The Midwest doesn’t drink to escape.
It drinks to hold the line.
That’s the mistake outsiders make. They think this is sadness.
It’s not.
It’s discipline.
The land flattens everything—ego, expectation, fantasy. What’s left is routine, weather, work, and loyalty to things that don’t always love you back.
Which is why the Midwest drinks the way it does.
WHERE I’M FROM (OR CLOSE ENOUGH) THE REGION
My mom’s people are from northeast Indiana. Hammond to be exact. This is not where they live now. Somebody does…
Not the postcard Midwest.
The other one.
The gritty Chicago suburb that never quite gets the credit or the money but catches all the weather and most of the fallout. Close enough to feel the pull of the city. Far enough to keep its distance.
This is Bears country without the skyline.
Steel-adjacent. Factory-adjacent. Bar-first, questions-later.
People here don’t romanticize struggle.
They expect it.
THE CHICAGO BEARS PROBLEM
You don’t casually root for the Bears.
You inherit them. My parents aren’t Bears fans, but it’s in my mom’s blood. She’s just is smarter than me with her time on Sundays. My dad is from Atlanta. He’s a a Steelers fan because there are no such thing as actual Falcons fans.
The Bears are the perfect Midwest franchise because they teach the same lesson over and over:
Endure. Don’t expect rescue.
Every season starts with hope, but not optimism. Hope is allowed. Delusion is not.
So Sundays look the same:
Cold beer Cheap whiskey Defense-first thinking Anger kept under control
You drink not because they’re winning—but because you’re watching anyway.
That’s Midwest loyalty.
Unrewarded. Unbroken.
WISCONSIN — BEER WITHOUT QUESTIONS
Wisconsin doesn’t drink beer for fun.
It drinks beer because it works.
Cold climate. Early mornings. Long winters. Beer that doesn’t ask you to reflect or emote. Something you can drink standing up in boots, sitting down in silence, or still wearing your coat.
This is beer as ballast.
Keeps you steady. Keeps you moving.
Nobody here is chasing a buzz.
They’re chasing evenness.
ILLINOIS — THE BAR BETWEEN SHIFTS
Illinois built bars the way it built factories—close together and always open.
You drink here in transition:
After work Before home Between versions of yourself
Beer and whiskey aren’t celebrations.
They’re pressure valves.
Chicago teaches you how to sit with noise.
Indiana teaches you how to sit without it.
Same drinks.
Different silences.
OHIO, INDIANA, MICHIGAN — DRINKING ON ROTATION
These states don’t spike the night.
They fill it.
https://www.bonfire.com/run-the-damn-dock/
Beer. Light whiskey. Vodka when conversation feels optional.
This is alcohol for people who:
Wake up early anyway Know the score before kickoff Expect winter to be worse than advertised
Nobody’s reinventing themselves here.
They’re reinforcing what already works. Btw… since it works so well… You won’t find me there to fix it. You can keep all 3 of these places.
MISSOURI — THE EDGE STATE
Missouri drinks like it knows it doesn’t fully belong.
Half Midwest. Half South.
Beer in one hand. Whiskey in the other.
There’s patience here—but also an edge. A reminder that endurance can turn into volatility if you don’t release it occasionally.
Missouri understands both sides of the river.
That makes it dangerous in a quiet way. I will retire in St. Louis or Memphis one day…
THE GREAT LAKES EFFECT
Water everywhere.
Warmth nowhere permanent.
The Midwest drinks cold because warmth is temporary.
Beer stays honest. Whiskey stays useful.
Vodka shows up when words aren’t necessary.
This region doesn’t drink to feel alive.
It drinks because life keeps coming.
Bills. Weather. Sundays. Work.
Repeat.
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MIDWEST
The Midwest isn’t numb.
It’s trained.
Trained to tolerate weather.
Trained to tolerate routine.
Trained to cheer for teams that ask for everything and promise nothing.
Beer to keep pace.
Whiskey to stay upright.
Vodka to be left alone.
This isn’t despair.
It’s loyalty under pressure.
And if you understand that—
you understand the Midwest.
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