Sierra Madre

In 1998, I tied the knot. The same year I began a love affair with a beer. Scot and I were living in San Francisco and the most popular beer served in bars was Sierra Nevada. Honestly, I choked the first couple back. This new amber brew was heartier than the Silver Bullets I had slung back in college. I wasn't sure I deserved something hearty, rich, and cultured. But, like the San Francisco fog, I grew to appreciate it. I drank it on Polk St. in a cozy bar with velvet couches, and on a concrete bench on Haight. We left San Francisco, and I returned to Arizona with a whole new appreciation for beer. Since then, there have been many different liquid loves. I like me a good Octoberfest, Kirin, and Fat Tire.

On Monday, I spent a blissful morning with my mother. We did some shopping at Williams-Sonoma, and then went for a bite to eat. We sat at a trendy restaurant, talking about life, death and how the two seem to be co-mingling in our circle lately. We shared a pizza, and when my mom ordered a Sierra Nevada, I joined her. Sure it was a Monday at noon, but why not? The first sip sent me over the edge. It was as if I had kissed Scot for the first time. I could only describe it as pure palatal pleasure, deliciousness and nostalgia mixed into one. My life did a rapid rewind in glorious technicolor. I slammed the table and had a long overdue heart-to-heart with myself.

Why had I neglected this beer? Had I forgotten how much it meant to me? Why didn't I indulge in this beer more often? Was the extra $1 a six-pack really holding me back?

Monday I went to Fry's a bought 2 six-packs. Thank God I came to my senses. I had missed Sierra Nevada, and hadn't even realized it. I'm so glad it was still there for me.