Although I am prone to love at first sight, my relationship with beer unfolded much more slowly.  I remember begging to be allowed to try a sip from my father’s Budweiser can as a child and then screaming and sputtering in mock horror after barely wetting my lips.  In high school, I scoffed at all the kids drinking their canned domestic brews and opted instead for more sophisticated drinks.  My girlfriends and I stood in the corner drinking our berry wine coolers and premixed Mudslides, congratulating ourselves on our superior intelligence.  It wasn’t until I went away to college and was introduced to the microbrew that I fell instantly and irrecoverably in love.  Every night was an adventure--another dark, delicious 6 pack to discover.  I blew most of my budget at the liquor store, surviving on ramen noodles and chocolate stouts.  I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, debating the merits of India Pale Ales and hazelnut porters.  The love affair continued after college with frequent trips to Europe, a Mecca for beer aficionados, and has not diminished over the years.  These days I am less of snob and on a blazing hot Oklahoma afternoon, you may well catch me in the backyard with a cold can of Coors, swinging in my hammock and congratulating myself on my superior intelligence.