Pabst Blue Ribbon Blues

Cheers
By
Debbie Lindsey

Beverly and Michael sat at the bar -- such a nice couple; sweet, very earnest, both with that cockeyed optimistic look towards the future. Why them? Why me? Couldn’t ignorance remain bliss just a bit longer? No. I had to take one for the team. Be the bearer of bad news. But, it would be better coming from me; I would be gentle and respectful.
So, after serving them two frosty mugs of the gleaming yellow brew capped with frothy clouds of foam, I leaned across the bar, looked them in the eyes, took a deep cleansing breath and said: “I hate to be the one to tell you, but I feel I should prepare you’ll…they’re gonna 86 PBR!” And with stiff upper lips, mustached with beer foam, they reacted like the good sports I knew them to be, and vowed to sip and enjoy while the good ole days waned.
I must admit, initially, I did not take the news as well as my customers did. As if life here were not already hard. Change of the familiar a new constant. Traditions, culture, life styles are all at risk of extinction. So when I was told that PBR would no longer be on tap for one dollar I just kind of collapsed.
“So…no more dollar Pabst?”
“No more dollar any beer.”
“But… PBR will still be served?”
“NO.”
I wanted to flee the restaurant, to find a private place to cry and wail, shake my fist at the cruel, cruel gods. But my customers needed me to be strong – strong for them. And even my boss, the bearer of this bad news, needed me to buck-up. Café Maspero’s had indeed held back, as long as humanly possible, the demise of it’s well known and cherished contribution to New Orleans – the one dollar draft. A particular draft that was responsible for me working there.
Boyfriend and I first became customers at Café Maspero’s because our friend and neighbor, Lana, worked the bar there. So we would stop by to fling a little tip money her way. Love ya Lana but…it was the giddy, near euphoric high we’d get just ordering those Pabst Blue Ribbons for one mere dollar that tickled us so. Oh, we’d sing the PBR song and thoroughly embarrass ourselves. Well, heck, it was one of those great Sunday afternoons when I decided I could pour that beer myself. I applied for duty the next day.
Pabst has been Boyfriend’s fav brew since the 70’s when his chef/mentor Wayne, known to his kitchen crew simply as ‘Mom’, kept an ice cold keg of PBR in the walk-in cooler as incentive. Ah, the ole days of drinkin on the job. It just seemed kinda normal then. Of course those were the good ole days of chain smoking, martini lunches, no seat belts and enough hair product to choke a horse. But ya can’t blame a great beer for our fool hearty ways.
Anyway, back to Café Maspero’s where we never drink at work or at least that’s what they tell us. However the use of Pabst for personal grooming seems to meet with my boss’s approval. PBR is more than a libation, a tonic for the soul, a golden carbohydrate… it’s dandy for styling and sculpting hair. Just a little dab will do ya. And it’s a great way to use that first overly foaming keg pour of the day. Rub between the palms of your hand and start smoothing, shaping and spiking that hair of yours. And as a bonus: ya smell like a good time!
During my tenure at the Café, I have been an unofficial spokesperson for the brew. In fact some years back, in this very magazine, I was nominated for the BEST BARTENDER award. During my interview and photo-op for the competition I was asked to describe my signature drink (PBR), my area of expertise (pouring PBR) and my personal favorite beverage (PBR). I lost to some young thing whose libation creation consisted of at least 31 ingredients. My boss didn’t even vote for me.
Did I let this public relation set back dampen my commitment to Pabst Blue Ribbon? Of course not. I would greet the skeptic’s “ooh, last time I drank PBR was when I raided my grand dad’s fishing camp ice box” with a gentle lecture that drinking paw paw’s beer at age 11 was not the appropriate time and place to test the nuances of brewed spirits. I would then offer a small taste served up in a frosty mug (all the while reminding them it cost only a buck) and sure enough their more matured palate screamed for more.
The Come Back Kid.
Often my customers would show great surprise that Blue Ribbon was even still being brewed. To which I delighted in letting them know just how popular it now was. It seems to have become the darling of the retro-cool hipsters. And proudly displayed in your better boutique wine stores, Whole Foods and most every happening bar. Even the in the NY Times Style Section I glimpsed a can of Pabst being held like a handbag by a frightfully thin model during her runway strut. Boyfriend nearly swore off his PBR upon seeing that photo. Pabst was in danger of becoming too cool to be cool. And that is why middle-aged geeks like us must stand by our beer – nothing too cool about us.
The times, they are a changing.
Well, I never met a beer I didn’t like. So, I will learn to embrace the new keg that will reside where Pabst Blue Ribbon once chilled. And rumor has it that the new brew in residence will be an addition to our selection of Louisiana Proud Abitas. Nothing too shabby about keeping our local flavors in the forefront.
Therefore, in this new world of ours, where we try to see everything through Fleur-de-Lis glasses and support the home team, I suspect the brewers of Pabst Blue Ribbon will understand. It’s our turn to be the Come Back Kid. Just hope my hair doesn’t have to suffer. Cheers.