Hate It: Pumpkin Beer

After struggling endlessly to get off Facebook (animal videos, duh) and finish my overdue Chinese philosophy paper, I want to reward myself. Head fogged by philosophers whose names I can’t pronounce and beliefs I can’t explain (if my PAFees are reading this, this is why you go to class), I seek a prize that can validate my maximum (but probably lower) B+ grade. I’m craving something that can quench the thirst that can only be acquired in Lamont’s stratospheric top floor. I stick my hand into the fridge. What cool and refreshing beverage might I mooch off my roommate?  A PBR? A Natty? Perhaps even a worldly Heineken? To my horror, the bottle that greets me is labeled with a John Boehner resembling jack-o-lantern (obviously in color, but shockingly also in form).  Pumpkin beer. It takes me a second to wrap my head around such a foreign concept. Dutch, perhaps?

Beer is beer, I tell myself, taking a first sip. Toasty notes of nutmeg. Crisp bubbles. A light touch of pumpkin (only slightly less bland and significantly less stringy than the similarly-titled HUDS gnocchi).  It’s not bad on my tongue, but something is off. Where is the relief that normally accompanies the cheap grain? Why are there still beads of sweat on my temples and a lingering sense of anxiety in my chest?  Why am I humming Coldplay?

And that’s when I realize: this beer is not beer.Pumpkin beer isn’t bad per se, but it’s ultimately antithetical to actual beer. We consume beer for liberation—to unwind and to celebrate. Beer transports us to a primal state that values country music and dance floor make outs. Pumpkin “beer,” in contrast, attempts to elevate us to the realm of John Mayer and campfire talk—and that, my dear friend, is not right. As college students, we have an obligation to embrace degradation and the beverage that so allows it. Pumpkin beer will never plunge you into such a regrettable abyss. You’re more likely to enter diabetic shock before you feel the slightest bit tipsy.

We have the rest of our lives to sip on small-batch, hand-brewed, artisan-infused beers. When I’m a 20-something consultant living in Williamsburg, I look forward to learning what terms like “hoppy” and “top fermentation mouthfeel” mean. But until then, you can pass me a Bud Light. Leave the pumpkin in the pies.