Like everyone who is infatuated with beer, I've always wanted to taste
the elusive big three of the beer world: Budweiser, Miller and Coors.
<P>The holy trinity of beer has always been spoken about in hushed tones
in beer circles, with most beer hunters agreeing that they don't exist
or haven't been made for years. One fateful night I decided that I was
going to find these beers and drink them. Perhaps this would be a
fool’s errand, as acquiring these beers would be difficult at best, and
I would surely be spoiled for life should I taste them. It didn't matter, I had a quest and off I went.
<P>I was unable to find anyone on RateBeer that had access to these beers.
I also noticed that most people I contacted about these beers seemed to
mysteriously disappear after chatting with them – edgeworth_m, mittenstein, Jake Barnes. My email was starting to fill up with cryptic messages such as, “Stop seeking that which you will never drink". This only further fueled my curiously.
<P>I soon arrived at Big Ass Liquors, the biggest beer store in the East
Coast, to seek these rare brews. Rows of corked Belgian beers were
being snatched up by college kids wanting a cheap buzz. Other kids
where buying kegs of Dark Lord for big blow outs, while the truly
desperate could only afford the Barrel Aged Speedway Stout.
<P>I asked the store manager about Budweiser. He looked at me with a
puzzled face, "That stuff doesn't exist. You've been reading too many
fairy tales." Two monks wheeling in a pallet of Trappist beers
overheard this and laughed at me as they walked by. I was depressed by
his words and the mocking monks. Shuffling out of the store, I walked
past a large Westvleteren truck that was delivering a shipment of the
swill for the kids. The familiar Westvleteren oil-wrestling
bikini-team was plastered on the side of the truck and even they didn't
cheer me up. I then stopped and faced the truck to see a can of
Budweiser perched between the two seats. "Bastards! Keeping the good
stuff for themselves while pawning off their crap to everyone else," I
thought. I grabbed a rock, threw it through the truck window, and
snatched the precious can.
<P>I got back home and had an email message waiting: Volgon, I found a can
of Miller that I am willing to trade. However it will cost you dearly.
I require three bottles of beer for it. A Moosehead, a Labatt’s, and a
<P>My reply: Where am I going to get those?! Who are you?
<P>He answered: You'll find a way. I need to have them delivered to me
in twenty minutes, and it doesn't matter who I am.
<P>I panicked and wrote to the one man who could help me: Oakes. He said
he would dig deep into his stash and get me these gems, under one
condition - he was to be present at the tasting. I agreed and added,
"Send them at least second class, he wants them in ten minutes!"
<P>Twenty minutes later I had a horrible feeling that I'd been played for
a fool. What if the mystery man never sent the beer? How could I ever
pay Oakes back? Just then a US Post Office Corvette slid to a
screeching halt in my driveway. "Your beer, sir," he said while handing me a package.
<P>I carefully placed the Miller next to the Bud in my refrigerator. The
desire to drink both of these beauties was overwhelming, but I only had
one more beer to go.
<P>Blinding pain flashed across the back of my head. I fell to the ground
and saw two huge thugs with 3 liter bottles in their hands. "We told
you not to look for it." Again the bottle came crashing down on my
head. I got up and saw the two men, ready to leave. "He learned his
lesson," one chuckled. Then it became clear: They didn't want to
steal my newfound treasures, but stop me from getting the fabled can of
Coors. I rose with the strength of a thousand men and snatched the
bottles from their hands and cracked them against their heads. Both
bottles were smashed into thousands of pieces. I knew that these two
had the secret to the location of Coors, but unfortunately they were
both dead. I looked at the shattered glass on my floor. One large
piece was left. It read You are worthy and had a gargoyle on it.
<P>Instantly, I knew that the reclusive CEO of Stone Brewing, Greg Koch,
was behind this. Stone was always known for mediocre barley wines,
imperial stouts and IIPA's that people had been making for decades, but
recently they were developing lemon and lime drinks that were taking
over the nation. Minutes later I was at the airport getting a ticket
to San Diego.
<P>Because of my bloodied face, airport security let me right though, "You
look like you are in a hurry! Here get on this private jet".
<P>His goons were waiting for me as I landed in California. They wasted
no time in beating me into submission and drove me back to his
underground lair to face his wrath. He sat in front of a large desk
that faced a television set that was at least 20 feet wide. On the desk sat a can of Coors.
<P>"Hahahaha! Foolish Mortal! You'll never drink this beer!!" he
<P>"Why not?" I asked.
<P>"Because if a beer hunter tasted this great beer, then everyone would
want beers like it. Then what would I do with all these lemons and
limes?" He pointed to two baskets of lemons and limes in the corner of
<P>He had me there.
<P>He started to ponder out loud about my demise. He mumbled about sharks
with laser beams, drowning in a vat full of Rodenbach Grand Cru and
other cruel endings. I had to act now. I grabbed the TV remote
control from his desk.
<P>"Arrggghh!! The TV doesn't work without the remote. Guards, stop
him!" His goons where charging towards me, and I managed to hit the
ON button before they snatched it away from me. The hit show Friends
was just starting.
<P>"Boss, wha'd'ya done with dis guy? Boss? Boss?"
<P>Greg was in a daze staring at his TV. His eyes were glazed over and he
was lost in another world. "Hmmm, Monica," he moaned.
<P>Soon the guards also became emerged in the rich world of Friends, and I
slowly grabbed the can off the desk and quietly walked out of the room.
The private plane was waiting for me when I got back to the airport.
<P>Oakes: The tasting is this Thursday at your place. The rest of you
poor suckers are going to have to wait and read the reviews of these
treasures of the beer world. Well, unless you can score a can of
Pabst. I hear that it isn't made anymore...