I was in high school when I first journeyed to France. My fellow travellers and I were kept on a pretty tight leash during that trip (I graduated from a private school affiliated with a very conservative Christian denomination, which claims that it's not actually a denomination), and we never really had a good time, if you know what I mean.
Second time I went to France was exactly three years after my first visit to France. I was in college, you see, and I was delighted that I didn't have to answer to a bunch of killjoy chaperones. Furthermore, my French -- pardonnez, mon français) -- had improved so much that I could really enjoy myself ... and I do mean really enjoy myself.
I was barely 20-years-old when I had my first Kronenbourg. I was in a country restaurant in Marseille, and I ordered a beer never thinking that my young-lookin' ass would ever get one. I got that beer (green bottle with "Kronenbourg 1664" right there on the label), and it was the finest-tasting beer I'd ever had.
Fast forward a few years ...
Just like Tom T. Hall, I like beer. It makes me a jolly good fellow. I've sampled many, many beers since my second, and last, trip to France, and I have a set-in-stone list of favorites. Now, it wasn't too long ago when I discovered that my local Publix stocks Kronenbourg beer. I've tried it a few times since and, well, it ain't one of my set-in-stone favorites.
Now, don't get me wrong ... Kronenbourg is a tasty beer. It's better'n Budweiser, and it's better'n Miller, and it's better'n Coors. It is, however, a pretty thin-tasting beer by Sam Smith/Trappist-style ale standards. And maybe that explains why I my perception of it now doesn't quite match what I thought of it when I was in the South of France.
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