To What End, The Traveling Beer Writer’s Argument?

I was shaking my head at another piece of Roger Protz’s writing last night. This time it was a bit on Chimay. I like Chimay as much as anyone so my concerns do not relate to the brewer – but you will recall that Mr. Protz is hardly monastic himself. He has a temper and a lack of discretion when it comes to other members of humanity. And he can shock with both error and recreational rudeness. So, it was with that guilty pleasure one has following the misfortune of others that I read this early paragraph about the most commercial of the Trappist monasteries, Chimay:

Some of the criticism, on websites in particular, is couched in a style of vulgar abuse that doesn’t warrant attention. But a number of serious and well-disposed writers have also levelled the criticism that beer quality has declined.

Note those last four words: “…beer quality has declined.” After completing them, Protz goes on for a thousand words or so, writing in a rather hostile tone, making arguments that would lead you to suppose that quality has not changed let alone declined. But then he writes the words (typo his): “Sample of Red and Blue that I have tasted in Britain recently have been less complex than I remember them.” Less complex? Isn’t that usually one example of what one might describe as a decline in quality? Why is the argument structured in this way? Why does he posture and accuse when in the end he is essentially agreeing with the point he is attacking? And why does he use this sort of summation, avoiding natural causal connection:

That, I believe, is the result of some change and slight diminution of complexity in the beers, not a sell-out by the monks to the forces of commercialism. I am well aware that this is unlikely to satisfy those who prefer the conspiracy theory of history.

Isn’t the proper idea for that sentence the more active “cause” not the passive “result” – and isn’t what has been “caused” by the brewery’s intentional change in fermentation processes a loss of complexity and therefore a decline in beer quality? Isn’t that the news here? Why the abandonment of objective analysis? With the given choice of argument and structure – not to mention the mix of accusation and hostility with the apologist’s agenda – what are we left with? A muddle. To what end, I have no idea.

An Interesting Story About Those Importing Dorks

It’s funny when arseholes tell you that you are only treated as a fool because you don’t understand things as profoundly as they do. In web design the arsehole’s joke went like this: “Funny? If you understood that joke on as many levels as I do, you’d really know what funny meant.” This article on the Shelton Brothers empire-ette has that particular funk:

“I hate beer writers,” he said. “You can ask them; they hate me, too. They call me arrogant and opinionated. They think I’m a real asshole. But, hey, what can you expect? I was trained as a lawyer.” By doing little more than parroting the marketing-speak of advertising companies, Dan believes American beer writers are largely to blame for an industry and drinking public that’s more taken with gimmickry than artistry. “The attitude seems to be, ‘It’s all good.’ No one’s willing to criticize a beer they don’t like, and when I do, I’m told I’m just trying to sell the beers I import. I’ve had fights with beer reviewers who want to believe that you can’t be objective about beer. It’s all subjective, they say. You like what you like.”

Oh dear. As a lawyer, I can see it. Can you? Anyone who actually says “I was trained as a lawyer” has moved well into the arsehole-esque zone. Reminds me of another joke: “What do you call a doctor who got “D” in anatomy? Doctor.” You get why the verb “to shelt” was invented, right? Don’t get me wrong. I have liked many of the High and Mighty beers of Will Shelton discussed in the article and also plenty of the beers that the brotherhood has imported. I have liked some a lot. But not all of them. Their business may be successful and have taken a lot of hard work but one can still ask valid questions about value and selection. In that they are like most other brewers and importers. Actually, in every way they are like that. Because that is what they are.

It’s an interesting counterpoint, when you think of it, to the emotional tug of that really swell guy who is the face of the new and time shifting TV show Brew Masters. Read the tweets. Giggly people want to know Sam. He’s so great. Who wouldn’t want a fawning relationship? Sheltons? Arseholes – but they’re so deep. Those in the know want an abusive dependent relationship. Why does anyone care? We shouldn’t. If you care about the personality of those who who make and provide your beer, well, you should ask if you have the same concern for those who make your cheese, your car’s tires or your socks. You don’t, do you. Make the beer prove itself each time.

Oh Dear – The “Cake Boss” Of Beer Gets Panned

What a disappointing graphic. But appropriately so – don’t you think? See, I have mentioned how I have been utterly unthrilled by the prospect of a TV show about Dogfish Head and their business operations. This is not to say you should not be thrilled by the show and not to say that I do not like some beers by Dogfish Head – though not all. It’s just that the whole Cake Boss thing has been done. The format is tired. My chosen photo captures that, doesn’t it. Besides – I love the beer not the brewer. Celebrity brewer infomerical? That’s a bit sad. So, give me something new. Give me Man v. Food any day. Or maybe a show about craft beer or even the history and taxonomy of beer generally. But not this:

…the series focuses on Sam Calagione, the proprietor of the Delaware-based Dogfish Head Brewery. A telegenic and voluble type, Calagione waxes eloquent when he describes his company’s mission. He claims that Americans are the kind of people who refuse to accept what’s shoved down their throats, and that’s why we demand distinctive beer. Then he goes ahead and contradicts that by noting that craft beers are only 5 percent of the U.S. market. He says the philosophy of the company is stated in a long quotation from Emerson about individualism that is posted on an office wall. Since it’s too many words to put on a bottle, the company’s motto is “Off-centered ales for off-centered people.” Calagione’s skill at crafting baloney is put to good use in the first episode, in which Sony Records commissions him to create a beer to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the release of Miles Davis’ album “Bitches Brew.” Inspired by jazz, which he says is a mixture of African and American elements, Calagione decides to blend an Ethiopian honey beer and an American imperial stout, even though the aforementioned statistic would suggest that the quintessential American beer would be a bland, fizzy mass-produced lager.

That’s from Media Life magazine‘s web site. A hat tip to Andy for mentioning it on Facebook. Not a source that has a particular agenda or at least one that has any skin in the craft beer game. And what about the name, Brew Masters. Is it a claim? Any why the plural? I would have thought that that time would have been reserved for a show that might talk about a number of masters of brewing from breweries around the world. That was the show I was hoping for – Stan and Ron wandering the globe meeting the beery, getting a zillion perspectives. It appears my disappointment in regards to the scope of and planning for the show may be matched by results. Oh dear.

But, as with my not giving of the rat’s ass about Beer Wars and then seeking your input on the experience, you may have a different point of view. And maybe a better graphical representation of your mood about the whole thing. You should. You better. Let me know what it is.

What Is Multiculturalism A Euphemism For Today?

Three friends of mine from undergrad ended up respectively marrying a Brit, a Slovak and a practicing Hindu. The weddings were all marked by their twin cultures and no one, as far as I can tell, lost an eye. A sister-in-law is a Swede. My folks are immigrants. So, I always wonder about these sorts of statements:

…that he considers Muslim fundamentalists an unwelcome element in liberal society is the kind of thing that gets Mr. Steyn so readily branded as a bigot, particularly in Canada where a worship of his most hated term “multiculturalism” has, he says, utterly shrivelled the limits on public discussion. That may, however, only prove his point. “It’s a sick fetish,” he says. “The idea that multiculturalism simply on its own terms is a virtue in itself is completely preposterous.”

What I don’t understand is how “multiculturalism” in this use differs from immigrants who practice Islam? Does Steyn have an issue with Filipinos or Hungarians or Peruvians? If there was no Islam and everything is the same, does he think we have the same issue? I am not sure. Because of that, I really have no idea what he is talking about. Which makes it hard to take him seriously. He may have a good point, one worth considering, if he ever got down to finer strokes. Instead we wallow in silly statements like “… diversity-obsessed Canadians have become generally sympathetic to the plight of Omar Khadr.” I’d say most Canadians have no idea who Omar Khadr is – just natterers. Just those who need it for an illustration of something else, the pre-established conclusion. How hasn’t that approach to thought “utterly shrivelled the limits on public discussion?”

None

Delaware: Theobroma, Dogfish Head, Milton

Mark Dredge has a piece in this morning’s Guardian out of the UK entitled “The Beer of Yesteryear” which scans the range of recent brewing efforts to recreate beers older than, say, 500 years ago. These are beers which use ingredients available to former culture including Theorbrama by Dogfish Head. I had one on hand and thought I would see if it has any appeal. Mark tells me:

Theobroma, part of Dogfish’s Ancient Ale series, is based on “chemical analysis of pottery fragments found in Honduras which revealed the earliest known alcoholic chocolate drink used by early civilizations to toast special occasions.” It contains Aztec cocoa powder and cocoa nibs, honey, chillies and annatto.

The bottle adds that it is based on chemical residual evidence from before 1100 BC with additives from later Mayan and Aztec drinks. So, seeing as the Aztecs come from about 1300 to 1600 AD, it is sort of a made up mish mash. Its as much a traditional drink as one from, say, that one Eurotrash era that stretched from the Dark Ages of around 800 AD to the world of George Jetson in the year 2537 AD. That would be an excellent era… right?

Well, as a beer it is a bit of a disappointment as well. Booze overwhelms pale malt which is undercut by the exotic herbs all of which has an oddly “beechwood aged” tone to it. I get the cocoa. I get the honey. But I don’t care all that much. It leaves me disappointed like that imperial pilsner experiment of Dogfish Head’s in 2006. Only moderate respect from the BAers. A bit of a boring beer that may be the result of a fantastically interesting bit of archeological work. Who knows? Maybe the sense of taste of those Central American practitioners of human sacrifice wasn’t as haute as one might have expected. Or maybe it paired well.

What Does It Mean When We All Talk About Style?

Now Stan has jumped into the fray on the usefulness of “style.” It reminds me of all the little words we use to convey something other than the personal experience: expert, connoisseur, judge. There is so often a downside to any of these things. Consider what Hemingway said of “aficionado“:

The aficionado, or lover of the bullfight, may be said, broadly, then, to be one who has this sense of the tragedy and ritual of the fight so that the minor aspects are not important except as they relate to the whole. Either you have this or you have not, just as, without implying any comparison, you have or have not an ear for music. Without an ear for music the principle impression of an auditor at a symphony concert might be of the motions of the players of the double bass, just as the spectator at the bullfight might remember only the obvious grotesqueness of a picador…

So, there are two things in there. First, unless you see the whole context, including the negative, you do not see the thing in itself. Second, not everyone will see the whole thing: “either you have this or you have not.” I accept this. But I do not accept where it is taken to lead, which are inevitably forms of exclusive, excluding superior capacity. The thing lumped together as “expertise.”

The thing is… I have never met one of these craft beer experts. I’ve met lots of interesting and pleasant and hardworking people but never an expert. It is perhaps natural that people would want to lead or be seen to lead given that beer is such an immersive topic. It reaches into you like good radio, consistently generates conviviality, pervades our extended northern culture and powers a good segment of the economy. Yet it is also a fraud in ways that experts might not be comfortable acknowledging. It can dope us, distract us and place us behind the wheel of a car. It can affect your health and too often costs too much. It engenders the flimflam of celebrity and may be making suckers of us all.

For me, an idea like “style” is great if it serves your particular hobby interest in good beer. So, if you like to judge and enjoyment of being a judge is your entry to the subject, well, go ahead and have 2,000 “styles” for all I care. But if you are an impressionist and want to record your personal perceptions of experience, that is just as valuable and style is pretty much irrelevant. After all, a poem is as useful as the textbook. If you want to play at aligning flavours in solids and fluids and call it “pairing” feel free but you will notice that actual taste of the beer and food is so particular that “style” quickly starts being a bit thick for practical purposes. And finally but perhaps most tellingly, if you wish to reach into history, you will find that “style” is a moving target and in the end a disappointment.

As Stan has noted, all this talk of style is one of the most interesting examples of the beery discourse. A evening seminar was given this week in England and the English-speaking beery world was set abuzz. Somewhat antithetically, too. Because if there were such things as fixed styles, experts and the rest the seminar would have been a lecture and no one would have needed to discuss it further.

What Is My Methodology? Perchance Schmethodology?

I have found myself wondering what the heck I am doing with all this Albany Ale stuff but I’m not too concerned. It is interesting in itself and I think it is informing me on a pretty interesting big picture question – what makes the Albany and the Hudson River so different from the St. Lawrence Valley, my river. You will recall that during Ontario Craft Beer week this past June, I wrote a number of posts on the development of Ontario after the American Revolution but it is important to remember that, like the Dutch in the Hudson, the upper St. Lawrence also had a 1600s existence when it was all New France.

The big question I have is why did Albany create this export trade while my city did not? There are some basic answers around the odd semi-autonomous existence of early Albany while Kingston has been firmly tied to its Empires. Also, there is simple geography with Albany being a deep water seaport while Kingston has always sat behind rapids and locks. Difference makes sense. But is that it? Looking more closely, there are the details. And details can get obsessive with a range of ways to get at them:

  • Who is doing what? You can find this information in newspaper ads, business directories and gazetteers. People have always been obsessed with what others are doing and putting it in a central place so thoers can see it. Google is making this information available to all for free without travel.
  • How is it being taxed? Beer has attracted excise and sales taxes for centuries. This is Professor Unger’s approach. I have not really gotten into this level – yet.
  • What is being brewed? Ron Pattinson’s obsession with day to day brewing logs is a less to us all in detail. And he is getting some of the brewing replicated as his trip to Boston this weekend shows.
  • Who is allowed to deal with beer? Beer is also regulated along with all booze. Tavern and brewery license records exist as do the court records of applications and charges for violations. Taverns and Drinking in Early America by Salinger is largely built on this sort of analysis.
  • Where does the beer go? Pete Brown has taught us a lot about that. Mapping trade routes is another avenue to this stuff. I have asked about Dutch East India ale as well as Bristol’s Taunton ale. What made for the demand for these beers and what made them eoungh good value to the other end of the world to buy them?
  • Beyond all this, there is Martyn. The funny thing about Martyn’s work for me is that I can’t understand where he gets his data – his focus on words amazes me. I don’t know if I could be so elemental and authoritative. But West Country White Ale inspires.

So, there is a lot there – a lot for anyone in any town to use to figure out the path of their local brewing trade. And there are a lot of other people hunting as well. Me, I have no idea what I will learn about Albany or Kingston or beer or anything else. But it is worth the hunt. And why not? Weren’t we all supposed to be citizen journalists, historians and novelists? Isn’t that the promise of the internet or is it really more like that personal jet pack we were all supposed to have by now? I think you might all want to get all be scratching around a bit – even if not as obsessively as others.

Scotland: Paradox Islay #004, BrewDog, Aberdeenshire

bdpi1What a mess. I hadn’t realized the label was made of hard card stock stuck on with two-sided sticky tape. I might take it down to the lab and get James’ near teen DNA off of it. Bottle 131 of 200. By opening it, I probably just threw away the 100 bucks I could get from some guy in Kansas on eBay. Sent as a sample by the brewery when they were but boys a few years back. I decided to open it after watching a little Horatio Hornblower that was accompanied by a Bourbn County stout. No doubt you have known that moment, too.

As promised, it is all Islay on the nose, the beloved smoky low Islands Scots whisky. Land of my fathers. Because the stout sat in a barrel of the 1968. My mother’s cousin-in-law was a canny and, for the Clyde, stylish post-war whisky broker in the southwest so I am sure he would approve. He certainly would recognize it. Deep deep mahogany under mocha rim and froth. Aroma of the malt but in the mouth it is sharp. At first, a hammer of old Dutch man’s licorice with all the salt that goes along with seaweedy Islay – then something like a stout with something like a whisky. It isn’t really anything like “balanced” and I wonder, honestly, if it is more of an artifact than a beer. Dry and a little like something I would call harsh but on the lovely side of harsh. Descriptors like “whopping”, “foolish” and “two by four to the head” come to mind. Planky. Sae halp ma bob. That is all I can say.

One sole BAer went mad for this early Holy Grail like example of experimental 21st century UK brewing.

Are These Short Run Beers Actually “Rare”?

A pretty good story in the The Patriot News of the efforts some go to to get one time release beers and the lengths people go to get them… or even to be left disappointed.

The brewery planned to sell only 400 bottles to the public. Cochran, who came from Farmington, N.M., after hearing about Splinter Blue on the “Beer Advocate” website, got No. 401, a bottle originally reserved for one of the brewery’s sales representatives, who gave it up after hearing how far Cochran had come. Beer lovers began lining up outside the Paxton Street brewery shortly after midnight. By 5 a.m., there were close to 50 people in line. Sales were limited to two bottles per person. The brewery handed out bottle caps to the first 200 in line, similar to the wristbands used when concert tickets go on sale.

Quibble? Just that the newspaper chose to use the word “rare” to describe the 400 bottle release in question. I have no problem with special but shouldn’t “rare” be reserved for the uncommon? There are so many of these short run beers going around its well beyond hard to keep up with them – it’s hard not to run into them, trip over them, be pushed around by them. Frankly, there is so much brettanyomyces going around, I hear that Gold Bond is looking at putting out a new product.

“Rare” can’t really mean something that happens as often as short run brews any more than self-assigned connaisseur should be implied to be up there with completing a doctoral program. We all like our hobby. It’s nice to have a hobby – and this is a fun one – but just because you have the postage stamp the kid on the next block doesn’t, well, it doesn’t make it news.

I Am A Craft Beer Marketing Consultant…

The wonderful and ever posting Jay Brooks has posted the latest version of this odd video meme (pronounced “me-me” for obvious reasons) and it has me scratching my head as much as that Craft Brewer video of a year ago. Here it is:

As I noted at Jay’s, how many of these drinkers are really marketers in their day to day life? Can they not actually find 12 or 23 real, honest to goodness average Joes who like craft beer? And what the hell is it about the soundtracks of these things? Does anyone actually associate classical string quartets or whatever the hell that stuff is with craft beer? Would a little heavy metal or bluegrass not send the right marketing message? It makes me want to fall asleep about half way through.

It’s a form of denial, we know that. And a form of spin. But wouldn’t it be interesting to have one of these promotional video thingies based on the following:

  • I am a craft beer drinker. I am a fan of good beer. I buy good craft beer.
  • I earn my money through hard work and expect craft brewers to earn it from me.
  • I have no time for the floaters, the makers of dull amber ale, the brewers who are there for the government grants.
  • Me and people like me reject badly made craft beer or beer stores that pass on soaking costs for trendy unbalanced crap.
  • We have the conviction of our own ability to determine what tastes good. And know a great craft beer goes with a bag of chips.
  • We know when it is stinking hot nothing goes down like a Miller High Life and respect our friends who like that stuff just fine.
  • But we also know that when the BBQ smoker in the backyard is pissing off the neighbours, when we are sick and tired another mouthful of steamed corn gak, when there is extra money in the wallet and when our mouths demand something that has extraordinary taste…
  • …that is when we buy good craft beer.

Background music? Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” morphing into a little early Johnny Cash ending in a crescendo of grunge. “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” perhaps?