| |
The Price of Beer
by Ian McLaren
Another story from the saloon bar philosophy group at the Titanic Refloated.
Once upon a time, there was a king who had four sons and seven daughters. And in his court were dozen of other relatives and hangers-on, and hundreds of servants. All these people drank beer for breakfast, dinner and supper. The king was normally a generous man, but he looked as his accounts and he was horrified at the cost of all this beer. So he drew together his sons, and told them to go out into the world and find ways of cutting his drinks bill. And while they travel, he thought privately, they and their servants can drink someone else's ale.
The eldest son set sail for western lands, following the setting sun for weeks on end. He sought the legendary brewers who made pale, cold, cheap beer on a secret inland sea. For months he searched, drawn by the magic lite. And when he found it, he could scarcely believe the taste, and talk of maize and rice and beech. So he returned, replete with hard-to-credit tales.
The second son rode south, to talk to the learned alchemists of the Mediterranean lands, famed for their ability to make one thing seem to be another. As the months went by, he tasted drinks made from figs and dates, from sarasin and sago. He collected recipes, and recovered from bouts of over-indulgence and food poisoning. And when he had achieved the right degree of tan, and filled his saddle bags with notes and notions, he turned for home.
Son number three went east, across the plains and steppes and island chains. He found strange peoples that did not know ale or wine: they drank boiled leaves, crushed berries, or hot, fermented rice. He gave up the quest, and spent the rest of his life writing Zen koans in a Nepalese temple.
The youngest son went north, to talk to monastery brewers. He was sent on to talk to their Flemish and German colleagues, and learned how to make their strange and potent brews. All he learned about making cheaper beer could be summed up as “Add more water”. But he did bring back some interesting bottles.
The court convened to hear how they had all got on. The eldest son reported that the cheaper beer could be provided if you made it from any cheap material that would provide some sugar – turnips, oats or slurry – and filter out all the nasty flavours. He gave his father a glass of lager that was freshly brewed – and just got out of the way when it was thrown at him. The second son had received similar advice, but he was told to make the beer more palatable by adding elderberry juice, white lead and other chemical aids to sweeten, darken and lift up the brew. When the king returned from the latrine (some three days later), he told the boy to take a comprehensive tour to raise morale in all the leper colonies, slaughter houses and coal mines in the kingdom.
The third son's message came: “Drink tea” – but he did not send any. And rumours of the youngest son's recipe had led to his pre-emptive exit to the moat.
The king was in despair. How could he save? Then his eldest daughter, Sage, stood and asked for leave to speak. She had been round the palace, finding out what people really wanted. Yes, they liked good beer, but not always when they had thirsts to quench. They would drink water, if it were made safe. “Spend money on good wells”, was her advice, “and brew less, but better, beer.”
And later, after the death of all her brothers from mysterious illnesses, the Princess Sage became the ruler of a partly democratic state.
Reproduced from the Full Pint, Issue 17.
|
