Ode to Stella

A mistress. She is everywhere. You shouldn’t but sometimes you just can’t help yourself. You certainly don’t want to get caught doing it though. Especially not around these parts. But forget that. Forget right and wrong. Forget the waxed lyricism. Forget the rare bottles, the hyped-up stuff, the big names. Forget everything. Beer goes deeper than that. Beer is simpler than that. There’s nothing else like it. Nothing hits the spot like a beer. And sometimes a pint of lager is exactly what’s needed. You don’t have to taste it. You don’t have to think about it. You just drink it. And beer’s for drinking. It’s golden, it’s cold, the sun is hot, it quenches like a dip in the pool, it chills like a cool breeze. A pint of lager please. I feel naughty for ordering it. Having a second one is completely outrageous. By the third I’m thrill-seeking. The fourth is the default choice: I’m in now. The sun is going down, it’s warm, my skin is zinging, my friends are smiling and so am I as I sit here glowing with the effects of my summer mistress. Our affair is out in the open. Her name is Stella.

FYI: I usually choose Kronenbourg but it just didn’t have the same ring as Stella when I was writing this! And a quick edit: I NEVER drink Stella. I can't stand the stuff! In this post 'Stella' stands as the symbol and figure of lager-pop.