Let’s grab a pint
There’s something very specific about saying “let’s grab a pint.”
You’re not grabbing “a beer,” where you might split a pitcher of Bud or take advantage of Two Dollar Beer Hour at the local sports bar.
You’re not grabbing “some craft brews,” where you might fill your table with tiny tasting glasses or partake in an extensive conversation on the use of coriander in the belgium-style ale in your tulip glass.
You’re not grabbing “a drink,” where you might end up anywhere between sharing a bottle of pinot noir and taking $6 tequila shots between Coronas. Somewhere in that spectrum is even sipping ginger and vodka out of a copper mug.
Don’t get me wrong; these are all fine choices for a Saturday night and I condone every single one of them. I’m just talking now about grabbing “a pint.”
“A pint” holds a different expectation: You will be getting a beer. A full beer. A full purposeful beer. And that beer will have company and conversation. And that beer never, ever comes by itself.
A pint is to be refilled, remembered and reasonably priced. It must have enough alcohol content to work alone, but should never have to. A pint should be thoughtful but not over thought, flavorful but not pretentious and always, always free from judgement and spillage.
One of the best ways to get to know someone is to have a pint with them. Drop your guard, drop their guard and just have a couple of bubbly laughs. So that’s how I’ll get to know Michigan: by grabbing a few pints and letting my guard down.
So here’s to the mid-west brew-adventure. Cheers.