Chilean Beer

Here's the sitch on the ground. There are two major Chilean beers which are more or less dependably available wherever you go, and they're usually the only ones available: Cristal (which means Crystal) and Escudo (Shield). Cristal is like Coors Light and I suspect Escudo is actually a malt brew. Sometimes it's bottled flat.

I recommend twisting open the cap while in the liquor store to see whether or not it makes a fizzing sound. I prefer Escudo because it's slightly higher ammonia content gives it a nutty flavor that wins out over the absolute absence of flavor in Cristal. Nevertheless, in small provincial bars there is often only one option available, and it is inevitably Cristal.

On the flipside, trendy spots in the center of the nation's capital will serve you a small bottle Belgian import for $12.

Generally your best bet is a good dark brew called Kunstmann that comes from the South of Chile where the Germans colonized about a century and a half ago. It's somewhat available in Santiago, but at upwards of $3 for chinsy 33mL bottle, Kunstmann is kinduva buzzkill.

So I'd pretty much resigned myself to beer austerity (satisfied with Escudo) until the flames of temptation danced up from the south. While traveling there earlier this month, I stumbled upon a decent pint of micro-brew, on tap, for 2 bucks.

I discovered freedom.

But I shouldn't romanticize the experience, as it started out a bit shaky - Chilean provincialism reared its ugly head when the woman behind the bar began cautioning me that this "Artisan Beer" was "different" from...

The way she said "Artisan Beer" (cerveza artesenal) sent a shiver down my spine.

But my first pull at the pint glass washed away all the ugliness of culture. The beer spoke for itself. I'd struck gold. I'd found the Real Thing, and I drank my fill. Well into the second pint I could feel a strange sense of wholesomeness coursing through my being, emitting a Golden aura of Goodness, strength and forthrightliness. I even began to think kind thoughts about Chile.

My thoughts quickly moved on.

On to Germany. I understood again why German beer drinking culture is doted upon with such fond affection. Even the rueful chuckling about certain excesses is fundamentally wholesome, evoking the Rewards of the Harvest. A frothy fistful of mugs carried by a buxom lass. Pink faced, sparkling eyed men wearing lederhosen and dancing arm in arm.

But this ecstasy of reverie did not come without a painful interruption. I had a moment, mercifully swift, in which my thoughts glanced into darker territory, and my Inner Smile creased itself into a grimace. A year, I thought to myself. A year in which I had subjected my ailing liver, nay, my Poor Soul, to the iniquity of Chilean beer. Oh, to what depths!

Drinking in Chile is all too often the quiet art of the craven. An ubiquitous fixture, the Chilean drunk sits alone in a forgotten watering hole in Santiago. His feeble existence is propped up by a liter-sized bottle of "beer", and his eyes are quick to take on a fleeting but sincere glimmer of happiness as his face contorts into silent, oily laughter. He orders another. But minutes later his body is heaped upon the card table, an unconscious mass underneath the gloomy, flickering fluorescent lights.

Perhaps someone should give him an "Artisan Beer" instead?