Exploring the zen of the beer garden

You can't really talk about
beer, beer gardens, or
anything similar, without
d i s c u s s i n g
Reinheitsgebot, or the
German purity laws of 1516. According
to Reinheitsgebot, which was German
law until the European Community
forced them to overturn it in
1987, beer is made of only four ingredients:
water, yeast, barley and hops.
Often referred to as the world's first
consumer protection law, it outlawed
adulterants and secured beer's place
within the German cuisine.

The fact that the ingredients in
beer have been regulated for so long
points to why it is special among the
pantheon for alcoholic beverages.
Beer is so important to food and culture
because it's purpose is not just to
get you drunk -- it is a thirst
quencher and often a meal in itself.
This is why it lends itself to being the
leisure drink of people who aren't
members of the leisure class.

Unlike some laboratory-concocted
fizzy clear "malternative," beer
isn't the exclusive province of underage
teenyboppers and unlike wines,
beer isn't something some lillylivered
aesthete can look down on
you for pouring incorrectly. When
you have a beer to unwind after a
hard day's work, you are in the company
of a bank teller in Frankfurt, a
taxi driver in Nairobi, a machinist in
Allentown and millions of other
people who work hard and don't want
to get drunk as much as they want to
quench their thirst and put an icy
cold dividing line between their work
and their free time.

This is why we have a beer garden
and not a vodka garden or a wine garden.
As the spring sun beats down on
the President's Garden, who wants a
shot of Stoli to wash down those curly
fries? Taking a break from the endless
academic obstacle course of exams,
papers and lectures, who wants to spend
their weekend spitting out wine while
being told about imperceptible differences
in the type of grape?

Beer is the only thing that could
possibly be served at any type of "garden"
event worth its salt because it
goes well with everything Spring Fair
weekend is about: sun, grease and a
temporary halt in the daily grind.

Beer is a drink of the people and we
are the people, the hard-working, smart
folk who will one day mend the wounds,
design the bridges, write the books and
do the governing for the world. Leave
the single-malt scotch to Princeton, with
their legacies and grade inflation. Johns
Hopkins deserves a more utilitarian,
and in the end more satisfying, alcoholic
refreshment.

That being said, we have a Beer Garden
at Spring Fair, which you probably
already know. You probably also know
that it's zealously guarded by people
who are fairly good at distinguishing a
fake ID from a real one. There are alternative
methods of getting in, but for the
sake of underage readers, I'm not going
to spill the beans.

Once you've made your way past
the ID Gestapo, you'll find that the
Beer Garden is a fair in itself. Many
student groups have booths set up
from which they sell different types of
beer. The beers are divided into two
price types (last year, they were $2
and $1.50), for which tickets are available
at one central area, which is probably
a good idea, considering how
drunk most of the vendors are at the
end of the day. It's always best to keep
the money in the hands of the sober.

In terms of the beer, the selection
is pretty good. Let's take a look at the
choices:

Blue Moon White Ale: You would
think that this is a microbrew made by
struggling beer-lovers. If you thought
that, you'd be wrong, since they're
owned by Coors. As for the beer itself, I
don't like Belgian beer because it's too
darn pretentious -- I went to a Belgian
restaurant in New York once where they
had hundreds of varieties, some costing
over $30. If I want the snobbery and
inflated cost of wine, I'll drink wine.

Coors Light: Do you want a beer,
but don't want to taste it? Try Coors
Light.

Molson Canadian: Just because
they have socialized medicine and
spell words like "center" incorrectly,
doesn't mean that their popular beer
is better and less watery than Coors.
Pretty disappointing, eh?

Sam Adams Lager: It's a rich lager,
the only one I've ever seen my
father drink. Some people might
think it's too bitter.

Sam Adams Summer Ale: I was
excited that this would be a
Hefeweisen, a traditional Bavarian
summer wheat ale that is often enjoyed
with a wedge of lemon, but
alas, it's not. Sam Adams Summer is
a Belgian-style beer, like Blue Moon.

Yuengling: Fresh from Pennsylvania,
this hearty lager is a regional
favorite -- cheap, but full-bodied
and easy-to-drink.

On a related note, I'm glad that they
decided not to serve hard cider this
year. While I appreciated having the
option when I was torn away from my
favorite alcoholic drink for the duration
of Passover, cider is not an equivalent
or substitute for beer. Some may
argue that having cider is the only way
for men to drag their Smirnoff Icequaffing
lady-friends to the Garden,
but I beg to differ.

Beer is not just for men; anyone
who doesn't think that a woman
can enjoy a tall pint just as much as
a man is a chauvinist pig. I am a firm
believer that beer, although an acquired
taste, varies in style and character
enough that everyone can find
a brew that suits them. My personal
favorite is Brooklyn Lager. You can
get it in bottles at Wells and Beltway
Liquors, but they don't bring the
kegs this far south, which is a damn
shame in my book.

At the Beer Garden, you'll see me at
the News-Letter booth, pouring frothy
glasses of Blue Moon and Coors Light.
Thanks to a new set of idiotic rules, I
can't drink and serve at the same time,
but you best believe that I'll be hanging
out amongst the students, parents and
mullets with a beer in my hand and a
smile on my face.

This cross-section of ages, races and
tastes in hairstyle shows the power of
beer. Whether we spend our Monday
in the lab, the office or the shop, we all
spend the weekend on Brody's lawn
with cups of that sweet, sweet nectar.