It is far easier to match a craft beer to your personal style. When I was in college, the only way to do this was to be be incredibly boring and predictable. So, I would whip a dandy little number I called “Murffbrau” for my friends – or at least the ones who liked their beer chewy and to double as a mild hallucinogenic. These days, the options for those of us who want to pair a beer with our personality, our food, or our company has rather widened. The trouble is that sometimes we aren’t sure what our beer is saying about us.
Stouts & Scotch Ale: You are a traditionalist.
German Dunkels: See above.
Lambic: See above, only more so.
Sour Lambic: You’re mad at your family and/or friends.
Double IPA: …and the only way to deal with them is to get roaring drunk.
Pumpkin Spice Beer: You’re a lover not a fighter – this stuff is supposed to be an aphrodisiac.
Belgian Abbey Ale: No, it doesn’t count as going to church, and it certainly will not absolve you of your pumpkin beer fueled escapades, and long Tube V sex binges. Nothing will.
Saison/Bier de Garde: You may not be salt of the earth, but you have a vague notion that your food did come from a farm and that is a good thing. Or…Your Aunt Pidge is bringing the turkey and she always dries the thing out like she’s making jerky.
Extra Special Bitter: Your family reads a lot of Dickens this time of year. Someone you know is way into Downton Abbey, possibly you.
Traditional German Lager: If you thought – even for a second – that you had the gams to pull of Lederhosen, you’d do it.
Czech Pils: You read Kafka. The Metamorphosis hit a little too close to home.
Witbier: You fancy that your soul is also unfiltered and cloudy. To illustrate this you’re going to pronounce it whitbeir and really lay that wh sound, which will annoy assembled company in a way they can’t quite place. They’ll naturally assume that you read Kafka.
Special Belge: The obvious “special bulge” pun was too good to pass. Aunt Pidge will be mightily offended.
Kölsch: Of course, you understand that Macros are awful. Yet still, that “experiment” with triple hops and seaweed down at the local brewpub was a little much for you. No one is going to accuse you of reading Kafka.
IPA: It’s 75 degrees at Christmas, and you’ve come to a peaceful resignation with global warming.
American Pale Ale: It’s 75 degrees at Christmas, and you’ve come to a patriotic peaceful resignation with global warming.
Beer in Green Bottles: You have hung onto those cool looking, but otherwise useless, sunglasses you bought at the beach three years ago.
Macro beer: You are Aunt Pidge.