'Brouwersleed'

As a regular visitor to Thailand, once I have landed safely at Thai Terra Firma, I usually have a small drink to celebrate the safe arrival. This is due to my never-ending fear of flying, but also because of the wonderful feeling of coming 'home' when I drink a local beer while driving in a Thai taxi.

Quite strange actually, because I don't know how you all fared during your very first introduction to boyfriend ethanol, but beer number one definitely tasted nasty.

In order to participate, this was clapped firmly against the adolescent uvula and then forgotten as quickly as possible. However, this feeling of disgust did not last, and many coins later disappeared in Mr. Heineken's already overflowing wallet.

The drinking horizons expanded, somewhat unintentionally, on a Sunday afternoon in the 70s.
During an unprecedented attack of toothache, one of cosmic proportions where you have tried everything in terms of medication except zinc ointment and suicide, my mother recommended a cotton ball soaked in gin.
Since then I have known two things for sure. Alcohol only helps against toothache for half a nano-second, and cheap gin should be left in the bottle at all times.

Further expeditions into unknown spirits also brought their share of pitfalls.
The head ladle-wielder of the retirement home where I ended up as an aspiring plate washer, praised three things highly: his own cooking skills, his own loudly praised membership of the Rotary, and, last but not least, an extremely thorough knowledge of the better drinks on offer. earth.

Beer and related products were certainly not part of that.
Because beer was 'owl piss'. Only suitable for unwashed rabble who built bus shelters at the weekend and went off the rails without taste buds.
The golden yellow liquid was never served or drunk by this gentleman of rank.

Always treating the entire staff on his birthday to the phenomenon 'Matéus Rosé'. It was very popular at the time, packaged in those goofy-looking, belly bottles.
Now there's no arguing about taste, but I'm happy to make an exception for my former chef.

Pesticide with hints of outdoor stain, that's what it most resembled. With any luck, it is now only available in the most remote corners of Zimbabwe.

The fact that the majority of those present had readily paid half a day's wages for a foam head in the glass, accompanied by deliciously hoppy beer, never dawned on the birthday boy.
Many a palate was damaged on these memorable days by eroding tooth enamel, which did not want to participate in the festivities and desperately sought the exit.
The only ones who were really looking forward to this day were the sinks, enjoying all the glasses that were thrown at them.

Around the same time, the phenomenon of 'self-brewing' came into the picture.
A childhood friend had the bright idea of ​​making elderberry gin, using his own unique recipe. Which meant that the elderberries were exchanged for incredibly tart currants (full of vitamin C, so good for you), and the pricey gin for liters of very cheap pickling brandy.

All this, together with a dollop of sugar, was placed in a gigantic preserving jar and hidden from parental view in his bedroom. After weeks of shaking the preserving jar, it turned out to be time for a trial session. Due to a lack of shot glasses, large plastic cups were brought in, left over from a camping trip.
The purple-red stuff tasted like sickly sweet lemonade without sparkling after a children's party, and was deceptively soft.
After some time we became aware of something else that deserved some attention.
Namely that this own-brand cassis kicked like a mule.

Afterwards, Brewer had the advantage of being able to bounce into bed, and I was allowed to cycle home through the pouring rain. The only thing that kept me awake during this eleven-kerb ride was the asthmatic screeching of my bicycle dynamo and many an ice drop that sought the shortest path from neck to tailbone.

The next morning our test session also turned out to have done extremely groundbreaking work in the scientific field.
Conclusively demonstrating that too much vitamin C can give you a splitting headache.
You have been warned about this.

Later, while visiting a certain Asian country whose inhabitants seemed to be in constant turmoil, other liquid mind-expanders came into the picture.
For example, there was the Lao Khao.
According to many Thailand visitors, this is an excellent sink unblocker, only to be used if you were already lying in the gutter and wanted to keep the rats at bay.
In other words, not great, but for once no problem. Like comic book hero Obelix, however, one early Isan morning I managed to fall into my neighbor's cauldron, and since then I have had enough of the sight of it to remain completely sober, as if by magic.

However, to the sadness of wife Oy, this does not apply to other Thai drinks.
The Leo and Singha beers, for example, are excellent, not to mention the elusive Kloster.
At least, as long as the relatives by marriage don't try to dilute my golden yellow rascal with ice cubes to such an extent that I have to desperately search for any leftover barley juice.
Which is quite a job, because people are rarely aware of my ice-free evenings.

I also manage to stay away from the Thai drinking violence during festivities, such as SongKran. Usually ending up as a wrinkled moisture absorber on the outside, I still manage to keep the inside well wet during this period.
Unlike Mrs. Oy, who even looks at a bottle of spirits with suspicion. The promotion of fruit juices and self-control would therefore boom if she were in power.

Fortunately, there is always mother-in-law to fall back on.
My Thai rock in the surf. A nice person, and she likes at least a sip every now and then. Although she also has her small flaws.
Once, years ago, I saw her on the porch at eight in the morning, drinking a can of Chang through a straw.

Dismayed, I immediately informed Mrs. Oy of this decidedly undesirable event.
Slightly shocked, I said that this was really not possible, and certainly not outdoors.

Things were going downhill for Mom, and what were the neighbors supposed to think?
Suppose someone saw it.
Laughing, my wife explained that I didn't have to worry, and that my mother-in-law only did this very occasionally. And then not touch another drop for the rest of the day.

Which proves once again that the Thais will never understand us.

Because drinking beer through a straw,
that is pure sacrilege.

About this blogger

Lieven Cattail

Lieven Kattestaart (1963) lives with his wife Oy on the beautiful Goeree-Overflakkee.
Works as a harbour master and has been visiting faraway Thailand since 1993, where he met Oy in 98' and persuaded her to say goodbye to the sun and settle in this chilly swamp behind the dikes.

Nowadays we usually spend our holidays in our mother-in-law's Isan home, alternating with some beach time in Pattaya, or getting stuck in a bus or train to visit other and unknown Thai regions.
Intending to move to Thailand with Oy after retirement, both can hardly wait for that to happen.

Hobbies: whenever a spark of inspiration strikes, but usually plagued by writer's block, touching the keyboard in order to provide the beautiful Thailand blog with a new piece, practicing physical activity by means of jogging (in moderation of course), online chess, and occasionally drinking an excellent Single Malt while smoking a cigar of Cuban origin.

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