So you finally found the right moment to relax and enjoy your first glass of Hoppenheimer. You’ve sat yourself down in your most comfy chair, put on the good old Soviet anthem, and you are about to open a bottle of hoppiliciousness. Ppssshhhkkkk! Aaaaahh, the aromas come wafting in, and gently caress your nostrils. But ooaawwaaaah, fire in the hole! Quickly, don’t waver too long, pour your beer in your already chilled glass!
Every boy secretly dreams about being in a band. The adoration and jubilation is something we all crave a bit for in our everyday jobs. Luckily I also work as a marketeer at a big American company, so you can imagine I receive my fair share of groupies. Nevertheless, I may never truly experience what Dolly Parton or the Proclaimers (or whatever the kids listen to these days) feel when they were up on stage, but I imagine it’s pretty close.
I recently passed a huge lorry-truck, by one of the more famous Dutch beer makers. I was on my city-bike. The driver was a big burly man, tattoo-d, sweaty. I was neither of those things. Weirdly however, we seemed to be both doing the same job. Yes, I was on my way to deliver a new batch of Hoppenheimer to the specialty beer shop in Amsterdam, de Bierkoning.