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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This witty Irishman could eat a horse, and so might I.

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Because, if you're a meat eater -- aren't parts just parts? I may be about to find out, so let's return to the topic of carne de cavallo.

I recall the horse butcher across the street from the bullring in Pamplona, and understand very well that the mysterious identity of "indeterminate meat in gray sauce" served at budget eateries in Europe may always have contained bits of protein genetically unrelated to pigs or cows. However, I haven't knowingly consumed horse meat.

Consequently, Catania is the acknowledged capital of horse consumption in Sicily ... and why must turkey always be the slaughter of choice at Thanksgiving?

Red wine or white? Just don't make me drink a Peroni ...

horse-horse-meat-sicily/">I Could Eat a Horse – Horse Meat in Sicily, by John P. Brady

Via Plebiscito is the home of the horse. It’s also a fine place to go if you want to get a taste of the, at times, shockingly real Sicily. If you are a ferocious carnivore and prefer generous amounts of meat on your plate, then here you will get your satisfaction.

Catania is at least two cities, the first being the clean, elegant and impeccable, via Etnea and its surrounds. The second is an anomaly of sorts – a dangerous, run-down, exciting, noisy but very authentic city. A horse of another colour, if you will.

Via Plebiscito runs from the Pescheria or fish market, behind Piazza Duomo around in a semi circle to near Piazza Stesicoro. It covers a large area of the west of the city where scooters zoom by at high speed and the atmosphere is one of uncertainty. The food prices decrease the further you stray from the centre and here an arancino or a pizza slice can be found for one euro (bargain!).

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Galloping very soon to the "undisputed queen of street food" in Catania, Sicily.

If you're planning on visiting Sicily (we are), and you have a friend in Italy (I do), then you ask him questions about vital topics like food and drink.

Earlier today I was chatting with Fabio, who runs a beer bar in Arezzo and has been very helpful during trip planning. He has pointed so far to a bottle shop and beer bar in Catania, our destination, and recently mentioned a pasta recipe using wild boar (not exactly a staple at Olive Garden). This led to further discussion about street food, and the revelation that among the admired specialties of Catania is carne di cavallo ... horse meat.

I used to joke about the likelihood of having consumed horse meat many times while beer-tripping and budget-eating in Europe, in the form of "mystery meat in gray sauce" specials at my favored dirt cheap proletarian cafeterias. It reminds me of the old W.C. Fields diner gag.

W.C. Fields (to waitress): "I didn't squawk about the steak, dear. I merely said I didn't see that old horse that used to be tethered outside here."

The link Fabio provided is in Italian, and of course this can be translated -- shall we say, imperfectly, but the meaning is fairly clear: If you wish to dine on horse meat without a side dish of political correctness, then the shadier the neighborhood, the better -- and here are the five most "disreputable" (read: best) places to do it.

Horse meat in Catania more the neighborhood is the most infamous is good ... 5 disreputable places, very recommended, by Mara Pettignano

Horse meat: bright red, succulent, from the undisputed taste trend with ten out of ten to sweet, to eat if possible to the blood. If you too are passionate to know that there is one place in Italy where it is sanctified, he adored, revered .

A city where horse meat is the only and undisputed queen of street food, become long tradition before the "street food " became a commonly used term.

That place is Catania, but if you want to enjoy the delicacy of this meat, net of ethical issues that can create eat it, you have to get your hands dirty: the places where you need to go are hardly reported by the Michelin Guide.

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