Every major city in the USA now has a gastropub serving Duvel and chicken-liver pâté, but to quote Dennis Hopper’s oxygen-mask-wearing Frank Booth in the movie Blue Velvet: “Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!”
The never-stops-being-cool PBR has been spotted: Stuffed into the mouth of a roast suckling pig in tall boy form by the chefs at Fatty Crab, NYC, during the Cochon555 pig cook-off (they won); at fancy beer-focused restaurants, like San Francisco’s Monk’s Kettle, to keep it real; sipped by old-school graffiti writers Lava One and Shadow, who came out to watch Manfred Kirchheimer’s 1981 cult classic Stations of the Elevated at the Maysles Cinema and Film Institute in Harlem; and on tap at LA’s the Power House.
“Four and a half years ago, when my partner and I took this over, and we put Pabst on tap, NOBODY was doing it,” says Power House part-owner Jim Kalin. “Everybody would laugh! Now you go everywhere and everyone has Pabst.” As BeerAdvocate reviewer BasementBrewerSF says, “it is the best of the worst.”