Get Yer Head Outta Yer Glass!

Western PA can boast some pretty cool places to drink beer straight from the source.  Any time an out-of-towner wants suggestions for a good beer-centric spots to check out, I have a list ready in my mind.  There’s Church Brew Works, a truly one-of-a-kind place & the only brewpub, to my knowledge, located in a church.  There’s Penn Brewery, with its historic locale & old world vibe.  Hofbräuhaus is plain kitschy fun, an Epcot Center of hoi polloi brew entertainment.  And those coming in from the north are advised to stop at North Country & see the awesome woodwork woven throughout the place.  Granted, there are plenty more places to imbibe in some great beer, & I’ll typically also recommend some other local breweries & bars, depending on where they’re going to be (of course, The House is a must-see, but that goes without saying…).  The places I mentioned also happen to have good food & are generally family-friendly, two other big plusses in my book.

Thing is, though, these places are not “hot items” right now among the geekery.  Ask a beer nerd what they think of them & you might get a dismissive “meh” or even outright derision, & that sucks.  And why?  Always the beer.  It’s not to say that these breweries don’t make good beer – they do.  But you don’t see a lot of envelope-pushing or trendy styles hitting their chalkboards, & while they might rack up medals, they don’t tend to rack up high scores on the rating sites.  So the hardcore crowd eschews some real gems of places in favor of the ones currently on the cutting edge. 

I’m glad that this area has so much to offer that we can be choosy.  I’m glad that we can taste some really innovative stuff from Brew Gentlemen, Draai Laag, & Roundabout one day, then partake in some unique atmosphere the next.  Please don’t infer that I’m trying to dissuade anyone from checking out anything that our area has to offer - just saying that there are multiple facets to the experience that we ought to take into account.  Each opportunity should be weighed per its strengths & weaknesses, & failing to recognize strengths where they exist is short-sighted – maybe other strengths even supercede the beer.  I try not to have blinders on when it comes to drinking & venues, & never discount a place wholesale just because they’re not knocking every batch out of the park.  Making good beer is a priority, but it’s not the only consideration. 

And each visitor has their own priorities.  Some might be flying solo or with company who are all about the beer; some might be on vacation or visiting relatives, & looking for something fun & memorable; some might need a place that’s accommodating to all ages & tastes; some might want to take in a chunk of history or personal sentiment.  If I were coming in from out of town, drinking in a church would probably occupy a bigger place in my memory than downing a killer IPA, & who’s to say I can’t do both anyway?  Hell, even though their beer’s not near topping any lists, I’d love to hit Straub sometime just to tour an old school regional brewery & scope out that “Eternal Tap”.  It’s about perspective & taking the total context in, beyond “just” what’s in the glass.  Being a beer fan should be about more than just the ratings, & even about more than just the beer.

Lupulin Spoken Here

A few years ago I was facing a minor dilemma.  Most of the domestically-brewed dubbels I tried were just not cutting it.  As a fledgling beer drinker, my introduction to Belgian beer was through Bornem Dubbel.  I love Chimay Premiere, Maredsous 8, & other Belgian-born examples, but with the exception of Ommegang’s Abbey Ale, the American-brewed dubbels were consistently swinging & missing.  Too husky, too boozy, too dry, too this or that – I was getting pessimistic.  As any pedantic beer drinker is wont to do, I shared my struggle in an on-line forum.  I got a few recommendations, most of which I tried, with similar letdown.  But there were a lot of folks feeling my pain, who felt the same way about domestic tripels, quads, & other efforts at Belgian styles.  Sure, there were some outliers, but they were more like the exceptions that prove the rule – the refrain became that if you want a good Belgian beer, get one from a Belgian brewery.  I can’t tell you why this is – native water? native yeast? good old-fashioned know-how? – but it seems to be true more often than not.

This came as a shocker for me at the time – you mean the American craft beer massive, the great DIY melting pot of beer history & technique, has a blind spot?  You mean US craft brewing is not all things to all people?  It dawned on me that, in our post-modern have-it-all beer utopia, there is still such a thing as regional specialty, & some styles are just better from their indigenous homeland. 

Another revelation came a few years before that while reading The Brewmaster’s Table.  Garrett Oliver catalogs styles across the western world, & pretty much every mention of an “Americanized” style boils down to higher hopping & bitterness.  American pale ale, American stout, American barleywine, American brown, etc. etc. equate to “like the old world example, but hoppier”.  Putting two & two together, I came to realize that this is America’s contribution to the international stage – hoppy –ass beer is American craft brew’s native tongue! 

Sure, there are other indigenous American styles – steam beer, swanky, Pennsylvania porter, Kentucky common.  None of those have taken hold & distinguished themselves the way American IPA (& at its roots, American pale ale) has, as the coat of arms for stateside craft brewing.  American adjunct lager was created to emulate the old world, not necessarily to innovate.  English craft beer is dominated by bitter, mild, porter, because that’s what they do best.  German beer is all about lagers and wheats for the same reason.  Belgian beer is all over the map, but it’s all distinctly Belgian in character.  The old world is taking cues from the new now, which is cool, & I think American beer finding its identity is a good thing.  As much as people bemoan the dominance of IPA on the scene, it’s popular & omnipresent for a reason – craft brewers are doing great things with hops, & more & more drinkers are being turned on to that.

IPA has shifted & grown over the years, as has the collective palate.  What used to be synonymous with bitter pine & citrus pith has branched out into so many niches & flavors.  Perusing my own tasting notes yields a plethora of descriptors: raw pine, peach, passion fruit, hard cheese rind, lemon cookie, grapefruit, orange peel, candied orange, lemon tea, floral, blue cheese, pineapple, mango, pitch, lemongrass, dill, fresh cut grass, cucumber, honeydew, fatty, ammonia, mint.  A few weeks ago I tried some of Roundabout’s IPAs & was amazed to find hints of coconut nestled in there.  Brewers are using IPAs as a canvas for all that hops can express.  And it’s not all about bitterness like it was five to ten years ago – the IBU race is a thing of the past, & drinking hoppy beers doesn’t have to feel like sucking on a pine cone any more.  I’m thrilled that I can split a bottle of IPA with my wife without hearing that it tastes like shampoo & earwax.

This is American craft brewing’s language, like the breadth of peppers in Mexican cooking or spices in Indian cuisine (I wonder how many Indians complain about overuse of turmeric).  As futile as it may be, I’ve voiced my dissatisfaction with the use of “IPA” to describe this family of beers – it’s transcended its historical origins & become what it is through modern domestic utilization.  American ale would be a more fitting name, if you ask me, but that ship has sailed. 

So once again, in observation of IPA Day (a moment of silence, please), I spill my head open about the reigning craft beer style.  I recommend combing through the archives & checking out the other eight-ish posts on the topic.  I guess, as much attention as it’s been given, I still find it fertile ground.  It appears that, for now, craft brewers are not done mining this territory either.  I’ll toast to that.

Noob Envy

I’m a big fan of knowledge & experience.  A little background story, a little awareness of the style, a little informational context, can help with one’s appreciation of a beer.  Those things aren’t necessary to enjoy a beer – all that’s required there are a working nose & tongue – but to get what a brewer’s going for, knowing the parameters & intention can be helpful & give you a slightly deeper connection to what’s in the glass.

 

Okay, I’ll just clear the air – I might come across as a little bit superior or condescending in this post.  But at least I’m owning it.  I drink a good bit of beer.  I also sell it, make it, listen, read, & write about it.  A lot.  A good chunk of my mental, if not physical, energy & space is devoted to beer.  So I’m taking the tone of the “seasoned vet” here, as arrogant as it may sound.  But please read on.

That arrogant tone is in service of a point, which is that knowledge & experience can sometimes be a blinder.  It creates expectation, & expectation is a double-edged sword.  Drinking thousands of beers is a reliable way to hone your tastes – you definitely figure out what you like& dislike, what belongs & what should’ve been worked out first.  But establishing expectation means that you have a pre-conception about what you’re going to taste, which can lead to disappointment.  I believe that experience is best balanced by humility & an open mind.  It’s so frustrating seeing a beer unfairly bashed by someone who’s seen it all & drank it all.  It’s hard to find a beer without some sort of strengths, & if a drinker’s “experienced” palate is callous to those strengths, no matter how subtle, often the baby gets thrown out with the bathwater.  They’re missing out on the small beauty of that beer, while at the same time blaming, ironically. 

I’m not saying to set your expectations low, but to approach each drink with new & opened eyes.  Wouldn’t we all like to go back to those formative years of discovering good beer, everything it has to offer, & tasting it for the first time?  The “Wow”s were way more frequent then, weren’t they?  It would be like falling in love all over again, with all the sensations that accompany that honeymoon spark.  That’s not to say that the “Wow”s don’t still come, but they’re fewer & further between the deeper into your journey you go.  Sometimes those breakthrough moments are quantitative, & you’re getting more of a good thing than you’ve ever had; sometimes they’re qualitative, yielding a smell, flavor, or feel that you’d just never gotten before.  But often our relationship with beer evolves into a satisfying stability, one that hopefully continues to be solid & pleasurable even if there aren’t fireworks with every other sip.

That expectation can also limit your perception.  I love IPAs, but when a new one is set in front of me, I pretty much expect to get some combination of citrus, pine, floral – the usual descriptors.  Because I’ve come to expect those notes, it sometimes feels like my brain is hard-wired to only find those & maybe ignore other aspects.  What am I missing because I’m so used to finding these “typical” flavors & aromas?  A lot of the other beer geeks I end up drinking with kind of have the same problem – knowing how it’s “supposed” to taste means they evaluate it on that scale, & may be desensitized to finding something new.  One thing I like about drinking beer with greener, less jaded folks is what they can pick out of a beer.  A new hire & I had a Bell’s Two Hearted, a beer of which I’ve had dozens, after one shift, & immediately he picked out strawberry.  I loved that, because then I got it too & was able to taste the beer in a new light.  In what’s become sort of a running joke, a guest at a tasting (Hi Matt!)  picked out the smell of dill in a beer.  I never would’ve noticed it without his suggestion, but he was right & after that I couldn’t unsmell it – it was fascinating!  This happens a lot, which is the beauty of tasting with a “younger” drinker – you never know what kind of cool facet they’re sensitive to that a worn palate & a set of preconceived notions will obscure. 

I’ll confess that my palate is not that sensitive or attuned, but through repetition I’ve gotten to know different styles & tastes.  My hope is that there’s plenty out there to be discovered for me & for everyone – no-one wants to get to the end when the middle is so wonderful.  So as condescending as it might sound, I envy the more novice beer fans out there, whose journeys are just beginning.  

Ad-junk?

Bum raps aren’t always fair.  One way or the other, certain aspects of the beer world are given negative connotations they don’t really deserve.  I’ve long been an apologist for the shaker pint, that sturdy, versatile work horse so maligned by the snobs.  I don’t think the three tier system’s such a bad thing, either, as it helps to level the playing field and give more opportunity to the little guys.  I understand people’s criticism of these entities, but can also see the good they offer.

Some bum raps come from misunderstanding or guilt by association.  What does the word ‘adjunct’ conjure for you?  Not long ago, the word became affixed to a style of beer that only recently had to be distinguished & renamed, squeezed between “American” & “Lager”.  American Adjunct Lager is, I believe, meant to be a value-neutral descriptor, indicating the kind of traditional corn- or rice- infused beer your grandfather (& most of America) drinks.  But let’s face it - it’s pretty much a bowdlerism for “shitty industrial beer”. 

The word “adjunct” became taboo not because adjuncts are inherently bad, but because craft fans saw them being abused & came to assume that the sole purpose of using adjuncts was to thin the flavor & cheapen the beer.  The Brewers’ Association, up until last year, excluded from the definition of “craft brewery” any brewer whose flagship contained adjuncts.  The tent has since been expanded – “traditional” now denotes  A brewer that has a majority of its total beverage alcohol volume in beers whose flavor derives from traditional or innovative brewing ingredients and their fermentation.  Traditional or innovative?  Huh?  Anyway, craft brewing now includes those “adjunct brewers” that were theretofore verboten, which essentially means that any domestically-owned brewery making under 6,000,000 barrels a years is a craft brewery. 

But despite being tied to a stigmatized indigenous beer style, adjuncts are not the enemy of good beer.  They don’t exist solely for the purpose of cheapening beer (though have been misused to this effect).  The definition of an “adjunct” in brewing is any source of fermentable sugar other than malt.  This includes corn and rice, yes, but also unmalted oats, rye, wheat, barley, syrups, honey, etc.  Oatmeal stouts are “adjunct beers”, yet you don’t see them scorned as “English adjunct stouts”.  Lambics contain unmalted wheat, yet you don’t see “Belgian adjunct sour ale” being thrown around.  Many, many beloved Belgian ales use candi sugar, yet you’d never see someone disparage Westy 12 as a “Trappist adjunct ale”.  Many, many great beers rely on adjuncts to enhance their character, not detract from it, yet we still have this Reinheitsgebot-fueled puritanism that disregards the full breadth of brewing ingredients.

To be clear, not every ingredient added to a beer outside of water, yeast, malt, & hops is an adjunct – they have to have some level of fermentable carbs.  Coffee, spices, orange peel, even lactose, for instance, are not fermentable & thus aren’t considered adjuncts.  There’s some gray area with fruit, chocolate, and other additives with sugar, depending on how much they actually contribute to the fermentables in the beer.  So adjuncts are neither just corn and rice, nor are they everything-but-the-kitchen-sink. 

That said, even the classic “adjunct lagers” were not intended to be cheap, thin, and watery – adjuncts were actually employed to improve the beer, as domestic 6-row malt didn’t have what it took on its own to make a decent pilsner.  Rice was actually more expensive than barley in the day, and was what it took in the 19^th century to emulate Czech pilsners with ingredients in the states.  What’s transpired since with these progenitors is a different story, but it’s not the adjunct’s fault.  Maybe the verbiage will change, but I think it’s wise to think twice before throwing a cornerstone of brewing technique & history under the bus.    

Thanks to The Oxford Companion to Beer, John Palmer's How to Brew, & Maureen Ogle's Brewing Ambition for some helpful info.

Gimme Indie Bock

Mixing beer & politics can yield a dangerous cocktail.  I recommend downing this combo while holding your nose.  My wager is that those who read this blog are a thoughtful lot, & prone to contemplation about the bigger picture of beer, beyond what’s in the glass.  We want to know more about the process, the ingredients – I imagine more than a few of us have made beer ourselves.  We want to know about the history of the style we’re drinking, or if this particular brew has a funny or interesting story.  We want to know who makes it, where, how far it travels to reach our hands.  Ultimately, we want to know if it’s good, if it’s something we’re going to enjoy. And depending on your attitude, some or all of these factors may add up to the sum total of your appreciation – it might fill you with a certain pride or sense of fraternity to know that this tasty Hefeweizen was made just down the river, as opposed to across the country or the ocean. 

Independence Day is very near, & I’ve found myself considering the word “independent” a lot lately.  The U.S. celebrates its sovereignty as a nation, & for many the word equates to freedom, though there’s constant debate & evolution about what “freedom” entails.  Independence, to me, is self-sufficiency, freedom from relying on others, freedom to define yourself, ourselves.  “Independent” is one of the three criteria that the Brewers’ Association uses to define craft brewers – to fall under the BA’s definition of craft, a brewery cannot have more than 25% ownership or financial control by an alcoholic beverage company that is not itself also a craft brewer.  The other two criteria, “small” & “traditional”, have morphed a little bit in the past few years – “small” changed from two million barrels/year or fewer to six million or fewer (with Boston Beer as the main beneficiary); beers made with corn, rice, & other adjuncts are now considered “traditional” (with Yuengling as the main beneficiary).  But the standards for independence remain the same.  Makes sense, considering that the BA serves as a trade group for many, many companies with minimal ability to represent themselves.  It’s a big tent.

Patron saint Randy Mosher’s definition of “craft beer” is a little simpler: if a home brewer, past or present, decides what the beer will taste like, it’s craft beer.  This, I think, gets at the spirit of independent brewing that we’re talking about, without putting the fine point on it that, understandably, the BA feels they need.  It’s kind of like indie rock (of which I’m also a big fan) – there’s no defining aesthetic, but the principle is in the creator getting to make what they want to make, without undue pressure from investors or bean counters.  Breweries have more on the line as far as making a profit & being self-sustaining, but you get what I’m saying.  They make what they want to make, with the faith that the public will recognize it as a quality product & get on board.  And for many, the indie-ness of it is part of the pleasure.

That said, here’s my PSA about knowing where your beer comes from & who’s signing the checks.  I’m not going to draw lines & say that internationally-owned beer corporations are bad & domestically-owned beer companies are inherently good.  Though the owners may be overseas, most of the big boys still produce beer in the states, employing thousands of Americans who are busting their busts day to day.  I’d also be lying if I said that I find nothing questionable or unethical going on in the world of craft.  But as an independent beer lover, you have the power to do your own research & draw your own conclusions as to what you want to drink & who you want to support.  No matter how you spend your 4^th & whose beer passes your lips, please enjoy safely, responsibly, & independently.  Cheers!

Jack's Abby: Bringin' Lager Back

A year or so ago there were rumblings about craft lager’s “rise”.  The forerunners of this great movement saw that lager had been on the upswing, & called for more craft brewers to take on bottom-fermented brewing.  Um…hello?  How about PA?  Our collective craft brewers can boast the majority of the decorated craft lagers in the country.  Here in Pittsburgh, we’ve got Penn Brewing, the state’s oldest craft brewer that used to deal almost exclusively in lagers, and Church, who are also no slouches in that department, having brought home numerous medals for their Pious Monk Dunkel.  Across the state, Victory Prima Pils, Stoudts Pils, Troegs Sunshine Pils, Sly Fox Pikeland Pils, and Penn Kaiser Pils are on many short lists for some of the best US-made pilsners around.  So as far as a “lager revolution” goes – welcome to the Craft Lager State, people!

This place somewhere in New England was catching some attention, though, for brewing all lagers.  Big deal, right?  Been there, done that.  They’d get mentioned alongside Alchemist, Lawson’s, & even Hill Farmstead for places to watch in the upper Northeast.  Okay, some mighty fine company, but I still didn’t think it worth paying much mind.  What really grabbed me - & a lot of others – by the collar was this: this place entered a barleywine competition & came in first.  Jack’s Abby, out of Framingham, MA, brewed a 13% ABV barrel-aged “lager wine” that beat every other conventional “barleywine-style ale” in the Cole’s 10^th Annual Barleywine Competition earlier this year.  Lager, boring?  Lager, conventional?  Hell no!

It dawned on me when I heard this that craft lager-brewing could represent a paradigm shift in modern craft brewing, the way that pale ales, top-fermenting yeast, & Cascade hops did in the late ‘70s.  Or at the very least, open up a lot of creative doors.  Lager yeast offers a different flavor profile than ale yeast, so what happens when you apply what’s typically a clean, “backseat” kind of yeast strain & long, cold conditioning to a broader array of ingredients?  We’re seeing what’s happening with the surge in IPLs (of which Jack’s Abby all makes several) – where else could saccharomyces pastorianus take us?  This could also be a big step in the public’s aware of how prominent the role of yeast is in forming flavor & aroma (it’s not all about the hops & malt).

The House is very excited to host the first Jack’s Abby tap takeover on Friday, July 19^th.  As much as I’d love to taste a 13% barrel-aged lager wine, that monster is brewery-only.  But dry your eyes - we’ll have plenty to choose from, with eight of their innovative lagers on tap, including:

Framinghammer, a Baltic porter.  Not everyone realizes that most Baltic porters are made with lager yeast, an evolution of the imperial porters made in the Baltic region over time.  So last time you had Victory’s Baltic Thunder or Duck Rabbit’s Baltic Porter, you were drinking a lager!

Smoke & Dagger, a black lager that straddles the fence between a roasty Schwarzbier & a smoky Rauchbier.

Mass Rising, double India pale lager, with hop additions in the kettle, hopback, & dry-hopping.

Hopstitution, an extra pale lager utilizing a rotating hop profile.  This is #8, featuring Chinook & Lemon Drop.

Sunny Ridge, a more traditional continental pilsner, with a big, herbal Noble hop nose & dry finish.

Jabby Brau, a session lager weighing in at 4.5%, using locally sourced ingredients.

Leisure Time, a spiced wheat lager in the vein of a Belgian witbier, seasoned with coriander, orange peel, lemongrass, & chamomile, with a citrusy hop presence.  Good for deck-drinking, for sure.

Maibock Hurts Like Helles, a traditional springtime specialty, with a golden color & strong malt presence.

So just because we’ve been doing lager forever here in PA doesn’t mean there isn’t new ground to be broken.  Hope you can join us this Friday, & here’s to the continuing evolution of craft beer.

Smell & Context

Ah, parenthood.  It’s an olfactory smorgasbord, right?  Last Saturday was a big reminder for me, as the family & I were on our way back home after grocery shopping.  I don’t know if it was the winding route, or if breakfast was a little too rich, but the little guy’s belly couldn’t take any more & he launched pretty good all over the car seat & himself.  After stripping him down & wiping the child seat off to where it was usable, we continued home to bathe the boy & give the rest of the works a good hosing down. 

My wife took the kiddo inside, which left it to me to unload the groceries & take care of the vomit detail.  Leaning over a barfed-on car seat in a hot garage, you can imagine what the smell was like.  After I go it a whiffs, though, & got over my reflex nausea, it took me somewhere else.  I realized that the smell was not unlike that of a famous local cheese counter.  The deep, funky smell of organic by-products, so repulsive where I was at that moment, could be, in a different context, really delicious & inviting.

It made me think of how many times I’ve smelled something in the context of beer that was pleasant – even delicious – that also sounds disgusting on paper, or in its original context.  How many times I’ve had to qualify a descriptor with “not-in-a-bad-way”.  The big one for a lot of folks is cat urine, that pungent, ammoniacal smell that makes you reel from a litter box, or a Craigslist loveseat.  In a dank IPA, it’s pretty tasty & supports the pine, citrus, & tropical notes very well.  But there’s just no other word for it – “catty” gets thrown around a lot as a light euphemism.  It actually has a chemical identifier (p-methane-8-thiol-3-one). 

Similarly, how often have you caught hints of sulfur, skunk, or even rotting vegetables in a pilsner or pale lager?  It's not uncommon for European-style beers to carry these kind of notes, such that some consumers even demand it.  Folks got used to these smells in imported lagers, packaged in green bottles, & without it they just weren't the same (so I hear).

Evil Twin’s Soft DK, a vanilla stout, was actually born of the joys of new parenthood.  Jeppe, the Bjergso bro behind Evil Twin, had fathered his first & was changing a diaper when he caught a buttery, vanilla-like aroma.  Voila – Soft Dookie (its original name)!  The beer’s very tasty, but can be a little challenging if drank with its origin story - & accompany inspiration – floating around in your head.

The world of sour & wild beers really opens up this experience – think of all the funky, organic smells created by wild yeast & bacteria.  A wild ale can yield notes of mushroom, sauerkraut, musky sweat, barnyard, enteric smells – there’s so much possibility.  On some level, it’s because they are actually fermented with similar organisms, the way that Limburger cheese emulates armpit because it contains the same bacteria that causes B.O.  In real life, in their “natural habitats”, these odors repel us - & for good reason.  Amid the background of a complex, earthy beer, with other balancing factors, they can add to the depth & richness of flavor, heightening the experience. 

I still can’t say that a vomit-flavored beer appeals to me (though I’ve tried a few of my own creation that have come close), or that I look for notes of sewage when I bring the glass to my nose.  But these gross-on-paper facets are just one more piece of what makes beer cool & can give it character.  So many things go into making a good beer more than the sum of its parts, even if they aren’t always pretty in &  of themselves.