Isn't it odd how our tastes change? I remember when I used to ride my bike five miles to buy Charleston Chew and Cry Babies at the old Vic's Variety in Stratford, and now I won't even lean forward in my seat to grab a piece of Halloween candy. Every dinner accompanied by broccoli used to be a contest of wills. Now I'll do actual work to pair my steak with asparagus, and I order collard greens with my BBQ at Smokey Joe's. So it is with wheat beer: I couldn't be bothered after an unimpressive first pint, but that may be changing. Broccoli remains a better projectile than comestible, though, in most cases. The dog seems to appreciate it.
I decided years ago that wheats just weren't up my alley, and have largely ignored them since. Having a first-person column gives one Nursultan Nazarbayev-like power, but I'd like to be a more benign dictator, and really, this column is about you and I both learning - so on it was to round two.