When we were first married, we realized very quickly that we weren’t cut out for apartment living, so in order to ramp up saving toward a house, we started living "on the cheap" which meant cheap wine and cheap beer. The wine, Avia wasn’t–and isn’t–too bad; it’s from Romania, go figure. But the beer of choice was (drum roll please) Pfeiffer’s Famous Beer (say, "Puh-fifer’s Puh-Famous"). It was recognizable as beer. Barely. But it was also $1.49 a six pack (this was in 1985). Needless to say, once we were in the house it was back to the better stuff.
When I worked for a weekly business newspaper, we’d go out for beers on Thursday evening, after the paper "went to bed." We went to a bar where they offered 120-some beers from around the world. You could get your card punched for each one, and when you’d drunk them all, you got your name on a plaque and your own ceramic personalized beer stein. The publisher and I were the only ones who finished. (Not becuase we drank more! We just always remembered where our cards were.) In all the time we did this, we all agreed that there was only one, really bad beer. From Belgium, Orval Trappist Ale: Dark, thin, kind of soapy tasting. In fact, one sodden evening was spent inventing ad slogans: "Orval Trappist Ale: Purified through the socks of Monks," or "Orval Trappist Ale: Used to wash the feet of the poor."
Speaking of ad lines: In Israel, the number-one beer is Maccabee, and the slogan is just great: "Maccabee: The Chosen Beer of the Chosen People."
OK. I’ll quit. I’m rambling now.