Drank a 40 for the first time in about 11 years last night. It was surprisingly refreshing. Probably because it wasn't genu-wine malt liquor, like King Cobra or Colt 45 or Crazy Horse or Ballantyne or Olde English or Mickey's or Ice Man:
It was Bud Light, which probably doesn't count. But it remained fresh for the hour and a half it took me to drink it, which runs counter to everything I remember about drinking 40s in the 90s. They were usually stale about halfway down, and if you gestured while drinking, completely undrinkable after 2/3rds. That didn't stop us.
Saw an old friend in San Francisco last week and it brought back some memories of the good ole days when we used to go up to Bobby's garage attic, drink 40s, play darts, and start trouble. One of the other regulars at The Cave, as it was called, was Kate, who wildly and coincidentally now lives about 3 blocks away from me in Brooklyn. We got together last night and decided it was time to revisit the concept of the 40. We ordered sushi and downed the heady brew and discovered, to our utter delight and amazement, that it pairs deliciously and quite perfectly with a spicy tuna roll.
I was going to wrap this post up with an insightful paragraph about the pairing of 40s and sushi and how it's an apt metaphor for the youthful abandon and tightly-wound responsibility of married life without children in NYC at age 33, but I couldn't pull it together. Sometimes 40/sushi is just 40/sushi.