By Evangeline Jennings
I’ve decided I’ve been living in America too long. What prompted this decision? Not the inane politics, the bible-bashing bigots, the war on women, or the healthcare system. No, it was the beer.
When I was a kid, I lived in Italy for a summer and every night after work we’d chill out with a bottle or two of a domestic beer called Peroni Nastro Azzurro. It was a light refreshing beer and when I moved back to the UK, it became my tipple of choice whenever and wherever it was available. It was, I confess, an affectation. But read on, dot … dot … dot … and flash forward more years than I care to mention.
After ten years living in Texas, I’ve become accustomed to drinking mostly local brews like Shiner, Saint Arnold, Alamo, No Label, and Real Ale – what can I say, we don’t drink a lot of beer but when we do, we’re fussy about it.
Now flash back to Saturday night. I went out for dinner with a friend who took me to a newly opened Italian restaurant where I had a bottle of Moretti followed by a Nastro Azzurro. And here’s the thing. They were both so much stronger in taste than I was used to that I could barely believe my own buds. A decade of American beer had diminished my palate.
My few remaining friends in the UK will laugh at me, I know, and scoff that Peroni and Moretti are mass-produced gnat’s piss or something similar but in a way that’s my point.
There are probably better reasons for moving back to Europe, but this is the one I’ve chosen. This time next year, I’ll be living in Dorset again. Unless I get a better idea or offer in the meantime.
(Take me back to dear old Blighty)