"¿Tienes sidra?"

For an Enthusiast such as myself, obsession with an alcoholic beverage that my mother, who thinks a white wine spritzer is a “cocktail,” keeps stocked in her fridge, might seem strange. I’m not sure how or why my insatiable thirst for cider started, but I do know it has not been quenched.

Despite struggling through Spanish classes from “me llamo Josey” through Latin American Literature 310, I managed to retain so little language that a trip to Spain in March required the purchase of a travelers’ phrase book. Upon leaving Barnes and Noble I enthusiastically flipped to the “Comiendo y Bebiendo” section, searching for the way to my latest love.

“Tienes sidra?” I shouted in a harshly American accent, bass bumping and Enthusiasts laughing and shouting in the background of bars, both dim and bright, throughout Barcelona and Cadiz, as older mustachioed men to 22-year-old ladies in short skirts and ponytails cupped palm behind ear and leaned over bars struggling to understand me.

Magners is an Irish hard cider brand and the one I most often encountered in Spain. Previously perceived as too sweet, the company decided to market “Magners on ice,” a serving suggestion inspired by Irish bars in the old days that didn’t have fridges and needed to ice drinks to make them cold; that, plus the on the rocks was designed to cut the cloying taste.

Did I mention that I was spelling the name of my newfoundlove wrong—”cidar”—as I frequently and publicly proclaimed my adoration in Facebook statii and through text messages. (“Lazy Sunday—time for some nasty adult films and delicious CIDAR!” “Too much CIDAR last night, does anyone know what happened to my face???” “Thanks for filling me in on the dirty deets, dudes and dudettes. I’ll bail you out next time! My face hurts and I think the only cure is MORE CIDAR!!!”) Apparently even though “a” is for apple and apple is the classic hard cider flavor, it’s still “correct” to “spell” it with “e” which stands for everything and thus, nothing.

As the last few sips of my 22 of pear vanishes from this squat, re-purposed jar which formerly housed packed-in pickled oysters, I plead with my fellow Enthusiasts for acceptance. Laugh silently behind my back all you want as I shout “Do you have CIDER?” over the low rumble of Enthusiasts being enthusiastic in Sticky Pub and/or Dive Bar, in AnyTownOrCity U.S.A., but fuck you—I’m not afraid to say this—I think that beer tastes like crap and sometimes a girl wants to sip something that she isn’t just going to shoot in 3 seconds (e.g.: vodka).

Maybe it’s just the cider talking, but did you guys know you’re like, my best friends?