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So, how did you get into beer? This month, bloggers of all stripes are sharing their beer stories for Blogtoberfest. Got a story? If you’ve got a blog, post it on the Facebook group page. If you’re not blogging, share it in the comments and @beerspotter!
I started caring about beer during senior year of college, which was by turns sleepy and exciting (point is, I went easy on the work). I was living on the edge of Chapel Hill, N.C., a 3-minute walk from Carrboro’s Weaver Street Market, where my education began.
Weaver Street is a local supermarket co-op, with a grocery and prepared-food selection comparable to, say, Whole Foods, but less expensive and with the aisles sort of squished together. People were always smiley there, too. That may be the nostalgia talking, or it might be the 100 or so microbrews that lined their fridge.
Five days a week, here’s how I lived: Stop in around 4 or 5 p.m., say hi to friends picnicking on a blanket outside. Grab a big-boy bottle of craft beer; I started learning on the extreme end, with barleywines and double IPAs from Avery, Rogue, and Great Divide. Swing by the deli counter for samples of local soppressata and a wheel of Chapel Hill Creamery Camembert. Grab a fresh baguette, and return to picnic blanket. Devour with friends. Sun nap.
I really think that sharing these beers with friends was central to my love of beer. As with wine, when you split a bottle, that bottle becomes part of the conversation. Together, you discuss what you’re tasting, develop your palates, and learn what you like and don’t like. Today, I still prefer to drink the same way.
Photo by will eelke dekker via Flickr, Creative Commons Attribution License