Heineken is an amoral mercantile outfit that appropriated the Red Star. Still, please: put down your pitchforks and torches, because I like their beer.

Per Wikipedia: Heineken Lager Beer (Dutch: Heineken Pilsener)—wait. Is Heineken a Pilsener or lager? The bottle says “lager”, which settles the issue. At least for me, because I’m not too discerning about beer.

I only expect beer to be bitter, carbonated, and more than two will be required to get something of a buzz. Hard liquor, however [daydreams, drools].

Anyway, Heineken’s 5% alkyhol moves the Buzzmeter at 30-odd ounces (YMMV), which costs $10 with decent tips at a chinchorro four minutes (walking) from my Apt. Also, I appreciate nationalistic pandering:

Point, Heinie

Heineken is marketed as a premium brand here in PR. Since forever, it holds the Heineken Jazz Fest, a yearly festival of (mostly) Latin Jazz that attracts top artists. (Here’s a recording from the 1993 Jazzfest, featuring conguero Giovanni Hidalgo.) And, from what I’ve seen, Heineken’s advertising everywhere consists of classy folks frolicking or doing bonehead shit, always in an upscale setting.

On the othah hand, about 20 years ago, Heineken got mainstream here in PR because a very popular mayor enjoyed them immensely and frequently. He was a retired cop and everyone knew him by his nickname: El Amolao (“The Sharpened One”, truly not an assessment of his acumen). Here is the Mayor, doing a TV skit in military uniform, saying “This is fucked!”:

Then he says something about needing “Palmolives” because he was thirsty. That’s how he called Heinekens, and the name stuck.

A true relic via http://www.angelfire.com/bc/joelfotos/amolao.html 

To the consternation of the target market, Heinekens became Palmolives and the choice of proles. Bars priced 7 oz. Heinies comparably to cheap 10 oz. canned beers. Ultimately, drinkers were bitch-slapped by the invisible hand that brought even cheaper canned beers—hard pass by me. If watery dreck is all that’s available, I’d rather not drink.

I’m not being uppity. Sometimes you have to reflect on the quality and wisdom of your choices, and put absolute trust on narcotics.

I like beer, but didn’t at first. A taste developed after spending most of the summer after high school graduation drinking about 12 cases of Budweiser per week with my cousin, mostly at the beach. Main takeaway, still the norm: beer’s gotta be very cold (IMHO). Even when I was living through winters in upstate NY and CO, the beer still had to be very cold. Back then (mid-90s),  the main beer of choice was Molson Ice, per an old roommate’s dictum: “Five get you hammered!” He was the dream roommate: adjusted, outgoing, and most of his friends were girls. You’d think he was not a deep guy, but one time we got wasted and he raged at length on an existential conundrum: “Why can’t friends fuck?”

Point is, I’m through with Budweiser and even more watery stuff that is an affront to self-respecting drunkenness. Heineken is my baseline for beer.

Heineken has a steady carbonation, even after sitting half an hour (Source: wimps). It also has a nice color, is bitter but not at the expense of refreshment, and has enough body to be a beer beer.

It’s perfectly fine. Sure, I’d prefer a Guinness most of the time. But when it’s at least 85 degrees most of the year, a less soupy beer sold everywhere stands out. Palmolive: I’d soak in it.

Banner by KecskeFészek.hu via here