If a beer blogger could have a beer list, what would it look like?

There are so many factors. First, you’d simply want it to kick ass. You’d want a hundred taps with a complete range of styles and breweries the world over. You’d want killer local beer. You’d want cask. You’d want bottle conditioned. You’d want to outdo everything that’s ever been done.

But this isn’t a dream list, or even a desert island sort of exercise. This is for the place I’m opening. Here. I live in rural Iowa, not exactly Beer Mecca. Since the world’s not perfect, I had to make some choices. A hundred taps would be a scientific study in sour lines. A hundred bottles would be an expensive cellaring experiment.

I’m about a week away from opening Electric Burrito, and my beer has begun arriving. I have two taps that will feature Iowa beers, three Mexican beers and around a dozen regionally focused microbrewed bottles. I’ll have an Iowa-made hard cider. We’ll feature Native wines from a new winery that’s but a couple of miles from our front door, as well as a chard and a cab for those that don’t find Iowa hybrid grapes groovy.

What have I settled in on?

On Tap: Millstream Brewing Company’s John’s Generations White Ale (Amana, IA) and Raccoon River Brewing Company’s Stonecutter Stout (Des Moines, IA).

In bottles: Millstream’s Iowa Pale Ale and Schild Brau, Schell Brewing Company’s Pilsner (New Ulm, MN), Summit Brewing Company’s Extra Pale Ale (St. Paul, MN), Boulevard Brewing Company’s Wheat Beer (Kansas City, MO), Goose Island’s IPA and Nut Brown Ale (Chicago, IL), New Belgium Brewing Company’s Fat Tire (Fort Collins, CO), Sutliff Hard Cider (Lisbon, IA), as well as Corona, Dos Equis and Negra Modelo (it is a Mexican joint, after all).

Even with this modest lineup, I’ve got my work cut out for me. I’ve got staff and a community to educate. This is a cool little town with many good folks, and I’m simply going to tap into the potential. There’s tons of it, with more on the horizon, and that’s not just me talking like Paul Newman as Butch Cassidy (”I’ve got vision and the rest of the world wears bi-focals.”)

If you’re planning your vacation, come see me.

On the Opinion Expresser

“Beware when the great God lets loose a thinker on this planet.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Or a lotta thinkers. Everybody’s a critic, or so the saying goes.

Stan at Appellation Beer brought up the question of the Beer Critic’s role (A [beer] critic’s job? Demolishing the bad?), and a great flow of excellent comments followed. I’d encourage you to give them a good read-through.

This discussion brings a renewal of my own ponderings on the topic: Honesty is the best policy. It all boils down to this.

Now, I should say that it was my intent from the day I set up brewvana to shy away from the negative attitude. Really, that’s just how I am, but I believe it’s good to have some positive beer places out there . I strive to make brewvana that. However, sometimes I drink a lame beer. Sometimes I have lousy service in a beery place. Sometimes I don’t understand a brewery’s choice.

What’s a guy or girl to do? Or how to do it? And is it a self-proclaimed Beer Blogger’s place? Since opinions are like belly buttons, and everyone has one, the criticisms are bound to emerge, and not solely from paid beer writers. We’ve got the bloggers, beer review sites and forums galore as outlets for our bright ideas.

This beer sucks!

Back when I used to teach English, I told my students that it was out of line to say this poem (or story or novel) sucks. Tell me how it sucks, why it sucks and how it could keep from sucking, and I will consider your opinion with greater weight. All too often, I see or hear beer lovers’ opinions expressed in the “it sucks” way. I think credible Opinion Expressers should work on this one.

Jumping to conclusions

I once wrote a post (in conjunction with Matt at Flossmoor) called Over-analysis Syndrome. It wound up causing a stir over at Rate Beer. The thread really saddened me, because both Matt and I were trying to be encouraging and positive and smart-aleckily introspective. There were many scathing comments from people who completely missed the point, some from people who had clearly not read our posts, or even the entire thread. I think the credible Opinion Expressers should work on this one.

There’s subjectivity involved

I, personally, don’t enjoy American hops as much as others do. Consequently, I don’t include a proportionately large amount of IPA in my diet. But I do appreciate the qualities of a good one. I say so from time to time. Sometimes I hear or read folks that are clouded by their own biases or preferences. I think credible Opinion Expressers should work on this one.

Nobody’s fault but mine?

Before one cracks on a beer, it sometimes makes sense to take other factors into consideration. If the “bad” beer was a sour draught, it’s not necessarily the brewer’s fault. The pub or distributor needs to clean the lines. That bottle was bad? The store could be to blame, as their treatment of the beer factors in. How far did the beer travel in its distribution? Was the truck refrigerated? That PU was skunked? Well, we could blame the store for exposing it to light, or we could ask why the brewery uses those ridiculous green bottles. I think credible Opinion Expressers should work on this one.

A grain of salt is sometimes good

It has been with uber-discipline that I manage this post without 15,000 (give or take) specific references to the good comments left on Stan’s post. However, I must pass along this little tidbit from Lew Bryson:

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read negative reviews of beers, brewpubs, and beer bars that showed more about the reviewer’s prejudices and ignorance than they did about the reviewee’s. Of course, the same goes for positive reviews.”

You could take that statement with a grain of salt if you wish, but in my opinion, you’d be foolish. Abe Lincoln once noted: “It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.” Some Opinion Expressers are very revealing in all the wrong ways. They might be new, they might be young, they might have issues.

Digesting it

The Opinion Taker-Inner really needs to consider the source. It doesn’t take long to sort out the personality, preferences and level of expertise of a columnist, a blogger, a forum poster, a waitress or the dude sitting next to you at the bar. The better Opinion Expressers back up their arguments, emanate a deeper understanding of the subject at hand and manage to critique while not appearing critical. At least the ones I lean on in my quest.

Honest and obnoxious are two different things. Negative reviews aren’t bad. If executed well, they can result in improvement, and that’s not always a “bad” place shutting down, or a brewer finding a new vocation (or hobby). Where my own homebrews are concerned, criticism has revealed elements of brewing for me to address. My beers continue to improve. The same can happen for a commercial brewery, for a beer bar and for the introspective Opinion Expresser. Or not.

Much like poorer beers will weed themselves out, so to will the poorer Opinion Expressers. Whether they know it or not.

__________

A few related (or semi-related) posts:

Beer Geek, Not Beer Jerk

Cross-Judging

Stan Poses a Question on  Criticism and Gets Critical Attention

Why you shouldn’t have to be 21 to look at a beer site

I really value all my readers and the comments they make on this site. There have been many good views expressed and many positive words on the content I post.

Thanks.

However, all you old-fart, beer enthusiast, blog readers got blown away this week by my favorite comment of all time:

Thank You for this very nice report about Rock Bottom. My dad is Eric Sorensen, the brewmaster, now i know what he does at work all the time and how he makes others happy.Thanks, Jade

I’m sorry, but that’s freaking beautiful.

From my stats, I can discern that Jade found my blog by searching for her old man. These days, not only is it easier for parents to check up on their kids, but it’s possible for kids to check up on their parents’ job performance, as well. In this case, the pride swells for a young lady reading some dorky beer lover’s comments on her dad’s beers.

It is a fact: Eric Sorensen, at the Rock Bottom in West Des Moines, is putting out some excellent beers. We stop in as often as our trips to Des Moines allow. In additiona to a solid regular tap list and tasty seasonal offerings, he has rotating stouts, rotating wheat beers, and nearly always something served on cask.

Good stuff.

Probably a good kid, too.

__________

In the neighborhood? Here’s a map.

Beer and The Hays Code

Here I go again. Taking something that has nothing to do with beer and, well, turning it into a big beer thing.

With a little more time on my hands, or simply a stronger level of determination, I’m sure I could turn this one into a lengthy series. I’ve decided to spare you that and just throw it out for this week’s rumination piece.

So I’ve been grooving on DVDs of HBO’s Deadwood recently. On the special features for the first season, I learned that not only did I intensely admire the show, but I also much revered the creator, the genius David Milch.

This freakin’ dude is brilliant. He’s well-read, meticulous and amazing. The show, as you may know, is fairly intense: a healthy dose of whoring, killing and cursing. It’s not exactly historically accurate (and doesn’t claim to be), but neither was Shakespeare. Pretty far removed from the squeaky clean Roy Rogers cowboy stuff. In an interview, Milch discusses the Hays Code of 1930, which basically laid out the dos and don’ts of film making back in the day.

Back when everything was sugar coated:

General Principles

1. No picture shall be produced that will lower the moral standards of those who see it. Hence the sympathy of the audience should never be thrown to the side of crime, wrongdoing, evil or sin.

2. Correct standards of life, subject only to the requirements of drama and entertainment, shall be presented.

3. Law, natural or human, shall not be ridiculed, nor shall sympathy be created for its violation.

It goes on to lay out a good many particular applications. Basically, don’t film murders like Quentin Tarantino would, don’t cuss like the Simpsons, and go easy on the scenes of passion. And a lot more prudish stuff: always treat the flag with respect, no white slavery, no films about priests fondling alter boys.

So how do we eventually get from something shiny like Hopalong Cassidy to something gritty like Deadwood? And what happened in the interim?

First, the latter question, from Milch: “It’s my experience that a good storyteller can find a way to internalize and neutralize the pernicious effect of those kinds of extraneous, controlling statutes or strictures by finding equivalents within the story that obey the terms that are laid out by the Code without doing violence to the emotional integrity of the character of the story. So if characters can’t say anything obscene, you try and conceive a character for whom obscenity is a kind of fallen or pathetic expression of weakness. I believe that was the source of the development of the laconic cowboy. A man of few words, but deep and complicated morality, who didn’t have to fuck with the Hays Code.”

So what happened in the interim was that Clint Eastwood didn’t talk much while kicking ass in non-gruesome ways.

Now the former. How do we get here? Thoreau once wrote: “It is not too soon for an honest man to rebel.” We got here via rebels, some honest and some not. We got here by people questioning The Hays Code. Lifting a one-finger salute to our sorry governmental policies on ____________ and ____________ and ____________. Learning about culture, history, art and science and turning it into craft beer.

Three chords and the truth.

Lest you think that wasn’t a good enough pondering of beer getting better, let’s take one more peek at the Code. Point Number Four says:

The use of liquor in American life, when not required by the plot or for proper characterization, will not be shown.

There they go, characterizing evil. Bad beer emerged from this mentality. All the good parts of beer washed away. Flavorless swill became prevalent, and then to backfire seriously, the macro-brew barons got into the ideas of sex and partying to sell their products.

But please drink responsibly, they now warn.

Me, I’ll take good beer with good character. I’ll take it in moderation with my good friends close at hand. I won’t be whoring, killing or cursing much. Despite someone else’s list of strictures.

I like the dirty truth of John Lee Hooker. I like the dirty truth of the brewer’s sweaty brow. I like the dirty truth of Milch’s Deadwood. And hoist a pint all too frequently to the rebellious attitude that is craft beer and its uprising against the results of The Hays Code and other dumb ass attitudes.

More beery places to hang

Lotsa resources out there. Lotsa communities. Lotsa beer. Lotsa clubs. Lotsa forums. Lotsa blogs.

Two beer-related social networks recently cropped up on the scene, and if you’re the beery sort, you might want to check ‘em out. Offering forums, personalized pages and ways to connect with other beer lovers, Aleuminati and Democracy’s Drink, are both great ways to check out the beer folk.

I’m there, but you can bet I’ll be a slacker. I’m uber-busy these days.

Free the Hops needs your support

For three years, Alabama’s Free the Hops has been working to change bad beer laws. Who’s Free the Hops? From their website:

Free The Hops | Alabamians For Specialty Beer is a grassroots, citizen-driven movement solely committed to lifting the 6% alcohol by volume and 1 pint container limits for beer brewed or sold in Alabama.

We are an Alabama incorporated nonprofit—comprised of volunteers who, like you, enjoy the world’s wide selection of beer styles. We are a diverse group composed of writers, architects, IT professionals, and many others.

It’s been a long, hard road, and guess who’s standing in the way? A guy by the name of Pat Lynch, the vice president at Birmingham Budweiser, an Alabama Anheiser-Busch distributor. His undermining efforts must stop. Our brothers and sisters in Alabama need our help.

Free the Hops has launched a boycott of Anheiser-Busch products. Further, we can whip out our dialing fingers and call Pat. In a firm, but respectful manner, call Pat Lynch and implore him to throw his support behind the Free the Hops campaign. Ask him to make his stance public with a press release. Ask him to help, not hinder, the world of beer.

This guy puzzles me. This ain’t rock ‘n roll, where even bad publicity is good publicity. This is business, and he’s hurting his. And all of beer. I hope his bosses are paying attention. I hope you’ll take a few minutes today to help get his attention.

Here’s his phone number: (205) 945- 4893.

What, you can’t call? Here’s an email address: customerservice@bhambud.com

Rather call A-B corporate? 1 (800) 342 5283

Remember, be respectful, but firm. We don’t want our zealotry to backfire and harm Free the Hops or Alabama in any way.

I finally got my phone call made this morning, and I feel better already. Of course, he was out of the office, so I left a message. He should be calling back any time now. Just in case, I sent him an email. I’ll let you know what he says when I hear back from him.

Having been involved in North Carolina’s Pop the Cap campaign, and having seen the results of the lifting of the alcohol limit, I know how hard this is for the volunteers involved, but I also know how big the payoff is.

Let’s give ‘em a hand.

The brains behind the bar

Boak got me thinking last week, when she posted about the etiquette of taking your pint back.

I thought about myself in that situation. Generally, I’m the mellow sort. If I were drinking a beer that seemed off, I’d probably just put up with it. I’ve got English blood. That’s compounded by being raised in the Midwest. Stoic, non-complaining farmers of Northern European stock. (They only bitch about the weather, whether hot, cold, rainy or dry.)

I’ve always been put off by people that cause a scene in a restaurant. If they bring me eggs that are over hard, rather than the over easy like I ordered, or bring me a medium well steak rather than the medium rare steak that I ordered, I eat it. And don’t go back.

But as I get older, and wiser, I understand that sometimes they simply need the feed back. In my early days of Good Beer Drinking, I truly didn’t feel confident in my knowledge of the beers. I hate it when people run their mouths about things they don’t know about. So, there’s no way I’d have sent a beer back.

But, they need to know. The bartender isn’t drinking the beer all day; he’s slinging it. How’s he supposed to know if it’s off? Someone’s got to tell them. It helps the bar stay on top of the product. And it helps the next drinker, who could be a first-time craft beer sampler. A bad pint could ruin their evening and their life.

In the interest of the Movement, I now know enough, and care enough to get over my stoicism. That means a bad beer. That means chilled glasses. I don’t come off all smarty-pants, just informative and caring. About beer and their establishment.

I’m now kicking myself for not trading out a pint a few months back. I really should have done it. I’ve only had to fool with trading pints on one occasion, and it was rather awkward. There were several of us involved. And the bartender was obnoxious. He’d worked there for a good five years, and thought he was smart. He had questionable social skills, and poor customer service skills.

A couple of our group had horrible beers and returned them. Poor bastard wasn’t nice about it. Eventually, he asked for me, since he knew me and this scene was somehow my problem. I worked for a brewery, was recognizable and knew the managers fairly well. Eventually, I found myself on Bartender’s cell phone talking with the bar manager trying to put out/avoid a fire at for what for me was an important account. This was nothing to do with my job; this was me sharing a pint with friends. Fortunately, the bar manager was a good guy, and I had a good relationship with him. The issue would not impact the two taps I had on the wall. He recognized Bartender’s ass-facedness. He appreciated that I had tasted the beers myself and let him know the problem: the lines still had line-cleaner in them. Nasty and dangerous.

In the end, all was well. We got fresh beers and tipped our waitress well. None of that was her fault.

That was a bad bartender, but a good bar manager. I took Boak’s piece a little further in my weekend ponderings: What about those bar managers?

I found some of them interesting and appalling in my days working as a sales rep for a small craft brewery. More than occasionally, I encountered bar managers who knew very little about craft beer and even less about local breweries. I’d walk in the door with a logo on my breast, and the bartenders would rave. The bar manager had no idea about our beer. Oddly, I placed taps because a bartender or waitress nodded with a big-assed smile on their face.

In talking with people, I learned that this sect of bar managers had “moved up” to wine when they were done swilling in college. They were out of tune with their trade, and their market. What a shame. They were missing out in their own drinking, and missing out on income at their establishment.

Other bar managers, GMs or owners were on the pulse of Good Beer. I was once called “the porter God.” I nodded my head, touched her garment while whispering a blessing with a wry smile. That day, yes, as a matter of fact, I was the brewmaster.

It’s interesting to think about the brains behind the bar. Like the brains behind the teacher’s desk, the brains behind my car repair and the brains behind the leader of a nation, there’s a lot at stake. It’s important for me to do my job as a beer enthusiast to keep the bartenders, managers and wait staff informed. Just like it’s my job to keep elected officials informed.

And vote on what happens next.

Shut up about Shut Up About Barclay Perkins

I’m sure this is what my wife’s thinking. She’s always thinking something. If she’s anything like me, she thinks about porter. A lot.

Lest you were worried that I’d run out of topics for my blog, I wanted to point out that I’ve enjoyed reading Ron Pattinson’s Shut Up About Barclay Perkins for quite a while, but lately I’ve spent a lot of time there.

Why, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you, since I have the answer right here. The answer is porter. And stout. Numbers. I’m not good with numbers. As the art and science of brewing goes, I’m an art guy. But you gotta have the numbers. And grain. And hops.

Back in high school, I didn’t really care about history. But I liked beer. And rock and roll. One day, when I was a junior in college, I had an epiphany. Lord Byron was basically a rock star. When I realized that Coleridge was a junkie, I knew that books were alright. And I also epiphanied that Tom Petty is a poet. And so is Robert Plant. And a bunch of others. So to my collection of music, I started adding books. Some of them are old, and some of them are about beer. But unlike Ron, I don’t have a lot of really old books about beer. Especially the kind with numbers in them. If I had those I could analyze stuff over time. Like Ron does. Anyway, at some point I got interested not only in literature, but also history.

So, anyway, back to porter. I really love it. And lately, Ron’s been on quite a porter streak. He’s really informative. You can tell he really reads a lot, and ingests the information and takes notes. Or he’s really good at making stuff up. But I’m pretty sure he’s done the reading part.

Like did you know that stout is a porter, but porter isn’t necessarily a stout?

“Porter was used to refer to both specifically the weakest beer of the type and as a general term for all Porters and Stouts.

London brewers regularly made Porter and Stout from the same mash. I have examples of this that span pretty much the whole period I’ve looked at (1805 - 1955). At some periods Whitbread almost never brewed just one beer from a brew. At one time in the 1800’s all their beers - two Porters and half a dozen Stouts - all have exactly the same recipe, except for the quantity of water.

Guinness Porter and Guinness Extra Stout in 1883 had pretty similar recipes.

All the crap about them being two distinct styles has just been made up in the last 30 years.”

That’s just one example. I took that little nugget of possible truth from a comment on some post about porter. Rather than try and remember which post it was, I’d recommend checking out his whole blog, which is full of information. If you just feel like reading about porter, then click here. That’ll take you to all his porter stuff.

But if you’re going to check out Ron, I should tell you something. He’s opinionated. He might disagree with you. For example, he doesn’t care for the BJCP. If you click that link, you’ll smell sarcasm emitting from your keyboard. Hopefully you take time to read the comments, because it demonstrates better than the post that Ron’s not just obnoxious, but also that he has good and worthy reasons for his opinions.

“Time and place are vital elements of beer style. To ignore them is to deny much of beer’s diversity.

Taxation, regulation, demography, geography even geology all play their part. Beer is culture specific.

I’m explaining this very pompously and very poorly. Why should anything stay the same? Music doesn’t. Clothes don’t. Neither does food, or cars, or lightbulbs or children’s television (for us Noggin the Nog was a highlight). In just the same way as, even in this age of globalisation, pop music, children’s TV, food, sport - and I hope much more - aren’t exactly the same, neither is beer everywhere. Even if it bears the same style name.”

Lively banter here and there.

I once had an acting professor tell me to just go into an audition and go over the top. Make a bold statement and even if that’s not what the director has in mind for the part, he’ll remember you, and shape you into his plan for the production. That’s Ron, to me. He ain’t afraid to say what he believes. I reckon his fervency ruffles some feathers.

Not mine. I’m proud to say that I took the BJCP exam and made Certified. If I was better at numbers, I might have done better. I learned a lot as I prepared for that exam. And my learning didn’t end when I walked out the door. I’ve learned a lot just by reading Ron. From my perspective, the BJCP is doing its best to put together an education program that is generally good for Beerdom. It’s not an evil empire. It defines style parameters, but it also updates its work. It’s not perfect, and it’s not Gospel. To me it’s a tool. Until I die, I’ll continue learning. Revising. Epiphanying.

Some people that know a lot come off like they think they know everything. And Ron could be accused of that.

I should point out that Ron nearly apologized for his grumpy and comedic BJCP post.

I should point out that Ron continues to learn:

“I seem to remember posting something about Scotch Ale a while back. One of my main points was that the don’t-use-many-hops-because they-don’t-grow-in-Scotland story about Scotch Ale was just that: a story. Well, I’ve been poking around a bit more. Perhaps I was a little hasty in my assessment.”

I should point out that Ron asks questions about things he doesn’t know.

That’s a good thing. Learning’s a good thing, and Ron’s a part of it for me. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I encounter a whole homebrew club full of knowledgeable members. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I discover my buddy Ken Hilton. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I study for the BJCP exam. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I stumble upon Ron Pattinson. It’s good every so often to get your stuck up self kicked back to kindergarten. I’d recommend that you check him out, if you don’t already read him.

I meant to take a picture of my bookshelf to prove that I have both books and beer in common with Ron, but I forgot. Please just take my word for it.

Tonight, I’m drinking porter, in honor of Ron Pattinson. And Barclay Perkins. And me.

Cheers!

Beer’s been everywhere, man

“I’ve been everywhere, man
Crossed the deserts bare, man
I’ve breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel I’ve had my share, man
I’ve been everywhere”

-Johnny Cash

So I’m taking in a little piece of rural Americana yesterday. It’s been years and years since I’ve been to an auction. I used to go with my dad. My gramps, like many farm-dude old timers, found recreation in this pursuit. Along with many tools and pieces of junk, he bought a house at an auction (without previously discussing it with my granny, mind you).

Yesterday’s auction took place in an old, country church. It was beautiful and sad all at once. Populations drop and small churches close, a sorry fact.

As I stood in the throng, the sense of smell brought back memories: musty basement, old stuff and hog shit on boots. It had that weirdly pleasant aroma of an auction. Some wouldn’t understand how it smelled good, but then some wouldn’t understand the pleasure of a lambic. Then the audio: the rapidfire banter of an auctioneer practicing his craft over a mediocre sound system. Ah, memories!

I’m outfitting a restaurant, so have interest in kitchen equipment and anything else that might lend character. At the end of the day, I settle up. I’ve bought a gob-shite load of dishes for a fraction of their worth, as well as two ornate church pews. As we’re loading our goods into our trailer, I walk over to the two boxes of coffee cups.

They’re not boxes; they’re cases! Brewed by Jos. Huber Brewing Company in Monroe, Wisconsin, these two Hi Brau Premium Beer cases are old school.

How did they come to be in this church basement? When? I thoroughly appreciate this moment and again consider the unwelcome Fate of this small, old church. Like a fading beer brand, it will be torn down and vanish from the landscape.

Gone, but not forgotten, and with relics spread across the land. There are always memories of the great works that took place there, the potlucks, the weddings and the funerals. There will always be memories, too, of Hi Brau, and its kin. For me, I will have an odd, sentimental spot in my heart for Hamm’s; Red, White and Blue; and Olympia, as I remember my dad drinking those beers. For others, it’s Genesee Cream Ale. With the myriad of beers that cross the threshold of our home, it’s hard to imagine which ones might remind my boys of me.

Today, I think about old, country churches. I think about Belgian monks that brew. I think about the circumstances in which hog crap smells good. And I think about how, like Johnny Cash, beer’s been everywhere. Even in a church basement.

Over-analysis Syndrome

True story: A week or two ago, I’m walking down the street and I catch this aroma. My nostrils perked up. What is that? I thought. Not the scent of a beautiful woman. Not the scent of a warm Krispy Kreme doughnut. It was sweet, fruity and perplexing as I scanned the files of my brain for what it was. Aha! It was those grape-flavored cigars that Monte occasionally lights up while he brews. Why would I smell that? I must be nuts.

I’m all proud that I figured it out when I look to my left. What do I see across the street? It’s freakin’ Monte! I smelled that rascal from clear over here! What an ass-kicking, beer-trained sniffer I’ve got. I’m way proud of my olfactories right about now. I’m a wild animal, tuned in to my surroundings. I can smell and identify a man from 75 feet away.

We beer folk get tuned in, striving to identify those flavors, those aromas. To pick them apart and name them and appreciate their origins and the skills of the brewer that brought them together in a sometimes mindbending chorus of love.

However… Not long ago, there was a thread on The Beer Mapping Project’s forums that caught my attention. A beer lover was waxing philosophically, as many of us do, on the nuances he’d noticed. The beervolution of flavors in a beer he’d had many times:

It seems to me that when you drink something consistently, you can start to pick up on the differences and adjuncts of a beer…

But it’s something to be noticed over time. It just goes to show that even the bestest beers can sour and sometimes suck on some days and sometimes they can even shine… but only if the care behind the beer is there… or sometimes not… sometimes it’s just a happy accident….

I don’t really understand why tho… they use the same formula don’t they? It’s not like the mean to change things so radically that the beer tastes different or so off base that you can go from one beer or batch to another…

I thought, you know, this guy’s got a point. We get tuned in. We know when a beer has Cascade hops or Fuggles hops. We can tell when a beer didn’t attenuate. We can tell if perhaps the wort wasn’t aerated well enough, or if it fermented a little too warm. We can tell if a bar needs to clean its lines.

And then I thought, you know, this guy’s running the risk of Over-Analysis Syndrome. Like many of us beer enthusiasts, maybe he’s clouded by all the beers he’s loved before. Taking too seriously his ability to identify diacetyl, DMS or acetaldehyde. We all do it.

Judging by some of the responses in the thread, I wasn’t alone:

It has long been my experience that regardless of what I’m consuming — beer, wine, favorite dishes — there are perceived taste variances where there should be none: brews from the same batch, wines from the same vintage and maker, dishes I’ve repeatedly prepared. And nine times out of ten, I’m the factor that makes it taste different. Sure, once in a while, there’s a cork issue, or perhaps a bad sealing job, or maybe I wasn’t paying attention while cooking. But most of the time, it’s me — a mood change, or mild illness, or something I ate that changes the ability of my taste buds to do their thing, or memories affecting the reality.

So the care behind the bottle isn’t the factor… it’s the person drinking it, and when and how and under whatever circumstances. We notice it more because we invest more in our brews, but it’s there. I’ve been drinking pilsners and dortmunders recently, and notice at times Munich or biscuit malts are overwhelming, yet at others times, the same brews are classicly perfectly balanced. It’s not them, it’s me. And you.

and:

I’m sure some beers have changed recipes over time, bur I think much of these differences are changes in perception. We aren’t comparing two beers. We are comparing one beer against our memories of our prior drinking experience.

and:

I’ll be sitting at a brewpub drinking pints of the same beer and see changes from one pint to the next. I was discussing this with the brewer one night how the first pint showed great malt character but the next one showed lots of hops. He said the difference was all in my head. I agreed.

And then came the response of Matt Van Wyk, Brewmaster at Flossmoor Station Restaurant and Brewery and 2006 Small Brewpub Brewer of the Year at the Great American Beer Festival (among other accolades):

Me: Andrew, do we still have 6# of Cascade downstairs?
Andrew: Nope, but we have 5# of Centennial.
Me: cool, go grab it

Me: Can I get Weyerman Special B please?
Salesperson: We don’t carry that Brand.
Me: How about Caramel 120?
S’person: cool

Me: Does this water have more Chlorine in it this summer?
Andrew: smells like it.
Me: call the village and then boil it a bit.
Andrew: cool

Me: Andrew, wanna make the Stationmaster a little more hoppy?
Andrew: sure, you mean like Gumballhead?
ME: sounds good-I love that beer
Andrew: cool

Me: Andrew, make sure all of those 10,000 new bottles get rinsed before filling
Andrew: you think one of them could have some residue in them
ME: yes, and it could affect one bottle without us knowing
Andrew: cool

Andrew: do you think our batch size is too big
Me: yes, 15 bbls is too much. Slower beers taste different by the end of their run.
Andrew: Oh.

Me: HEy why did this lager not take off for three days
Andrew: MAybe they didn’t send us enough yeast
Me: crap

fade to black……

As many people posted, a lot of the differences do derive from the drinker him/herself. Obviously the bud/miller/coors brands out there will not vary and even the sierra/Sam Adams/etc are becoming less and less varied. But anyone smaller certainly has a LOT of variables to contend with. (maybe you can tell us what beers in particular brought you to this quandry)Some strive for consistency and others don’t. I think you can see in which camp I reside. Striving for improvement in each batch is more important to me than thinking I have a perfect beer that can be bettered.

I reckon the point I strive to make is that sometimes we need to remember what Charlie said, and relax a little more, to not worry quite so much. While we have a brew, let’s make it a point to just enjoy the thing every once in a while.

I used to work with a guy that took himself too seriously. I couldn’t stand that guy. He took himself so seriously that no else did. Not his boss. Not his peers. Not his employees. I don’t want to be that kind of beer drinker. There must be balance between my smarty-pants scrutiny and my enjoyment of a beer.

So let us take hold of Matt’s award-winning laid back attitude and keep ourselves in check. Let us not get big heads. Let us not analyze to the point of over-analysis. Let us remember to enjoy the pint before us. Let us not be too critical of the craftsmen responsible for it. Let us not expect a Bud-like widget of a beer.

That would take the craft out of craft brewing, and by my analysis, part of the fun out of the beer.

__________

Related Links:

Flossmoor Station Website

Flossmoor Station Blog (and here’s Matt’s take on Over-analysis Syndrome)

If you liked this philosophical Syndrome crap, check out my November post on Armchair Brewer Syndrome