Shaken, Not Stirred

This week, for the first time ever, I stepped out in a tuxedo. Perhaps not quite as well-tailored as Sean Connery's suit, but still very cool, and very confidence building.

The occasion was the Alumni Dinner for the Cambridge University Guild of Change Ringers. This year it was held at Lucy Cavendish College. Like all formal dinners at Cambridge, the wine flowed endlessly, and the evening wrapped up with port.

At a formal dinner at Wolfson College, our college, the decanter of port circulates around the table until everyone leaves at the end of the night. At the bell ringers' dinner though things are a little different. They bring out the ceremonial "loving cup", a large, two handled, silver cup, filled with port, which is handed from person to person, around the entire room, with much turning to and away from your seatmates, bowing, and finally taking a big gulp from the shared cup. It is a remarkably well choreographed event, and honestly makes one feel right at home.

It left me thinking about the many different drinking cultures that I've experienced. My drinking - at the newly introduced age of 19 - began in beer parlours in Kelowna. A large room with small terry-cloth covered tables, wooden chairs, and two choices: beer or tomato juice, though often the two were combined. And of course a big ashtray in the middle of the table. As far as I can recall there was no food, and maybe not even snacks. You drank, you smoked, you got drunk.

Then you drove home.

Then came neighbourhood pubs, where you could drink AND eat a meal. Many thought this would lead to the complete downfall of British Columbia civilization. Maybe they were right.

Eventually I moved to Kentucky. The first night there we went to Whitesburg's best restaurant, asked for a beer, and were told, "Oh no, honey, this is a DRY county." This is where we learned to drive ten minutes over the line to Virginia, and the gas station with cold PBR and a handful of really mediocre wines.

Kentucky is where I also learned about moonshine, the lovely clear corn liquor, sold to us out of a local banjo player's car trunk in a mason jar. It's still my favourite hard liquor, preferred to Scotch or rye whiskey.

France of course was about the wine. It was part of the landscape, cheap, and was included with every meal. People sat down to eat, to drink wine, and to enjoy each other's company. I can't recall ever seeing a seriously drunk French person, or a dangerously drunk French driver, although I'm sure that they existed. Somehow because wine was part of every day life there didn't seem to be the tendency towards extreme drunkenness that was such a big part of my growing up in Canada.

Now we're in England, and learning another new drinking culture. We're surrounded by students at Cambridge, although my sense is that these are the cream of the crop, and more inclined to studying heavily than just getting blitzed every night.

We've come very quickly to love British pubs, both for the homey atmosphere, the classic English pub food, and of course warm British beer. That hand-pumped beer, not ice-cold, and not over-carbonated, puts anything in Canada to shame. It just feels happy and comforting in a way that can't be matched.

Beyond that we've learned that social occasions in the UK are drinking occasions. It's never really discussed, just assumed that you'll have a pint or a glass of wine. Or two, or three. Of course in Cambridge it's likely that you be walking home, not driving.

I know that England has a reputation for football hooligans and other forms of obnoxious, sometimes violent drunks, but honestly I haven't seen that here. Maybe it's a class/income thing, or maybe it's a problem that isn't as prevalent as the media would have you believe.

At the end of the day I've concluded that I like alcohol, whether beer or wine, and that it makes a lot of social occasions much nicer. Yes, I acknowledge that not everyone shares that appreciation for booze, but hey, it works for me.