Last night I had my first beer.

(Actually, I had an accidental sip of beer in Brazil two years ago. But that doesn't count!)

After being absolutely mesmerized by the songs of the late Billie Holiday here at the Montreal Jazz Festival, Dan led me to Brutopia for a pint and a sharing of thoughts. I had no qualms against it. Not only was I with a friend to give me a proper introduction, but alcohol consumption is completely legal for a little boy my age here in Quebec. (Ha! Take that, Mom!)

I had an awful time deciding which of the house brews to choose. How am I supposed to know what I like, good sire? I was given a few samples before Dan basically picked for me: a pint of Nut Brown Ale.

It was such a good experience. I like the atmosphere of the bar a lot. The low lights and close quarters and friendly people who actually talk with us-- the jazz band downstairs jamming for hours and hours... perfect. Or it would have been perfect had it been a mug of tea or coffee in my fist. But quite honestly, I didn't enjoy the taste of beer. I tried a few different brews, and I could tolerate the feel in my mouth, but only barely. It reminded me of childhood shots of NyQuil, which I seem to remember tasting like an old rubber glove. Maybe my taste buds are immature. I was frankly a bit disappointed in myself: Dan told me that every time I took a sip, a disgusted grimace would cross my face and hover there for a few seconds. If there is goodness in the world I want to appreciate it! But I feel so much more goodness in a hot tea warming my hands and insides. Can I keep the atmosphere and have a different drink?

As for the effect upon my mind, I drank two thirds of a pint (Dan and I shared a bit) and didn't feel particularly different, save for being quite sleepy. (That might be traced to our staying until the 3 A.M. closing time, though.) And apart from my sleepiness in this laid-back jazzy setting, I didn't feel any loss of inhibitions or awareness of surroundings. Dan had to poke me a few times to keep me from dozing off on the leather sofa.

Dan said that he liked beer the first time he tried it in Argentina. It was a symbol of freedom to him, and a comforting wholeness. But I am not burdened by a heavy conscience, here. I am in no prison. So without this symbol I am left with only the bitter taste in my mouth.

I think that, for now, tea will remain my beverage of choice for my evening ritual.