Pacifico makes me think of Grandad Dave. After another long day of packing and cleaning in preparation for my move, I realized it was 8pm and I was famished. Instead of opening a can of beans and the microwave oven door, I opted for Los Cuates, one of my favorite Mexican dives.
There, I happily tucked into a plate of tacos and beans. Eating alone is terribly lame, and thinking of others is the best way to get by. I couldn’t help thinking of my wife’s grandparents, Dave and Bev, two of the gringos mas fina I know. While Grandad Dave is not craft beer-deficit by any means, Pacifico is oftentimes the session beer at their home in Tucson. It goes well with the neverending supply of hot weather and Mexican-inspired dishes we eat there when visiting.
Despite its macro lageresque character, Pacifico retains a sentimental value that’s worth quite a lot. So does Milwaukee’s Best Light, somebloodyhow. And Chimay makes me think about my good buddy Paul.
Grandad Dave is a good guy. He is quiet, but when he speaks, one should listen, as he is filled with experience and wisdom. He is a hard worker, and one of the most gracious servants one could ever know. Though my gut is full, I’m getting hungry for his green chili elk and a couple of tamales. And a couple of days on Mt. Lemmon. And freshly squeezed orange juice. And shrimp cocktail.
And another Pacifico…