Guzzle... Guzzle... Guzzle

Sob. I miss my beer.

For the record, I am not a recovering alcoholic. I was never an alcoholic to begin with. I am just a social drinker whose beverage of choice happens to have healthy head of foam and plenty of calories.

A brief history of my drinking habit - it duly started when I turned eighteen, the legal drinking age in Singapore. Being still in the midst of weaning off juvenile soft drinks, the natural choice of liquid for me was sweet cocktails with fancy names, which I drank not so much because I enjoy them, but more by default since most of my friends were drinking the same.

One could tell that I wasn't really into them by the way I associate each drink with the mixers - tonic, Coke, juice... rather than associating them with their respective types of liquor. Frankly, I couldn't tell gin from tequila, rum from vodka. Yeah, I was that clueless. I wouldn't even know if someone gave me methanol. Very quickly, I lost interest in liquid concoctions of various kinds, and from then on, there was no looking back. It was only beer for me.

Contrary to popular belief, my beer-loving ways were not a result of my days in the US-and-A, as Mr. Borat calls it. Well, it could be, if I had been living in sunny California or tropical Florida. I was, however, buried knee-deep in the great Midwestern snow, where steaming hot chocolate was the rational way to drink.

Anyway, it was at the royal age of twenty when I got officially inducted into the Empire of Kirin, Asahi and Sapporo. I was fresh in Japan and everyone out there was out to get me drunk. In fact, I think they were out to get everybody else drunk. At dinner parties, I was greeted first with traditional Japanese bows (maybe to apologize in advance) and then basins full of namabiru to shove my face in. It wasn't that difficult, really. Once you're halfway through, the i-ke, i-ke chants sound like heaven harps playing under water. Or maybe, I was just drowning in beer.

Soon, I was addicted. Beer time was equated with friends, laughter and many silly games to boot. As my alcohol threshold became higher and my face redder, I slowly perfected the art of coupling beer with yakitori, ramen, okonomiyaki, edamame... It was culinary at its highest. At least, it was the kind of art that I could deal with.

Now, back in Singapore where beer is more expensive and yet less entertaining, I have cut down on my beer binging ways. In fact, it had come to a complete halt since my asthma came back last year. That is why I moan about missing my beer, missing the way I guzzle it down and let out a big "aaahhhh...." of satisfaction.

Well, I'll just have to make do with my diet Coke for now. At least there is no beer belly to worry about.

Bottoms up!