My last drink was a Miller High Life in Mesquite, Texas, on Christmas Day, 2023. It was what my uncle had in the fridge, and a welcome respite after making the 12 hour drive to the Metroplex from Atlanta, Georgia that only three days earlier I hadn’t an inkling would be necessary, let alone with half my possessions packed from the house with two days’ notice. Needless to say, it’s probably the best High Life I’ve had in my life – and I’ve had my share beneath the cruel sun’s heat in Las Vegas and Austin.
Since December, I’ve been “California sober,” which is to say I’ve abstained from drinking but occasionally partake in cannabis maybe once every other month.
This definition of sobriety is somewhat controversial. First and foremost, there is a camp that would argue I’m not actually sober from alcohol at all; whether it’s because NA brews in the States still have a small amount of alcohol, so long as it’s below the Prohibition-era concentration of 0.5%, or because near beer can serve as a trigger leading to relapse in individuals with very strong associations between the smell and taste of beer and risky, dopamine-seeking behavior, or because, well, weed is a drug, the popular twelve-step definition of sobriety firmly excludes me.
These arguments are not totally without reason. Triggers are a fascinating psychological phenomenon and it’s not unreasonable to conclude that NA beer, particularly in a setting where one might have drank copiously before, like a bar or club, might lead to a slippery slope of decisions that cause a proper relapse. The cravings associated with cessation of an addictive substance can compound these risks, making a person with unresolved or unmanaged alcohol cravings incredibly vulnerable to relapse if they’re surrounded by and partaking in (sometimes, especially nowadays, incredibly realistic) simulacra of their poision of choice. To make a more situational, specific argument, imagine a person drinking NA beer at a social function with a lot of drinking going on. If they were offered an alcoholic drink – or perhaps even worse, something with whimsy that can’t be truly replicated, like a Jello shot – by someone else, their self-control and awareness would need to be in firm enough shape to first ask if the beverage is alcoholic, and then refuse it if the answer is yes. The risk here is in “letting it happen,” which can be an immensely liberating experience akin to similar reckless behavior one might have engaged in while drinking. What can I say? Danger is intoxicating.
Here’s the thing: I don’t reject any of these arguments. I think for some recovering alcoholics, abstaining from anything resembling booze, particularly stuff that mimics their old favorites, is the best course of action. My decision to drink near beers is informed by a few different self-assessments and situational factors that I believe reduce my risk of relapse to the hooch to manageable levels. As far as cannabis goes, the extreme infrequency with which I take it and the reason I usually do (so I can sleep for twelve hours straight) aren’t indicative of a problem. If you told me tomorrow I couldn’t ever take cannabis again, I probably wouldn’t bat an eye; the same was absolutely not true of alcohol.
I consider myself immensely fortunate to have the support of friends and family that routinely hit the nail on the head with helping me socialize post-alcohol. They simultaneously consider me down to hang while consistently holding me accountable for my own sobriety. This is a gift that not everyone in recovery has, and I can easily see how the risk of relapse is higher when drinking near beer (or similar substitutes) in social settings where people might be a little more unscrupulous or irresponsible. It’s a big weight off my shoulders knowing my sister or her partner, my father, or my friends won’t expect me to knock tequila back hot ’n nekkid or toss me a real-deal Rainier at the kickback. This wasn’t without some legwork on my part. Among the many social casualties this year were losing some acquaintances that I couldn’t trust deep down not to put me in a compromising situation like this. I wish them well, but there does come a time when your own wellbeing needs to take priority.
Another factor I consider when assessing the risk of these drinks comes down to their situational appropriateness, and the kinds of things I drink in general. When I was drinking alcohol, I was a massive whiskey person. At low points, I could sink entire fifths of the stuff. There’s nothing that really comes close to that experience in the alcohol-free beverage world – those NA spirits that have been getting popular recently often don’t mimic the taste well enough, and on a more social level, there isn’t a compelling reason to waterfall some caramel-colored concoction, while the promise of drunkenness makes doing such with actual liquor more rewarding. As such, I haven’t touched the stuff since December, having only tried them when I was drinking. The beverages I stick to now, like near beer, soda and bitters, and mocktails of any stripe have their place at dinners and events where they serve as culinary and aesthetic accoutrement rather than being vessels for inebriation that I could consume at any hour of the day.
This leads to another important point. When I was drinking, I also genuinely loved beer. I still do. It feels like a great tragedy to have this whole corpus of knowledge and my typically strong opinions about it that is now functionally useless. I won’t attempt to romanticize it, because my experiences with beer snobbery frequently ended up in slobbery anyway, but I also won’t pretend I don’t reflect fondly on my walking tours of Prague’s beer halls and cataloging the universe of brews and pours at your fingertips in such a gorgeous city, or the immensely fascinating tour of Munich’s breweries I went on late last year. I’m able to still capture some of that with the explosion in popularity of NA brews at craft and traditional breweries, and can still apply it in conversation or recommendation when I’m out at a watering hole and can discuss its full-fat menu with authority. In so many ways, this is the best possible time for anyone to quit drinking, and I keep that thought in my back pocket when considering the relative moral strengths or failings that inevitably creep their way into conversations about sobriety and relapse.
Finally, and perhaps most critically, I can see the benefit that keeping clean has had in my life with refreshing immediacy and clarity. When considering quitting drinking in the past, my judgment was clouded by a lack of healthy coping mechanisms, distressing relationships, and the neurochemical grip that booze had on my decision-making. Now that I’ve actually done it, the freedom from embarrassing blackouts, hangovers, reckless behavior, gut inflammation, egregious spending, and profound depression far outweigh what I’d gain from giving in to cravings. It helps to stay grounded. It helps to remember that I can do this, I have been doing this, and I can keep doing this. I stand to lose everything by failing, while the worst outcome from succeeding is regression to the mean.
Speaking of that NA beer explosion, here’s six reviews of six NA beers from craft and traditional breweries to observe six months since the last time I got anywhere near drunk. Some are good, some are just downright awful, and all of them have been indispensable tools in keeping on the straight and narrow. If you’re “sober curious,” you might consider these when dipping your toes in the NA pool. Not all of them, though. Some of them are terrible. Just because I’m not a drunk anymore doesn’t mean I can’t still be a hater. Cheers!
Untitled Art – Italian-Style Pils
- Style: Pilsner
- Origin: Waunakee, Wisconsin, USA
- Served: 12oz, canned
Refreshingly unremarkable and unpretentious. Apes the clean finish of Peroni, its seeming Italian inspiration, while combining the bitter American finish of hops in a way that suggests optimism after a heavy al fresco dinner more than it does an exhausting conversation about vinyl in Flatbush. What it lacks in fullness it makes up for in obsequiousness. Probably pairs delightfully with a dense cream dish. If I were feeling daring, I might even serve it to a Roman.
Scorecard
- Appearance: Piss-adjacent
- Aroma: Post-ironic skunkwave
- Flavor: No arguments
- Body: A skinny bitch
- Overall impressions: Would destroy a case of these on a beach. 7/10.
Bravus Brewing – Oatmeal Dark
- Style: American Stout
- Origin: Anaheim, California, USA
- Served: 12oz, canned
It’s a pleasant surprise to find a stout in the normal world of boozy beers that isn’t one of two things: a sorry attempt at being a Guinness or way too coffee-and-chocolate forward. To find it in an NA brew is all the more exciting. The molasses flavor is allowed to shine throughout the sip, beginning with a very quick zip of pungency before melting into a very comfortable mix reminiscent of oat milk in cold brew that lingers on the tongue before fading into a dry aftertaste that implies baking spices. Its body is lighter than might be expected for its category, but this doesn’t detract – if anything, the buoyancy helps the multifaceted flavor profile play out in sufficient detail for even a novice to take notice of its individual parts without feeling bogged down in the weight of the beer itself. Its weak points lie only in its unenthusiastic scent and a twinge of astringency as the aftertaste fades away. Everything you expect is there in unexpected amounts, and what sets it apart is plainly delicious. This has all the makings of a classic.
Scorecard
- Appearance: Deep, rich, black coffee
- Aroma: Weak, but suggests rye bread
- Flavor: Complex yet accessible
- Body: Sporty Spice levels of balance
- Overall impressions: Quintessential dessert beer. 8/10.
Self-Care – Bohemian Pils
- Style: Czech Pilsner
- Origin: Olympia, Washington, USA
- Pint, canned
Notably lacks the frothy, satisfying head of its namesake. Notably lacks any similarity to its namesake in general. Disappointment comes in waves, first in the unconvincing yet cloying mead or cider-like sweetness, then in the sudden vanishing of flavor buoyed by its questionably thick body, then finally in a wash of bitterness that evokes accidentally chewing on a bay leaf more than it does the streets of Prague. Its most heinous crime is the aftertaste, which sticks to the back of your mouth and throat like the hookup you singularly regret the most. I think the Czechs would curbstomp you if you put honey into a beer, yet here we are. This was a very unfortunate thing to experience as someone whose all-time favorites were Czech pilsners and lagers of the Svijanský Kníže, Pilsner Urquell, and Staropramen variety which hold a fond place in memory from my visits to the Bohemian capital and my time in Budapest.
Scorecard
- Appearance: Could Be Piss
- Aroma: That weird fake honey syrup you find in coffee shops
- Flavor: Ghastly
- Body: A melted Orange Julius
- Overall impressions: Cheap fodder for entirely warranted European sneering. 2/10.
Bitburger – Bitburger 0.0
- Style: German Pilsner
- Origin: Bitburg, Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany
- Served: 330ml, bottled
Admittedly, Bitburger was never my favorite German beer. It feels too cheap when placed next to Bavarian gems from Paulaner, Weihenstephaner, Hacker, or even Hofbrau and Spaten, lacking a richness in flavor profile and body that highlighted its extremely dry style of bitterness which comes in a strange amount that’s somehow not enough but also too much on the tongue. It’s one of Germany’s most popular, which despite the popular American imagination of German taste in beer, places it on similar territory as domestic products like Budweiser or Coors in the “drinkable, but not exactly great” continuum. All of that said, their zero-proof version is a remarkable imitation of the real deal, and it is precisely for that reason it earns my respect. Its weak points are in the diminished body from an already weak base, which is somewhat inevitable in the NA versions of lighter brews. Sometimes you want to capture the feeling of drinking cheap German beer, and Bitburger 0.0 delivers. I’m glad it exists, and it’s my go-to at Prost on Mississippi Avenue in Portland. You won’t catch me dead drinking it in Munich, though.
Scorecard
- Appearance: That’s Piss
- Aroma: Skunk, but like, skunk from Wish
- Flavor: Almost identical to its namesake
- Body: Skips leg day
- Overall impressions: Pairs well with schweinshaxe or currywurst. Consumable in mass quantities during the Euros. 7/10.
Sober Carpenter – Irish Red
- Style: Red Ale
- Origin: Montréal, Quebec, Canada
- Served: Pint, canned
In a past life, my habit in Irish pubs was to split responsibility for assessing the red ales on tap and the whisky on the top shelf with my partner in crime. Whenever I wasn’t feeling up for adventure, I could always lean on Smithwick’s and Bushmill’s to hit the Hibernian spot. Needless to say, I have some fond memories and strong opinions about reds. This beer is whatever the opposite of a butterface is. It has the immensely comforting aroma of barley malt mixing with the faintest hint of oak, which I have no means of verifying is from some bespoke and impressive barreling practice or an added ingredient. On first sip, the familiar malt-forward taste with just a hint of roastiness yields quickly to an unfortunately weak body that centers the carbonation and vaguely ethanol-like finish typical of cheap beers in a deeply unflattering prelude to what would be a pleasant aftertaste suggesting caramel and hops. The effect lingers on the tongue a little too long than is comfortable and forces you to consider the metatext of the beer, dwelling on things like the roughness of its carbonation more than should be necessary for a casual setting and not favorably enough to relish in a more critical context. That said, it’s a welcome addition to the roster in a category where NA brews are fighting for their lives. In many ways, this can has committed a party foul. It’s still welcome to hang, but we’re not gonna let it forget about the shit it just pulled.
Scorecard
- Appearance: Dignified, deep, rich amber
- Aroma: Recall-inducing
- Flavor: Gets the job done
- Body: Needs to hit the gym
- Overall impressions: Drinkable, sessionable, enrichment activity for a hater. 5/10.
Deschutes Brewing – Black Butte Porter
- Style: Porter
- Origin: Bend, Oregon, USA
- Served: 12oz, canned
Deschutes’ Black Butte porter is one of the greatest beers made in the Northwest, period, and its NA strength is a stunningly faithful adaptation. All of the same roasty, creamy finishes on a sturdy coffee and chocolate base typical of American porters pairs with a body that’s so convincingly full I wasn’t certain I hadn’t accidentally drank the original. The Black Butte is a true Oregon original, and its dry sister carries that flag with gusto. Pairs well with being outside. Appropriate for all seasons.
Scorecard
- Appearance: Rich, deep, dark brown
- Aroma: Diminutive, but nutty and inviting
- Flavor: Accessible yet compelling
- Body: Cold brew except with feeling
- Overall impressions: I’m moving to Bend. 9/10.