When Stan Hieronymus first proposed a beer blogging day, later named “The Session”, my first thought was to talk about the circumstances in which one drinks beer. Because, really, it is our environment that shapes how we feel about anything. When it came around to Hop Talk’s turn to host, we chose “Atmosphere” as the topic. I pushed for it in no small part because I figured it would be easy. Of all the circumstances where and when I enjoy beer, I’d only have to choose my favorite one.

It turned out to be harder than I thought.

The first one that came to mind was parking area 4G in the Meadowlands Sports Complex. I am a life-long New York Giants fan. In spite of the fact that every seat in Giants Stadium is held by a season ticket holder, I’ve been lucky enough to go to a few games. What is most memorable about those games is the tailgate party. Max’s brother Greg and Greg’s friend Mike have only missed a couple of games in well over a decade. Everybody brings stuff to share, and there is always way too much. Burgers, sausage patties, hot dogs, hot wings, occasionally a roast, all cooked over charcoal. Greg is amazing in that he gets his grill lit with exactly one match, no matter how windy it is, and it’s almost always windy in that part of New Jersey. Their friend Skip is very often there. He works for one of the airlines and usually brings a platter of sandwiches or some shrimp cocktail from the galley. On bitterly cold days the group may be down to half a dozen or less, but usually runs about 20 people, and Greg and Mike are always there. Everyone is made welcome. If it’s your first or second time there, if you’re ever spotted without something in your hand you’ll be asked if you want something else, accompanied by the litany of available foodstuffs. There is nary a vegetable in sight—unless you count the sauerkraut or the salsa. You also need to tailgate after the game, of course. There’s no point in sitting in your car not moving when you could fire up the grill and eat some more. There is also celebrating (after a win) or commiserating (after a loss) to be done.

There is beer, of course. Everybody brings something. It is, by and large, fizzy American lagers. Red Dog seems a popular choice. You’ll occasionally glimpse a Sam Adams or Michelob, but that’s about as exotic as it gets. But, who cares? Good friends and casual acquaintances, all fans of the New York Giants (although we do accept fans of other teams, like Ron; it’s all about the camaraderie and they get some good-natured ribbing), talking about “our” fortunes for the season and how well “our” game-plans have been working. There is also catching up with each other’s lives during the off-season, since for some of us this is the only time we see each other.

Then there is my deck, with its wonderful view and shade in the afternoon. What could be better than something light and refreshing on a hot summer day, especially after working in the yard? Sometimes I even get to sit with my best girl, watching the hawks circle lazily overhead and listening to the cicadas. Since she’s been with me, my wife has developed a taste for “better” beers. While I despair of getting her to ever appreciate a stout or porter or virtually anything from Belgium, she does like a nice IPA. It’s the deck that sold me on this townhouse, and I use it whenever I can. Since my wife and I can talk about anything, from geeky topics, to politics, to philosophy (okay maybe not sports). We can be flirtatious, or bawdy, or intellectual, or goofy, or just sit in silence. How can you beat that?

But, then, there is nothing quite like a good bar. Especially a brewpub. I like when the building obviously has a lot of history. People just seem friendlier. The staff and the owners, almost by definition, don’t think of beer as a commodity; they truly love it. (Yeah, okay, I’m sure we could all name an exception or two. The ones that have staying power, though, are the real enthusiasts. And probably wouldn’t be counted as a “good” place anyway.) I love the buzz of conversation, the bursts of laughter, and the good-natured arguments over this beer or that. I am content to go by myself to the brewpub, enjoy my fresh beer, and observe the life all around me. It’s better with friends, though.

Friends. Like Ron. And Max. And Don (aka Uncle Ralphy). I’ve been friends with Ron for over twenty years; more than half of my life. With Max, who was Ron’s roommate in college, for at least twenty. And Don, who is my brother, I’ve obviously known for his entire life. It’s rare for the four of us to get together now, what with us all living so far away from each other, but we did so last weekend to see Rush at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center. (Great show, by the way. And lots of grey hair and bald spots in the audience.) We went to a brewpub, and hung out in Ron’s family room, and even had a tipple in the parking lot before the show. It didn’t matter where we were or even what we were drinking; we had a great time. We always do.

And that’s the point, isn’t it? Yeah, there are places that are interesting from a beer enthusiast’s perspective, like a sidewalk in Brussels, or a brewery tour, or a pub in the English countryside, or a brewpub, or a beer festival. But it’s the people you are with who really make it all worthwhile. They could be your oldest friends, or a fellow beer geek you’ve never met before with whom you’ve struck up a conversation. So, I can’t really choose among any of the above scenarios, nor from any of the other dozens I might have come up with. As long as I’m with good people, that’s just where I want to be. If I get to have good beer at the same time, well, it doesn’t get any better than that.