The Art of Skiing: The Deck Beer

The Art of Skiing: The Deck Beer

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The Art of Skiing: The Deck Beer

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Walking into a newly redesigned après joint, the wafting smell of truffle fries invades the nostrils and although its aroma is sweet at first, This upscale après ski appetizer is ruining your would-be ski-bum bar. Because with upscale appetizers come upscale craft beers, which eventually lead to upscale prices and before you know it—voilá, that PBR just went from being $3 for a tall boy to $7 for a pint. However, you can sit down at the granite top bar and get jaded or you can avoid the truffle oil stench altogether by grabbing some fresh air, a six-pack of beer, and enjoying the often forgotten pastime of “The Deck-Beer.”

The history of the Deck Beer goes back centuries. In the 17th century, Belgian monks would sit on their monastery decks, turning up mugs of finely crafted, high ABV ales in order to forget their devotion to a life of celibacy. Turns out, monastic life isn’t that much different from a life of skiing in a mountain town devoid of women. So in keeping with tradition, here is how to execute an effective and influential Deck Beer session that actively boycotts trendy après scenes and ditches upscale prices for the often sought after grassroots chill.

First and foremost, location is key. A Deck Beer requires a deck but not just any deck. The deck must ooze base area vibes and finding such a spot without drawing ire from the surrounding private businesses is a difficult task. However, this challenge is easily met with a trip inside the bar. Show your I.D. to the bouncer and grab a pint off an uncleared table that retains a miniscule offering of stale beer still inside the glass. On your way out to the deck, grab a cup of water as well. Once outside, ditch the beer, wash out the mug with the water, and proceed to discretely pour a Rainier tall boy into said pint glass. Before you know it, friends are flooding the deck in similar fashion and you’ve got yourself a good ole fashioned deck beer hoedown happening.

From heavenly heights, Belgian Monks look down on the celibate group of ski bums and smile… There’s pole whacking to be done.

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