A week ago, my wife was readying to drive to one of our local supermarkets, Acme, it being the only one she knows of that carries a cold cereal she’s partial to and was out of (Kashi Organic Warm Cinnamon).

“Want to come along and check out their beers?” Sandy asked me. Well, sure. I was running low on beer, and Acme’s beer section is very good. More important, though, was the fact, unbeknownst to Sandy, that the notion to write a story about beer had been sloshing around sloppily in my head for a few days. Clearly, then, it was no coincidence that Sandy had invited me to accompany her. By which I mean the beer gods, ensconced in an immense tavern somewhere up above, were telling me, through Sandy, what they expected me to do: They wanted me to pull my thoughts together and pen a paean to beer. Or else, probably.

So, off I went to Acme with my wife, where we replenished our respective stocks of beer and cereal. And several hours later I sat my aged ass down at my computer and got to work on this story.

I’ve been drinking beer all of my adult life. It’s the only form of alcoholic beverage I’m into. I don’t like hard liquor at all. And even though I enjoy a bit of wine now and then, it hasn’t captured me enough to become a regular part of my diet.

On the other hand, I absolutely adore good beer. That statement, however, didn’t apply to me until 1994, during Sandy’s and my honeymoon. Before then, I’d downed plenty of brews, mostly American-made lagers such as Budweiser and Miller, without giving them much thought. I liked them, but I certainly wasn’t in love.

All of that changed on Martha’s Vineyard, the Massachusetts island where we honeymooned. There, at restaurants whose beer offerings were broader than what I was accustomed to, I began to realize that beers more flavorful and robust than Budweiser and its kin existed, that beer came in many styles besides lagers, and that brews from other countries were available for purchase in the States, my native land. Those revelations have made my life significantly better than it otherwise would have been.

There are so many beers out there. Lots of them, the so-called craft beers, are from smallish breweries of recent or fairly recent vintage. (The craft beer revolution took off in earnest during the 1980s, centered in Britain, the USA, Belgium and a few other nations.) Conversely, quite a few European brews have roots that extend back centuries, some to the Middle Ages. Ever since my honeymoon I’ve been on a non-stop quest to sample a goodly number of products from the categories I just mentioned. I haven’t been thrilled by every beer, but the majority have hit the spot just fine.

When much younger, I commonly knocked back several or more beers at one sitting. What guy in his 20s and 30s hasn’t? It’s the thing to do. In any event, for reasons I’m uncertain of, my beer consumption slowed down around 1990, though it’s gone up slightly over the last few years. These days I drink five beers per week, on average. That’s less than one per day. I’m fairly confident that this level of consumption has done me, and will do me, no harm. As always, though, time will tell.

But I make up for my relatively limited intake of beer by thinking about beer a whole lot. Right now, for example, I’m anticipating, with relish, the beer I’ll imbibe with dinner tonight. Which one shall it be? I have ten different beers in the house to choose from at the moment, including a pilsner, a saison, an amber ale and two pale ales.

Perhaps J.A.W.N., a pale ale, will be the selection. A creation of Neshaminy Creek Brewing Company, it is one of my all-time favorite brews. (You can learn more about the Philadelphia slang word jawn by clicking here.) J.A.W.N. is boldly bitter, as all pale ales should be. And its flavor and aroma, earthy with distant hints of peaches and pears, make me say to myself, “holy f*cking shit, this beer is perfection,” every time I take a swig.

I could go on and on about beer. However, I feel I’ve said enough, and damn well have geeked-out enough. Hopefully, I’ve placated the beer gods. I’d hate to get on their bad side. If that were to happen, they’d probably take J.A.W.N., and who knows how many other good brews, away from me. Therefore, over and out!