On my plate: dry cured salami, green and red grapes, marinated artichokes, 5-seed flatbread, herb goat’s cheese, stone wheat crackers, rockmelon and prosciutto, lemon pound cake, gingersnaps, chocolate mousse (not pictured), and sangria. All the makings of an excellent party

I’ve been of legal drinking age for over half a year, and while I was far too busy for the usual coming-of-age antics on the actual day, I have hardly shied away from the bubblies and occasionally the burners. I thought it was high time my thoughts on the world’s oldest beverage came to the surface.

This is a chart of what beverages I consume in 60 days on average.

I have never been opposed to any aspect of drinking culture (though I never quite understood drinking games), and generally speaking I find alcoholic beverages to be a tasty breed of liquids. Where exactly do I stand? I’m not exactly a wino, nor am I a greek with a beer gut, and while I’ve come to love rice drinks like sake and shoju, I’m not all that discerning. I don’t own any ritzy bottles with blue labels and terrifying price tags, nor do I belong to a homebrew association. I have cooked with the stuff many a time, whether in a festive rum cake or a white wine linguini, be it a tequila-lime marinade or a beer batter. And who doesn’t love a good brandy-braised pear or a halfway decent something marsala? But to say I overindulge in the stuff would be a stretch. So I suppose that puts me firmly in the vaguest category of all: average.

Of course I am not here to talk about the specifics of alcohol, or the many subcultures surrounding it, the least of which is the alleged university life. Instead I’m going to give the whole shebang a big serving of preferences and a touch of context. Having circumnavigated the globe on this drinking-momentus year, I have inadvertently surrounded myself with a variety of different peoples, alcohol opinions, cultural customs, sobriety laws, and drinking habits. So we’ll start with Japan (drinking age 19), where grape wine is almost unheard of (and obscenely expensive), all beer is Japanese lager (even the stout), and passing out in a gutter at three in the morning is an acceptable excuse for tardiness (especially in the workplace). Beer comes out of vending machines, the government hosts and promotes a nihonshu convention for sake breweries open to the public [1], and a single shot at select establishments can cost you upwards of 30$US.

But none of this is what makes Japan’s drinking environment truly astounding. What boggled my mind was the sheer variety of opportunities to drink. Recreationally, there are over 15,000 bars in Tokyo alone, and we’re talking pure bars, i.e., not including vendors that sell alcohol such as yakitori, yakisoba, and takoyaki stands, karaoke parlours, or any of the numerous music venues around the city. Then of course besides the bars — not limited to just the English and Irish-style pubs dotting the cityscape, but also the locals-only six-person standing-room bars of the Golden Gai, the extravagant lounges and shot bars lining major thoroughfares, and all that’s in between — then there are the vending machines on every street corner, the kombini minimarts open 24/7, and grocery stores with stock in excess. And that’s just recreationally. There’s a whole world of corporate drinking run amok. This isn’t to say the country is without rules, though. It’s a mortal sin to refuse a drink from a boss, it’s considered extremely rude to let your companion’s glass go empty, and if you’re a formal guest, everyone else can only drink as much as you. Drinking is a social activity, but a completely separate one that politely ignores social hierarchy. Sure one of my bosses was irresponsibly drunk enough to take on an alternate personality and pass out in a stairwell, and yeah the open container policy allows already obnoxious foreigners to become obscenely obnoxious, and maybe 60% of problem drinkers are salaried businessmen who claim that getting drunk with clients or coworkers is part of their job [2], but is Japan the land of drinking? Of course not.

Australia is.

It wasn’t Australia’s (drinking age 18) variety of drinking that got me, but the sheer volume that left me speechless. Unlike Japan, Australian society doesn’t have any of the excuses Japan’s does: Australian culture is the opposite of repressed and drinking is popularly recognised as a topic of concern rather than explicitly condoned. Of course the country has its own statistics to contend with: Australian unemployment rate was recently at its highest, and the country’s depression rates may not rank significantly higher than Japan’s, but Australians are less likely to receive treatment for the disorder. What makes Australia’s drinking scene scarier than Japan’s is what makes America’s so dangerous: a distinct lack of public transit. Yet worse still, in addition to the drinking-related traffic accidents Australia shares with America, those down under are 100 times more likely to pass out not in a gutter in the city, but in a ditch somewhere remote.

With a binge drinking rate through the roof, this typically lax nationality has its own cultural customs as well; namely: drink and drink a lot whether at a state festival, a family barbeque, or a local dive. Australian drinking songs are louder and more frequent than even the ruddiest Liverpool pub after a winning football match (or any of the cup qualifiers). Lest we forget the entire country runs on the myth of mateship (male bonding), and rounds are so frequently bought for your mates and even your not-so-mates, every bloke in the commonwealth could go farther than Magellan.

Yet while the Japanese are arguably more refined in etiquette at least than the Australians, Australian alcohol is arguably more refined than Japanese. Now, this isn’t to discount the miraculous ability for the Japanese to turn the flavour of rice into pineapple (or the pure deliciousness that goes into brewing Suntory Whisky), but Australian grog takes the cake. Along with a series of locally respectable breweries (XXXX, Tooth, and Cooper’s among them), Australia has a series of wineries in a league all their own. In fact, one of my favourite memories from Australia was my tour through Hunter Valley, a wine region near Sydney second only to the Barossa Valley near Adelaide. And it’s not just Hunter and Barossa valley that are in league with the likes of Napa and Sonoma, Loire and Cachapoal, but Australia’s Swan Valley near Perth produces and impressive lot each year, as does Clare Valley in the south. With so many promising brands, blends, and bottles, it’s hard to deny Australia’s got some drinking potential. So they’ve got good wine, and good beer, but that can’t be the only reason Australians drink in bulk. Ah yes, part two of the equation is fairly apparent: not only is it good, but it’s cheap. Incredibly cheap. And very readily available. It’s no wonder why shouting is common practice.

Cooper’s Brewery, founded by Thomas Cooper, is Australia’s largest independently-owned brewery, and maker of the region’s tastiest pale ale. Besides, who would be surprised to find a batch of this in my fridge? The name says it all.

So what’s the lesson through all of this? Well, comparatively the US’s binge drinking problem seems less of an endemic, the Japanese aren’t always so uptight, and Fosters isn’t Australian for beer after all (it’s Australian for “you’ve never heard of this”). So it doesn’t matter where I fall on the drinking scale, because in a different country there’ll be an entirely different set of standards. But as long as there’s a good brew or a good bottle, I’ll be just fine.

On my plate: sandwich of extra sharp cheddar cheese, dijon mustard, red onion and lettuce on marbled rye, Texas Ruby Red grapefruit, and iced green tea

Spicy Mexican Pickles from Molina’s (Mexico City)

Ingredients:

3 carrots, sliced in rounds

1 onion, sliced thinly

1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and sliced in rounds

2 garlic cloves, sliced

2 bay leaves

Salt, ground black pepper

White vinegar (45-grain strength)

Water

Directions:

Notes:
For a hotter relish, keep the jalepeño seeds in, for a cooler relish, add only half the pepper. If your vinegar is stronger than 45-grain strength (4.5%), cover mixture with 1/2 vinegar, 1/2 water to dilute

On my plate: marinara and pasta shells stuffed with ricotta, mozzarella, and spinach, and caesar salad with homemade croutons (not pictured)

On my plate: mulled apple cider, 9-grain toast with cream cheese and cucumber

On my plate: crab cake on a bed of romaine lettuce, carrot, hothouse cucumber, roma tomatoe, red onion, and parmesan cheese

On my plate: our new secret family recipe for the most delicious peppermint bark I’ve ever had. HiperYum

I always find myself reevaluating around this time of year, simply because the last digit in the date changes and we move from one era to the next in one seemingly arbitrary night. It is always in December that I first find myself looking forward to what I want and where I’m going, then glancing backwards at where I have been as January approaches. It seems only natural timing.

Since I’ve been back in my hometown I’ve meet up with a few old friends and had some new experiences to put it all in perspective. I’ve been lucky enough to reconvene with a few highly influential figures in my life, people who at one point or another had a huge impact on my life, sometimes sending me careening into a new and exciting direction, other times just knowing when to listen and what to encourage.

I find it strange that we can look back at specific moments of our lives after the fact and say “this was a defining moment,” or “that changed everything,” but rarely do we say “I am currently in a difficult transitionary period” or “this decision is going to make or break me.” Yet there are a series of memories in my mind aligned like Christmas lights drawing from the source of my past the energy that makes me the me and I am today, memories where each would not be meaningful without the ones that came before it. But what impresses me most is how little it took to light the whole string up. Those defining moments and influential figures weren’t epic at all, but small, almost normal everyday occurrences. The teacher that listened, the friend that never gave up, the ever-willing luncheon companion; these are the heroes that challenged me and nurtured me and inspired me not with extraordinary acts of kindness or miraculous ventures, or prophetic lessons, but with dirty jokes, the occasional hug, and toasts. They changed my future with anecdotes and tangential conversations, with costume parties and over-the-phone invitations, with how freely they offered laughter and how often then doled out advice. My heroes are all ordinary people. And that makes them more powerful and more gallant than anyone the history books could proffer.

Even more remarkable has been my discovery that at times I was the hero in someone else’s life. In reconnecting with the people of my yesterdays, all of whom are just as close to me now as they were then even without conversation during the intervening years (the mark of a true friendship), I see now that one or two of the small, seemingly normal everyday occurrences from my existence had a major impact on someone else. Something I did helped make someone else who they are today. It’s a wonderful feeling to know that somewhere along the way you really touched someone else, you were able to make a difference for the better, and not by a donation to charity or time volunteered, but just by being you.

This suggests that a true hero is not one who accomplishes something worthy, but one who’s nature is worthy. These heroes may be rarer than the Napoleons and Nikola Teslas of the world, but they are realer, and far more influential than I had previously considered. So don’t think any deed goes unnoticed, and never doubt your ability to change the world.

On my plate: homemade grapefruit soda, steamed edamame with kosher salt, vegetable ramen with baby bok choy, carrot, garlic, and red onion