This land is your land,
this land is my land,
From the California,
to the New York island.
From the Redwood Forest,
to the gulf stream waters,
This land was made for you and me.
Come July fourth, millions of red blooded Americans will invite friends and family to their homes and proceed to fire up the grill. While the coals are busy developing a perfect coat of white hot ash, cold cans will be cracked and longneck bottles will rattle together in countless ice chests, from sea to shining sea. Toasts will be made, fireworks will be lit, and kids will run reckless, scrawling sparkler dreams across the balmy night sky.
Despite our differences, we all come together on Independence Day. Throughout the nation, cold beers are one common thread that connects us all, and wraps around us like the blue-hued smoke that piles out the top vents of a Weber Kettle. The beer that is in our myriad of coolers speaks volumes to the diversity and the beauty that is America. Land of the free, and so on, you know what I mean.
So then, the question begs: What is the quintessential American beer? If I walk up to some hipster party, I could be handed a cold can of PBR, and I’d gladly take it. At my neighbor’s house across the street, they will no doubt be out on their front lawn, watching fireworks, and they could toss me a Modelo. If I went to Darin’s house, I would bet my rent check that he has a great Belgian trappist ale that he’s been saving for just this occasion. My girlfriend will probably be drinking some hoppy monstrosity- a triple IPA that tastes like pine tar and ichor. If you come to my house, I’d offer you what I was drinking at the time, maybe, no, probably a bottle of Miller High-Life.
You can bring whatever you like to this party. Anyone can drink whatever kind of beer they like here. German, Mexican, Belgian, British-Colonial-Indian, they’re all ours now. Whatever you brought to this cookout, just toss it into the cooler, and help yourself to what’s there. Because nobody wants to drink alone, and today we won’t.
So, on the eve of America’s two hundred and forty second birthday, if you want to drink a quintessentially American beer, there’s one, and only one, that I can recommend: A cold one, shared with friends.