This is a bit of a stretch, but I'll put it on my blog since it's my blog and no one else really ever read this. It was a food review I submitted to McSweeneys back when they did food review. I can honestly call this fiction because I actually LOVE Cheladas--but I guess that would make this creative non-fiction. Anyway enjoy.
In the Northwest, specifically in
Washington State, we have a drink called Red Beer. In most Washington bars this
drink requires no explanation – the same goes for Idaho. I have yet to order this beer-variation
in Oregon, but I imagine it would go over well in The Beaver State also.
I
do not truly believe Red Beer is a regional Northwest drink, but my wife and I
run into problems whenever we leave the Pacific Northwest. In Santa Cruz, California;
Denver, Colorado, Daytona, Florida; Manhattan, New York; and in Washington D.C.
we have had the same conversation.
“It’s
just beer and tomato juice,” we instruct the barkeep politely.
“What
kind of beer?” The question is
always slow and suspicious. The barkeep may as well be a priest confirming he
heard some horrible confession correctly. How
many bodies?
“Just
something light and domestic: Coors Light or Bud Light.”
Whenever
I feel a little randy I’ll even ask for a dollop of Tabasco. Red Beer is a painfully unhip thing to
order, even in its native Northwest. I’m not sure if the tomato juice grosses
people out or if it is a snooty factor due to the domestic beer – either way I
rarely order Red Beer in mixed company for fear I may need to explain the drink
to some disgusted person I’m only meeting for the first time. So imagine my delight when I discovered
that Budweiser came out with a version of Red Beer: The Chelada. The Chelada
has been grossing people out for a little while now, but since I rarely go into
gas stations or grocery stores this wonderful little product escaped my
discovery.
The
drink comes in a can no smaller than 16 oz and has a very familiar look to it
from years of Budweiser branding. On the can is a picture of a glass with
something red inside it and the word, “Chelada!” is at a slight angle with an
accent over the “a,” giving the can an exotic, Latin feel. In loud boxy letters
between “Budweiser” and “Chelada” is the word CLAMATO. As an ardent consumer of
tomato juice I am familiar with Clamato. Long ago, when I would frequent
grocery stores, I remember it sitting calmly next to the V8’s and the generic
tomato juices. The ingredients are not complex: tomato juice, clam juice.
As
with any new brand of beer I slowly roll the cylinder in my hand, looking for
the caloric information when a single sentence hit me. The sentence was lonely on
the mostly silver Chelada can.
Amongst the listing of ingredients and the Budweiser contact information
it simply stated, “May contain shellfish.” It is the kind of sentence that
demands full attention. The rest of the can becomes a blur; even my much
anticipated NPR hourly news update becomes nothing more than a murmur in the
background as I drive down Highway 27. The subsequent sip was very much like Red Beer, but salty.
Perhaps a sub category of salty would define it better: brine. Yes, that’s it:
Chelada tastes of brine… and, is that…why yes it is – just a hint of aluminum.
I
hesitate to give Chelada a favorable review because I do not want other to try
it and then question – heavily – my culinary tastes. I will say that the Chelada is not a substitute for Red Beer
and I’m certain in small quantities will cause moderate bowel problems. Yet the
Chelada is what it is – no secrets: Budweiser and Clamato and, to quote the
can: “con sal y limon.” Those unfamiliar to the Chelada will not need an explanation
as to what it is I’m drinking – they can see for themselves that I am a
connoisseur of exotic Latin flavors and therefore I’m sure in the future,
especially in mixed company, it will find its way into my hand again.
