The mustachioed man on the Birra Moretti label gets a trim.

In the mid-1980s, when I first visited Italy, the country was by no means a beer destination.

However, the scene was changing, even then. Demographics were key, as younger Italians gradually rebelled against the wine-centricity of their elders by embracing beer, which at the time meant the usual vapid international golden lagers like Carlsberg and Heineken.

These days, craft/specialty brewing is firmly established in Italy, though less so in Sicily, where we vacationed during Thanksgiving week. There is a world-class beer bar in Catania, our destination, and I'll describe it when there's time.

Of course, Italy always has had standard golden lagers of its own. In the eighties, I preferred Dreher, but it was less common than Peroni Nastro Azzurro and Birra Moretti. Michael "Beer Hunter" Jackson had a high opinion of Moretti LaRossa, an amber, malty lager somewhat after the fashion of a Vienna. Sadly, I saw none of it in Catania.

In terms of mass-market fashion sensibility, a crucial factor in stylish Italia, Birra Moretti always was the hands-down winner, and so it remains. The brewery, which is located in northeastern Italy near Austria, was purchased by Heineken 20-odd years ago, and its trademark mustachioed man has experienced ... shall we say, evolution?

Interestingly, this man was a real person. Here's the story, circa 1942, as explained at Moretti's web site, and followed by the first-generation visuals.

One day, in 1942, the nephew of Luigi Moretti, the founder of the brewery, going out for lunch saw a pleasant-looking man sitting at a table in the Trattoria Boschetti in Udine. There was something unique in that man.

By 2010, there had been a metamorphosis.

What’s changed? For starters, his Reverse Hitler ‘Stache has grown into a Flanders. Also, his de-aged designer has given him the strength to hoist the mug of Moretti with noticeable gusto.

In the 2016 label below, as gracing the bottles I recently drank in Catania, he seems a bit bleached -- and I swear, the mustache keeps getting smaller, although it's probably my imagination.

The bottom line: It's possible I won't drink another Moretti until the next time we visit Italy, but it's strangely comforting to know that this classic imagery persists.

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Mixed (mezzed?) metaphors: Ouzo and Moretti.

Ouzo is Greek.

Birra Moretti is Italian, at least originally.

Apart from the imperative to be cute, what does one have to do with the other?

U.S. Open Food of the Day: Ouzo Shrimp, by Lynn Zinser (New York Times)

This is our first installment of a daily food review from the United States Open concession stands.

The flaming ouzo shrimp is part of a lovely menu that complements the nice selection of wines, although were this not a journalistic assignment squeezed between tennis action (be that as it may on a rainy day), I’d have paired it with a Birra Moretti ...

... The shrimp are large and perfectly cooked. The potatoes and peppers are a bit oily. But overall, it’s a delicious little dish. It may be designed to help sell Birra Moretti. We’ll never know.