Whoever invented the 40 is a genius.
I remember having this very thought with two 40 oz. bottles of Steel Reserve duct-taped to my hands. It was my sophomore year of college, and a group of us were playing Edward Fortyhands during a house party. Only a 19 year old with two breakable glass bottles affixed to soft skin—each filled with potent intoxicants—could have such a misunderstanding of the term “genius.”
Just in case the object of Edward Fortyhands is not obvious, here are the rules: You tape a 40 to each hand, and you cannot remove them until the beer is gone. The winner is determined by who finishes first. Genius.
Even though I was shit-housed by the end of the first bottle, I wasn’t drunk enough to forget that no one actually wins at Edward Fortyhands. With a bladder full of malt, I unwrapped the tape from my hands, removed the bottles, and had, I presume, a glorious piss in what I hope was a toilet (again, things got a little hazy after that first Steely).
Despite losing the game, I still stand by that proclamation I made nearly 14 years ago: Whoever invented the forty is a genius. For college students, artists, beach bums and countless other cash-strapped demographics, the 40 represents cheap fun. For me, it’s synonymous with summer, and I’ve wasted countless afternoons sipping from a large glass bottle in the sun. The 40 also represents an antidote to the insufferable elitism that permeates the craft beer scene.
Still, it’s impossible to talk about 40s without mentioning their problematic emergence into mainstream culture.
According to Vice, malt liquor dates back to as early as the 1930s when brewers—suffering through the Great Depression—didn’t have enough malt to make beer. However, it wasn’t until 1963 that Colt 45 malt liquor began showing up on shelves. Throughout the ’60s and ’70s, malt liquor companies marketed their products toward low-income populations (i.e. inner-city Black and Hispanic populations).
During the ’80s, notable celebrities began hocking malt liquor in 40 oz. bottles. Who could forget Billy Dee Williams’ vaguely-threatening promise: “Colt 45. It works every time”? In 1988, St. Ides launched a series of commercials that eventually would feature Wu-Tang Clan, Biggie, Snoop and other musicians who went on to change the face of music. Malt liquor’s association with rap music was solidified and remained that way until the mid-90s, when champagne brands began replacing 40s in rap songs.
So yes, the marketing of malt liquor 40s to Black communities was exploitative at best, harmful at worst (Chuck D of Public Enemy once stated: “[Breweries] have massive campaigns for this shit that are targeted at the Black community... It’s been killing motherfuckers for the longest period.”)
But like most things popularized by the Black community, it was inevitable that white people would co-opt the trend. References to 40s and malt liquor began appearing in punk music, including records by Leftover Crack and Sublime—whose album 40 oz. to Freedom has pretty much become the soundtrack for Southern California beach bros.
While reminiscing about the good times I’ve had with the malty bevvies (maybe you don’t consider wetting your pants during a game of Edward Fortyhands to be a “good time,” but tomato/tamato) I realized that only a handful of breweries have even attempted the 40 oz. delivery system.
Image courtesy of AleSmith
“It’s tough to do. Unless you’re a mega brewery,” says AleSmith Brewing Company owner Peter Zien, who’s had success in producing 40s as part of AleSmith’s partnership with the band Sublime. Upon the release of its Sublime beer—a Mexican lager—the brewery produced a limited-run of 40s because, well, given the lasting popularity of 40 oz. to Freedom, how could they not?
“We did it all by hand, and it was very labor-intensive.” Zien says. “They’ve got to be quality assured with low oxygen pick-up.” He adds that it took nearly nine days to produce around 1,200 40s of the Sublime beer. AleSmith has now produced two runs, and Zien hopes to make it an annual thing.
“It has a certain place in Americana,” Zien says, and I agree.
Despite the 40’s troubled past, I think craft beer has the opportunity to right its trajectory. Hell, small brewers have done a good job of shaking up the beer industry in the past decade, and I feel this is an opportunity to erase the stigma. I’ve had the Sublime beer in a can (which is readily available at any ye olde beer shoppe) and it’s hard to deny the nostalgic kick I get when drinking it. It tastes like all those summer evenings I wasted while being wasted. And I bet two 40s of it would feel really nice duct-taped around my hands.