The first beer I ever stole was a Shiner's legendary Bock. I was 19 years old and had spent the summer visiting my brothers' Matt Brown and Mark-Andrew Feaster in the inexhaustible swelter that is Dallas, Texas in the summer months. Back then accumulating Shiner's was like trying to sunggle Coors across the Continnetal divide thrity years ago. You just couldn't find it up north. Filching my brothers' fridge and stowing a six-pack in my carry on to nurse on the flight home seemed like a lesser crime.
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| Solstice at Sandridge... |
Rudolph nosed and
cranberry in hue, Shiner’s Holiday cheer is a festive teardrop of a dunkleweisen is a intrinsically a dark
wet-dream wheat seasonal, celebrating the gradual preponderance of swelling
darkness into flickering tree lights of another year soulfully eclipsed. The
beer hiccups in a holiday wreath of flavor,
pinching with hints of miracle street molasses married with a splash of peach,
leaving a tinsel aftertaste in the terminal of your lips. It is the perfect
brew to make out with beneath the bough of the mistletoe at the office
Christmas party when the punch bowl has gone dry.
So this solstice, under a swelling umbrella of darkness, sip into Shiners holiday tithe, and wait for the rebirth of light leaking at first in coppery alchemical spittles of wheat and gold.
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