Going by the name Cooking Lager, with the same blog title, he describes himself as “northern scum,” who loves beer, but will gladly sacrifice alcohol content for quality. But what struck me about this blog wasn’t what he is writing about, which is mainly the daily quest of drunkenness, but his hilarious wordage, random side stories, and exaggerated English accent. Having been writing for a little over a year now, he valiantly posts about three times a week. How anyone has the time for this is beyond me, but they must have some considerably stimulating job. Anyway, what I find great about his writing is that underneath his character of words, he is still able to be strikingly honest about his true self.
The first post I read of his was titled Coors Light. This struck me as somewhat suspicious for an Englishman, but I read on. His slang was at first difficult to unravel, but once I got the direction and tone it was quite duck soup. In this particular post, after ordering a Coors Light at a local pub he is reminded of old friend with whom he used to share his couch. This “uninvited guest,” who worked at the local grocery store, used to regularly bring back the “flavourless watery grog.” And he writes,
“Not really sure whether he technically nicked it, bought it for tuppence or got given it. Either way we disposed of the evidence whilst playing car racing games on the playstation.”This is the keynote of the majority of his writings. It has little to do with the beer and more the memories and emotions they arouse. His choice of words like, “grog,” “nicked,” and “necking,” are story regulars. Much like a good protagonists, my first reaction to the colloquialisms were negative, but the more he worked them into his writing, the more I eagerly awaited their arrival. Also, his periodic reference of his wife/girlfriend as his “squeeze” is more charming then disrespectful.
My most favorite tirade, titled “Tramps Piss!” is a charming anecdote about a day in the life of a homeless drunk, in what he calls “tramp living.” After a biannual visit to the dentist, he attempts to bum enough money to get properly sloshed until it time to return home for dinner.
“Soon I had just over £3 in shrapnel. With my bottle of Scottish grog gone and having neglected to bring along an emergency ration it was off into the supermarket to see what my money would buy me. I was obviously looking for strong grog sold irresponsibly. A stiff hit for within my £3. I headed for the Spesh. It was over £6 a four pack. No individual cans. All of the other Spesh wannabees were packaged in the same manner. What’s a tramp supposed to do? I pondered asking to see the manager to inform him of his failure to capture the tramp market but as I noticed a fella from security looking at me and talking into his walkie talkie I went to look at the individual bottles of grog. This is usually premium priced craft brewing but I got a result. Robinsons Old Tom. 8.5%. 2 for £3. It was as if god was looking after me and wanting my experiment in tramp living to succeed. Thank you god for irresponsible alcohol retailing.”For Cooking Lager, his essays are not about highlighting a good microbrew, or even enjoying the carbonated nectar, but the culture of drinking it. He writes, “As I’m not really a beer enthusiast I never went anywhere and sought out the beer, just found myself somewhere because either I had to work there or wanted to visit.” In it for the experience and story, blogging is the perfect medium for a man of his compulsion. And not limiting himself to his own page, he properly refers you to bloggers of his liking, with whom he sites and converses. Like an online tavern, they have created a web of typing drunkards ready to fight the next “bucking idiot” who opposes them.
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