Mike Kilen

mkilen@dmreg.com

I drank cheap Old Milwaukee beer in college, affectionately labeled “Old Swill,” so have no standing to raise my nose at Busch Light.

Iowa beer drinkers in this era have practically made it an official state beverage. The Iowa Wholesale Beer Distributors Association reports that Anheuser-Busch shipped nearly 16 million gallons of Busch Light to Iowa in 2015, which made it the top beer for the fourth straight year.

That’s nearly a seven-gallon pony keg for every adult in Iowa.

The average news consumer may wonder how this is happening and blame corporate evil or dumb-downed masses.

After all, craft beer is celebrated. Its varied flavors are presented to earnest connoisseurs, who take a sip and analyze their “mouth feel.”

Other bearded celebrants partake in hip, old-school varieties such as PBR or Schlitz.

Busch Light is neither trendy nor old-school hip. It comes in a blue and silver can and you drink it and shut up about it.

“Folks who are drinking it aren’t the same folks who drinking craft beers,” said Nathan Cooper, the distributor group’s executive director.

I’d hate to stereotype folks, but based on years of keen observation, I would call it a working-class beer that doesn't call attention to itself. It fits Iowans’ penchant for understatement, informality and frugality.

It’s cheap — you can secure a six-pack for less than seven bucks — and no frills. One Iowan presented with a can recently said it was like going to the beach, “because it’s damn near water.” An old knee-slapper.

Yet in summer months I often enjoy a watery thirst-quencher like any red-blooded American who doesn’t always want to get weighed down by a thick beer with alcohol content approaching double digits.

I still avoided the Busch Light phenomena.

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Research is required in this gig, so I bought a single can. It has 4.1 percent alcohol and consists of water and traditional malts, hops and yeast.

One other item stuck out on the ingredient list: It is also made with corn.

Iowans grow corn like no one else, and it ends of up in various forms in our gas tanks and cereal bowls. Why not drink it in our beer?

The first sip and I was mentally transported back to a dive bar, any and all of them. I’m sitting there among the smell of stale beer. Pool balls are clanking in the background. Skynyrd is on the juke box.

The earthy version of Coors Light had a “mouth feel” that is rugged with hints of corn and soil. It made me want to go bullhead fishing or revisit a roadside tavern likely called The Office or try baling some hay again.

There was honor in it. I felt at one with a fraternity of Iowans. And it only cost me like a buck.