dire. Forgetting an anniversary can result in marital discord. Forgetting to turn off the stove can result in a house fire. Forgetting about a project can result in a lost job. Forgetting is scary.

But forgetting is not only scary because of it’s consequences; it can also be scary because of it’s causes. Have you waken up after a night of drinking and not remembered how you got home? That is really scary. Since you don’t remember getting home, you have no way of knowing how close you may have come to doing something extremely dangerous. It may be the merest accident that you did not get seriously hurt or die, but you have no way to know because you drank so much that you can’t remember. Isn’t that terrifying?

To me, the most terrifying thing about forgetting is the fear of deteriorating mental health. I do not have any reason to think that I personally am losing any of my mental powers, but everybody who reaches old age has reason to fear that their body will outlive their reason, and that prospect is truly horrifying. I plan on living for many more years, but I extremely anxious about the prospect of living past the point where I can remember how to feed myself or recognize my loved ones’ faces.

Forgetting, however, is not always scary or bad. In fact, sometimes remembering is even worse. There is a reason that people talk of “being haunted” by memories. Edgar Allan Poe’s classic poem The Raven is about memory and the terrifying possibility of never being able to forget. The poem starts with the narrator reading a book of “forgotten lore.” And why is he reading forgotten lore? In the hopes that he can forget his lost love. He is trying to drive out his memories and replace them with something else that has already been forgotten.

The poem’s titular character, the raven, is the embodiment of the narrator’s inability to forget. Try as he might, the narrator will never rid himself of the bird just as he will never rid himself of the memory of “the rare and radiant maiden” whom he has lost. Even when he feels that he is on the verge of forgetting, when he gets distracted by other thoughts, he is brutally and unexpectedly forced to remember by the ominous fowl. And the worst thing about the raven is the knowledge that the narrator will be able to forget nevermore.


Beer of the week: Ghost Ship White IPA – With Halloween just around the corner, a beer that is advertized as “scary good” seems appropriate. This cloudy orange brew comes from Capital Brewery in Wisconsin. It pours with a sticky white head. The aroma is of strong hops with a hit of grapefruit. The smell, however, is a bit misleading; the body of the beer is lighter and the flavor is less hoppy than I expected based on the aroma. Although the flavor is surprisingly slight, the finish has a pleasant spice and a bit of a tingle from the citrusy hops.

Reading of the week: The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe – Surely this is one of the most famous American poems ever written. In The Raven, Poe does not mention beer, but he does mention nepenthe. Nepenthe is an ancient Greek potion to induce forgetfulness and chase away sorrow. Sounds like beer to me.

Question of the week: What fear is worse: forgetting something important, or the inability to forget something devastating?

Conspicuous Consumption of Killian’s

When I worked in an Italian restaurant, a customer remarked by way of compliment that “it’s clear that there are real immigrants working in the kitchen.” I confirmed that the cooks were, indeed, immigrants and that I would pass on the compliment to the chef. I neglected to mention where the immigrants in question came from originally; I suspect very strongly that the customer would have been less effusive in her praise of the food if she knew that the chef was not Italian, but Mexican. Preconceived notions have such a peculiar way of effecting perception.

Some years later, it was my duty (nay, honor) to purchase kegs of beer for campus-wide college parties. Substantial though my allotted budget was, it was not inexhaustible. To save money for very good beer at the biggest parties, I purchased cheaper beers throughout the year. For the most part, people seemed to like this plan, but I occasionally got complaints. I was always surprised when people had the nerve to whine about having to (or, more properly, getting to) drink Yeungling or PBR at a party. Everybody’s favorite beer should be free beer.

One way that I avoided complaints was to purchase Killian’s Irish Red. Killian’s certainly seems classier than PBR or Bud Light. I personally think that it tastes better as well. The twist, however, is that a keg of Killian’s is no more expensive than a keg of Coors Light. (Which is not surprising when you learn that Killian’s is brewed by the same giant company.) Many of the students who complained about cheap macrobrews applauded my decision to serve this cheap macrobrew, simply because they didn’t know how cheap it was.

Thorstein Veblen wrote of fashion that people have a strong bias against anything cheap. People of taste will reject a beautiful, well-made garment as soon as they realize that it is not expensive. “[The garment] loses caste aesthetically because it falls to a lower pecuniary grade.” The same (and its reverse) is often true of beer: if it is 50¢ per can, people believe that it can’t be good, and if it is $15 per bottle, people believe that it can’t be bad.

Part of why I favor drinking from a glass is so that the label (and the price tag) don’t distract you from the beer.


Beer of the week: George Killian’s Irish Red -Killian’s is ruby red and certainly more eye-catching than a domestic light beer. The roasted malt that provides the color (at least I hope that the color comes from the malt rather than food coloring) also imparts some flavor. To be sure, it isn’t a great beer but it does have decent body and some good bread and caramel notes. I definitely recommend it if you want a beer that seems more fancy than it is.

Reading for the week: The Theory of the Leisure Class by Thorstein Veblen – Veblen coined the term “conspicuous consumption” to describe the myriad ways in which people indulge in luxury goods and activities (and let everybody else know it.) In this excerpt Veblen discusses how fashion can show off wealth. Not only can a man in a tuxedo afford to buy a tuxedo, the pristine cleanliness of his tuxedo makes it obvious that he does not have to perform any manual labor.

Question for the week: Not that many people would be willing to admit this, but have you ever liked something until you found out that it was cheap and only then decided that you did not like it?


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