By Jeffrey M. Kralik, Ph.D.
www.thedrunkencyclist.com –
There was never so much as a drop of alcohol in my house growing up in the Midwest. Sure, my father drank the occasional beer, but that was rare, and when he did, it was something regrettable like Red, White, and Blue (Pabst Blue Ribbon’s second beer). I can’t remember my mother, the daughter of a dairy farmer, ever having any alcohol. She insisted that we drink milk at every meal, and she did the same. It was not until my junior year in college, while studying abroad in Strasbourg, France, that I had my first glass of wine. It was another few years after that, while leading a bike trip through Burgundy, that the “wine bug” really hit me, but I have been a devotee ever since.