Month: December 2018

Make no mistake, if you are in Portugal you will be told this is some sort of traditional thing, going way back to the very first rums ever made, and being on the menu at every Portuguese bar as well as in every home.  But, like fraternity hazings or somber funerals or online “likes,” it is a tradition that should have been aborted before it was ever born.

It is often a pleasure to experience local beverages, and sometimes truly surprising, even confusing.  Rarely is it quite this disgusting.  This drink is a filthy pirate, and not of the charming, Jack Sparrow variety.  More along the lines of an actual, modern day pirate, who attacks people out on their boats, steals everything, murders or kidnaps, smells like diesel and dried piss, sings rape songs off key, and breaks bottles on the street.  And it tastes like it too.  Imagine, if you will, a blend of your grandfather’s  aftershave and “spice” cough syrup (if that was a thing), then add a dash of nail polish remover (say, bubblegum scented) and top it off with the taste equivalent of how your head feels after a night of Jagermeister.  If that is your kind of thing, you’ll love BeiRao.

The most surprising thing about this drink is that it sits alongside the wines of Portugal, which are among the most delicious in the world, and cheap as hell here.  Somehow people choose this sugar laden assault on the stomach over a glass of local wine.  I don’t get it.   But, hey, it’s tradition.

Oxford is a town that reeks of old timey institutions, ancient libraries, cobblestone streets, and the confusing, empowering,yet conflicted relationship between church and academia.  The air buzzes with the science, literature, and history, of a city founded on higher learning.  Tonight, as I sit in The Old Bookbinder’s Ale House soaking in the atmosphere of this pub that was founded here in 1869, I ask a fellow musician what’s the local brew.  It’s a lager, no shock there, aptly named the Oxford Noble Lager.

This beer rolls out of the tap with the ease and precision of an English gentleman.  It is in no rush, but it knows how to get things done in an orderly fashion.  After a brief introduction from the bartender, we get to know each other.

“I say, awfully sporting of you to ask for me by name,” it says as I look into its caramel-gold depths, “but would you mind terribly putting me on a coaster or a doily or whatever you American chaps call them?  Spares the wood of the bar those terrible water rings, you know.”

After a lightly chilled, malty drink of it that reminds me deliciously of the English ales I have tried back home, I set it lightly down on a coaster.  I tell it that it has a different character than the ales I tried in Scotland and Ireland which prompts it to simply arch one eyebrow in mild amusement and quip, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  I didn’t mean it that way, but I keep that to myself.

The music starts at precisely the time the sound man said it would, and every performer, myself included, adheres strictly to their set time allotted.   The next Oxford Noble Lager picks up exactly where the conversation with my previous glass left off, as if no time had passed and they shared the same mind.  I enjoyed his dry humor, his cutting takes on world events, and even his polite requests to keep the noise down and behave like a gentleman.

All in all my evening with the lager was pleasant, civilized, and left me ready to recommend a trip to Oxford to anyone who is curious and has a thirst for a slightly higher-brow version of their English Pub experience.