Are You Among the Patrons of the Finer Arts?

You're a patron of the arts.  You're a renaissance man (or woman) worthy of the Medici.  I don't know you from Adam, but I know this: you have bought a 6-pack of local beer or a pint from a bar that brews on site, so, whether or not you've made this connection, you're funding the arts.  In this case, you're not giving money to a Save-The-City-Art-Center telethon, nor are you paying museum fees, or buying a sixth graders paper mache bust of George Washington, but what you are doing is supporting culinary Americana.

I've heard arguments that the hamburger, pizza, buffalo wing or ice cream sundae is the single greatest contribution that the U.S. has made to the world menu.  That is nonsense.  I almost won't even hear any arguments to the contrary.  If you're debating who is the best bad action actor (we're talking Van Damme and Seagal here), then you don't let someone join in nominating Vin Diesel.  Some candidates certainly don't get a podium.  Such is the case with this discussion of which consumable creation rises head and shoulders above the rest. So let's put this to bed: No one, at least no one healthy, eats either a burger, a pizza, a basket of wings or an ice cream sundae everyday, but people, even healthy people, drink beer everyday.  And it isn’t just beer: these days it’s porter, pale ale, stout, hefeweizen, steam beer, red ale, brown ale, Belgian, etc. And within each class we have order, family, genus and species. There’s variety here to rival the wine world (but hopefully without the pretension that surrounds the vino-savvy) and it’s a variety that isn’t seen in a menu full of different types of hamburgers.

And now you’re probably asking where I get off calling beer American. Yes, I know, beer is not American, but craft brewing is.  I did a grand total of zero research to prove that, but I read it once.  Or read something like that once. Well, maybe I'll even back track a bit further: Craft brewing may not have been invented here (Jolly Olde England may have a claim), but we practice it and love it like it's our own. Besides, with Prohibition ruining all the above-ground fun in the 1920's and the culture of moonshining, America should, for all intents and purposes, be allowed to wear the crown for this one. Microbrewing has been experiencing a renaissance over the last two decades. In the eighties some entrepreneurial brewers-to-be realized that macrobrewed lagers just weren’t getting the job done. That anonymous beer wasn’t brewed with love or character. We bar patrons wanted more than Great Taste and Less Filling. In fact, more filling is fine when coupled with greater taste. Let us taste the hops, go ahead and up the alcohol content and by all means introduce new flavors. We shouldn’t be drinking the same beer at noon on a July day as we are around a fire in January.

That’s what we’re getting for our money. We are funding an art that is keeping our thirst for passion, independence and variety in our beer quenched.

If this semi-coherent attempt at an argument isn't good enough for you, then, sorry, but it's probably your fault for thinking too hard.  Go have a beer.

Thank you, Mr. Jackson

Michael Jackson, beer critic, passed away a few weeks ago. The show of support within the beer community was and is befitting the prophet of craft brewing. Actually, maybe prophet is too watered-down. Michael Jackson, the apostle of craft beer? It sounds sensational, but maybe that’s about right. The truth is that I can’t really form an opinion myself since I was introduced to him posthumously and I am from a beer-drinking generation that takes craft-brewing for granted. I have never stared at a liquor store refrigerator in anguish because of the lack of flavor and I have never had to travel to Belgium for Belgian style ales. It would seem that I have come unto craft beer in some post-Michael Jackson Era.

Were this new era to exist, it would be described as one in which each person can be their own ambassador to beer—from Beer Hunter to Be Your Own Hunter. However, in my perusal of obituaries and interviews, I’ve noticed an obvious Jacksonian fundamental that can tie all beer-drinking generations or eras together: Taking the first sip of a new beer and thinking, “Damn, that’s special.” See, I told you it was fundamental, but hopefully you don’t think it’s simple.

It’s my understanding that in the 1970’s (I wasn’t alive) the majority of beer drinkers didn’t know that beer was something that even could be appreciated. Back then beer was cold and it could get you drunk and that was about all it had going for it. When it came to flavor, beer was like toothpaste—who cares about taste as long it gets the job done every night. (And I’ll let people define “getting the job done” for themselves.) When Mr. Jackson advertised that the bland alcoholic beverage of US macrobreweries was only a pretender to the throne it set off a renaissance that had people seeking to try new beers and people seeking to make new beers. Dawn had broken.

A Jackson travelogue is kid-in-a-candy-shop mentality mixed with Treasure Island excitement. While reading his description of a US beer tour I alternating thought, “I’ve had that beer too!” And, “I absolutely need to explore more beers.” The majority of these thoughts leaned towards the need to explore. But exploring, sampling and from time-to-time loving is the game that Mr. Jackson has now left behind.

A t-shirt he wore in an interview before he passed read, “Beer: If you can’t taste it, why bother?” And the un-advertised corollary to that is, “If you can taste it, then you should bother.” You shouldn’t settle. You should go out of your way. You should experiment. It will be worth it. Mr. Jackson inspired enjoyment where there was a void. In my opinion, it’s a great legacy to have opened so wide such a door.