Sure, it could be argued that the humble pub originated as a meetinghouse for the community, a place to converse with your fellow man, not a place to get off your head. So if by some freak occurrence the pub ran out of beer and punters had to forgo a frothie (or whatever your favourite tipple is), would it really be such a devastating event?
The answer, quite simply, is yes.
For those people that don't drink beer or alcohol (and I mean people who pass on alcohol because they don't enjoy the taste, effects etc, not problem drinkers who have given it up because it interferes with their life), let me put it this way to you. To a drinker, a pub with no beer is akin to Christmas without presents or Easter without chocolate - a very sad occasion indeed that has had all the magic sucked out of it.
Last weekend I visited the pub with no beer. All the other patrons were ordering pints of amber ale or chilled glasses of pinot gris - so refreshing on a 40 plus degree day. But for me, the pub was dry. The beer on tap had stopped flowing, the corks remained in the bottles, the spirits sat stiffly on the shelf. It was as if I was a ghost, unseen by the publican, instead of a paying customer with a need to wet their whistle with the good stuff.
I'd be lying if I said I'm finding the transition from drinker to non-drinker easy the second time round. The first booze-free nine months I spent last year were a breeze because I was single, living with my Dad and totally consumed by writing and finding the zen within. But this time round, I'm distracted by the dazzling bright lights of my future. I am in love with the most amazing person and the temptation to drink with him is constant. Especially when hanging out with his friends. A drink or two would help to lubricate my social tongue, take the edge off, reduce my anxiety, help me to relax enough to let my personality and sense of humour shine. But I can't drink. It's not worth it.
Back to the pub. So considering I had to be content with a lemon, lime and bitters, I remembered that there was actually something else I loved about pubs which didn't involve alcohol. The chicken parma. Surely, eating a delicious parma would be just as exciting and satisfying as drinking a Coopers Pale Ale?
I eagerly took the first bite but was immediately disappointed. The chicken was dry in parts, the gloopy cheese on top was a cheap variation to mozzarella, the pasatta was sour and manufactured. The salad flopped in an awkward basket on the plate was smothered on top with squeeze bottle dressing instead of tossed through the salad. On the bright side, the crinkle cut chips were pretty good.
Noticing the disapproval on my face, my boyfriend asked me what I thought of my parma.
"I'd give it two out of five," I said.
"Really?" What do you think's missing?" he asked.
"The beer," I answered without missing a beat. Then I laughed because I wasn't joking. "What would you give yours?"
"Three out of five" he said.
"That's because you're drinking a beer," I responded.
His rating was understandable. He hasn't visited the pub with no beer yet...
