A Horrifying Admission

I was recently in the interior (at the fantastic new golf course Talking Rock, which hasn’t garnered nearly enough buzz for how good a track it is.) It was about a million degrees outside, and we had a cooler of refreshments with us. Someone asked who needs a beer and my hand shot into the air. “I’ve got 1516, Heineken and Bud Light Lime.” “1516 please.” “Have a Bud.” “Pass, thank you.” I was then informed I’d like it, to which I replied I may very well, but we’ll never know as I’m not sure if I’d still respect myself if I drank a Budweiser product. The next thing you know I’m driving a Ford F-150 and getting tickets to see the Dixie Chicks. Finally I relented after the 1516 ran out.

Holy shit, it was good. Not good in a Rogue Brewing Imperial Stout way, not good in a Unibroue way, but rather good in a vaguely beer flavour ultra cold refreshing way. I expected it to be sweet and cloying, like someone added a packet of lime Kool-Aid to a crappy tin of beer. It’s not, it’s more subtle than that, like someone added lime cordial to a tin of crappy beer. It beats Corona and lime like the Wings beat the Canucks, no contest. And it’s so low in alcohol that it barely qualifies as an adult beverage. Hell, I’d let my kids throw it in their lunch kits if they wanted.

I get it, my official beverage of yanking seven irons into green-side bunkers this summer is terrible industrial marketing at it’s most cynical. I don’t care, pop me another as I make the turn. And I fully expect the next Urban Diner staff meeting to devolve into a make fun of me session, I’m tough, I can take it.

~KT