I am not going to lie to you. Tonight, I made a béchamel sauce into which I dumped half of last night's roast side of salmon, shallots, cauliflower, thyme from the lawn and a bunch of other stuff. It was dandy and even the kids stuffed their faces. I had two types of gueuze and they were just the thing. But it was contextual and, as we know, beer is all about the context:

In a city of refining tastes that is embracing craft beers and microbreweries, Old Style is a throwback to the six-pack. It's an anachronism to the frequent criticism from crosstown White Sox fans that Wrigley is filled with yuppies less interested in the game than taking photos of one another. But many fans wouldn't think of drinking anything but Old Style during a Cubs game. Some of the so-called bleacher bums stop drinking it only long enough to sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" during the seventh-inning stretch, unless they've already spilled it on the ivy-covered outfield wall. "I never get it in a bar, but I drink it every time I come here," said Fleming, a Chicago bartender by trade.

I have never had an Old Style but I have had my baseball and Miller High Life moment so I think I can understand. I love that Chicago fans are galled by the prospect of drinking beers made in Milwaukee or St. Louis. So, wouldn't this be a great moment for a Chicago craft brewer to step up and make an classic American session lager to take the place of Old Style if the suits, now in LA, actually pull the plug? A beer that is light but tasty, true to the taste of the fans and their loyalty to the team and town? Sure, like New Glarus, they may have to sully their hands with corn. But it would be a great way to take a stand on local... and a challenge to see if they could actually pull off making the beer.