It is my personal opinion that bier and music are related.
When I was young and foolish I would waste my time on Napster downloading single songs of questionable quality, only to find my music library a mish-mash of one hit wonders that lacked any form of continuity. Now that I am older and have more man-strength I rarely listen to just one song. I barely even use the "random" setting anymore. Now I crave albums. I understand that the best songs come from the best albums, and in order to fully appreciate the song, it helps to understand the context behind it. I am better able to appreciate the song and thusly the artist as I become more informed about their inspirations, who they looked up to and what statement they're trying to make. Don't get me wrong, one-hit-wonders have their place, but the depth of meaning that is borne from a masterful album is what makes great artists great. It is about staying power, obvious growth that can be followed and cherished from album to album, without losing the core of the artist's musical identity.
This all has a parallel in the brewing industry, I think.
Gone are the days when bier was just what you found inside the bottle. The brewery that continually produces great biers, that lets people in on the company's passions, that is unafraid to experiment creatively without ditching the core of their identity/image is the one whose new biers I long to try. If you look closely, you will see a common theme among breweries that are more dynamic than the old let's-just-make-a-flagship-and-see-how-much-we-can-sell approach. There are seasonals, casked products, nitro-versions, specially-hopped and other experimentals that are the nine other great songs that compliment the flagship bier that you hear on the radio ALL THE TIME. Here is the really funny thing about those flagship products: THEY ARE ALMOST ALL AMBERS. So just like the pop hits that sound the same, these all start to look the same and some even taste the same.
There is a type of bier consumer, particularly in the craft bier market, that desires more from their bier than just taste.
I don't know about you, but since I started to actually think about what is inside the bottle I've begun inspecting what is on the outside. What makes your bier significant? And don't even claim to me that you have the freshest ingredients; that statement is to the point that if a brewery doesn't claim extreme freshness I begin to worry. The word "fresh" has little to no meaning in the bier industry anymore. Why the hell should I put this to my lips? What inspired this example of IPA, stout, cream ale, etc.? What have you done to make it your own? Is your brewery interesting enough for me to trust you the next time you come up with an experimental? It is great to have a bier guy at your store to challenge customers with new products from classic breweries as well as from obscure ones, but is that enough to get me to buy it? Often what I need to hear is the opinion of another person like myself who is shelling out their own hard-earned currency that has tried the bier before. If you paid for it, you're much more likely to remember it. The personal invitation is a disarmed, trustable opinion from the one person involved your bier's whole world who isn't trying to get your money- the fellow consumer.
The world needs word-of-mouth marketing and the music and brewing industries are no exception. But the staying power that is earned by bands and breweries comes from their followers feeling like they have been "let in on the action." I like the kind of performer who isn't afraid to let me in on what makes them tick and what sets them off. Should it be any other way with breweries? Sure you could just sit back and watch the money come in from the sales of your flagship, but those will eventually wane if you don't give people another reason to buy your bier. Eventually the majority of folks will have tried it, and don't tell me that you intend for them to drink your one bier and only it for the rest of their lives. That is an insult to all consumers. Think about the number of nerve endings in your mouth. DO NOT DENY THEM THE PLEASURE OF SOMETHING NEW!
My favorite breweries like New Belgium, Stone, Pike, Deschutes and Rogue all have won me over because I can see their inspiration, and I find it as refreshing as their bier. I challenge you dear reader- think about why you drink what you drink. Our society has become interested in researching what we buy so that we can make informed decisions about who to buy from. I'm not going to tell you what to drink. Drink what you like. It is when you decide to branch out and try something new, that's when you're left to wonder which of these winter ales you should buy. Of course, you can always ask me. If I haven't heard of it before, I'd be more than happy to branch out on one of your six. Or twelve.
Prost!
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Happy New Discoveries
Oh me oh my what an absent-minded bier enthusiast I have been. Here I have been enjoying a flurry of new tastes and experiences and yet I have kept them to myself. Well it's time for a bit of show and tell.
It is a new year, and today is the first day I've been in the US this year. I spent new year's in Honduras and that meant... you guessed it, new biers to try. Now, astute peruser of blogs about God knows what, I'm sure you are bright. I'm sure you make the members of the opposite sex swoon when you pass by because of your cognitive abilities. But if you are not aware of what I'm about to tell you, then I just don't think your existence on this planet has been to this point dignified. Here it is: quality of bier has entirely to do with a brewery's proximity to good, fresh hops, and malt to a lesser extent because it travels better. Build a brewery far from your hop source, and your hops will cost a sinful amount and will be about as fresh as half-eaten roadkill when they get to you. This means that you are more likely to use hops to a lesser extent in your biers due to: 1.)Their cost 2.)Their lack of freshness/quality 3.)Your lack of a clue as to what you're doing. After traveling far and wide, I feel comfortable making the following statement: similar to wine, the best bier is that found in temperate climates in both hemispheres. Doubtless there are a few notable exceptions, unfortunately none of which were the local Caribbean biers I tried in the past ten days. These biers were good and a couple were fine examples of dry pilsners, but they were by no means among the best I've ever tipped back.
Whether we had just finished a day of rafting on the Río Cangrejal or hiking in Pico Bonito National Park or just laying on the beach near Trujillo, I found myself willing to try just about anything. Even if the bartender warned beforehand that what I was about to consume tasted like piss, I promised myself to be open minded. The least delicious bier I had on this trip is called Cerveza Barena which is owned by the company that owns Miller. The bier tasted close to the way described so colorfully by my grinning server except colder. I'd place it somewhere in the vicinity of Corona although lighter. Ultimately you could try to partially mask the unpleasant taste of adjuncts with the use of a lime wedge, or you could just order something else. Fortunately I was paying about 20 Lempiras (~$1) per bottle which made my bad mistakes easier to swallow (not literally though).
My solution to a mouth of nasty was the Honduran national bier called Salva Vida. I shouldn't say anything too bad about it since they are fiercely proud of it. The main things this bier had going for it in my mind was that it was cold and wet and I was tired, sun burned, bug bitten and wanted a new flavor in my mouth. Couldn't get much of an idea of malt character, and there was little bitterness or hop aroma to be found in the milliseconds the drink spent between bottle and belly. I'd order it over Coors products but not Rainier or Olympia, of which I'm fiercely proud (even if they aren't made here anymore).
The next bier is one that I had had before this trip on a prior one to Costa Rica. Imperial, the Costa Rican national bier, has the amount of skunky aroma you'd expect in a German/Bohemian pilsner which made it fun to sip, but not to gulp. And the label is badass.
Savor that. It may be the only time I ever compliment a bier for its artwork. [Here comes a rant] More often than not I find bottle artwork too over the top and noisy. Just tell me about the bier! Where is your brewery located? How many IBUs in this bier? What is the appropriate serving temperature? Don't assume that I'll want to buy it because there is a clever picture involving a mythical creature and some sort of brewing-related hidden double meaning that I am embarrassed to understand. I said it before, I'll say it again, northwest bier is made by hippies, and they are WEIRD.
[Back on track] The best bier I had (besides when I was surprised by a couple of Franziskaner Weissbiers) was a lager that came in a green bottle called Port Royal. This bier reminded me of a pleasant middle ground somewhere between St. Pauli Girl and Pilsner Urquell (both in green bottles too). It was dry, but not too dry. It had the flavor of Hallertauer hops, used traditionally in pilsners. Ultimately it was a dazzling combination of being refreshing enough to drink in somewhat copious amounts while also being unafraid to display a little hop quality and some malt richness. A tough trifecta to hit square on the head, so nicely done to the brewbots at SABMiller, who in this case (as opposed to Barena) have produced a fine example of a drinkable pils.
Before my trip to central America I made a stop in Colorado to discover some beauties that had been right in front of my nose for such a long time that I was certainly a fool for missing them. I am speaking mostly about bier.
When I lived in Ft. Collins I frequently visited New Belgium Brewing and Odell’s Brewing Companies for samples and to ham it up with other people who also love bier an unhealthy amount. A close friend revealed to me, as she often does, the error of my ways in that I had never paid a visit to Ft. Collins Brewery in my year in the CO. After a stop at Odell’s we were off to try, well, a lot of bier. Among my favorites were a pomegranate wheat and a chocolate stout which was balanced perfectly. I love chocolate and dark bier almost as much as Husky victories, and lately I've been having the former in large proportion to the latter. Ft. Collins Brewery also made interesting examples of rauchbier (smoke bier) and schwarzbier (black bier), but both were too harsh for my delicate chocolate-preferring tendencies. Mental note: I must try all of these again when I am not congested.
Well that about catches you up in detailed fashion with the ups and downs of my alcoholic consumption as of late. I have gone from sun to snow in a matter of hours and find myself dizzy from the transition. Maybe I’ll have another Guinness and see if this problem solves itself.
Prost!
It is a new year, and today is the first day I've been in the US this year. I spent new year's in Honduras and that meant... you guessed it, new biers to try. Now, astute peruser of blogs about God knows what, I'm sure you are bright. I'm sure you make the members of the opposite sex swoon when you pass by because of your cognitive abilities. But if you are not aware of what I'm about to tell you, then I just don't think your existence on this planet has been to this point dignified. Here it is: quality of bier has entirely to do with a brewery's proximity to good, fresh hops, and malt to a lesser extent because it travels better. Build a brewery far from your hop source, and your hops will cost a sinful amount and will be about as fresh as half-eaten roadkill when they get to you. This means that you are more likely to use hops to a lesser extent in your biers due to: 1.)Their cost 2.)Their lack of freshness/quality 3.)Your lack of a clue as to what you're doing. After traveling far and wide, I feel comfortable making the following statement: similar to wine, the best bier is that found in temperate climates in both hemispheres. Doubtless there are a few notable exceptions, unfortunately none of which were the local Caribbean biers I tried in the past ten days. These biers were good and a couple were fine examples of dry pilsners, but they were by no means among the best I've ever tipped back.
Whether we had just finished a day of rafting on the Río Cangrejal or hiking in Pico Bonito National Park or just laying on the beach near Trujillo, I found myself willing to try just about anything. Even if the bartender warned beforehand that what I was about to consume tasted like piss, I promised myself to be open minded. The least delicious bier I had on this trip is called Cerveza Barena which is owned by the company that owns Miller. The bier tasted close to the way described so colorfully by my grinning server except colder. I'd place it somewhere in the vicinity of Corona although lighter. Ultimately you could try to partially mask the unpleasant taste of adjuncts with the use of a lime wedge, or you could just order something else. Fortunately I was paying about 20 Lempiras (~$1) per bottle which made my bad mistakes easier to swallow (not literally though).
My solution to a mouth of nasty was the Honduran national bier called Salva Vida. I shouldn't say anything too bad about it since they are fiercely proud of it. The main things this bier had going for it in my mind was that it was cold and wet and I was tired, sun burned, bug bitten and wanted a new flavor in my mouth. Couldn't get much of an idea of malt character, and there was little bitterness or hop aroma to be found in the milliseconds the drink spent between bottle and belly. I'd order it over Coors products but not Rainier or Olympia, of which I'm fiercely proud (even if they aren't made here anymore).
The next bier is one that I had had before this trip on a prior one to Costa Rica. Imperial, the Costa Rican national bier, has the amount of skunky aroma you'd expect in a German/Bohemian pilsner which made it fun to sip, but not to gulp. And the label is badass.
Savor that. It may be the only time I ever compliment a bier for its artwork. [Here comes a rant] More often than not I find bottle artwork too over the top and noisy. Just tell me about the bier! Where is your brewery located? How many IBUs in this bier? What is the appropriate serving temperature? Don't assume that I'll want to buy it because there is a clever picture involving a mythical creature and some sort of brewing-related hidden double meaning that I am embarrassed to understand. I said it before, I'll say it again, northwest bier is made by hippies, and they are WEIRD.
[Back on track] The best bier I had (besides when I was surprised by a couple of Franziskaner Weissbiers) was a lager that came in a green bottle called Port Royal. This bier reminded me of a pleasant middle ground somewhere between St. Pauli Girl and Pilsner Urquell (both in green bottles too). It was dry, but not too dry. It had the flavor of Hallertauer hops, used traditionally in pilsners. Ultimately it was a dazzling combination of being refreshing enough to drink in somewhat copious amounts while also being unafraid to display a little hop quality and some malt richness. A tough trifecta to hit square on the head, so nicely done to the brewbots at SABMiller, who in this case (as opposed to Barena) have produced a fine example of a drinkable pils.
Before my trip to central America I made a stop in Colorado to discover some beauties that had been right in front of my nose for such a long time that I was certainly a fool for missing them. I am speaking mostly about bier.
When I lived in Ft. Collins I frequently visited New Belgium Brewing and Odell’s Brewing Companies for samples and to ham it up with other people who also love bier an unhealthy amount. A close friend revealed to me, as she often does, the error of my ways in that I had never paid a visit to Ft. Collins Brewery in my year in the CO. After a stop at Odell’s we were off to try, well, a lot of bier. Among my favorites were a pomegranate wheat and a chocolate stout which was balanced perfectly. I love chocolate and dark bier almost as much as Husky victories, and lately I've been having the former in large proportion to the latter. Ft. Collins Brewery also made interesting examples of rauchbier (smoke bier) and schwarzbier (black bier), but both were too harsh for my delicate chocolate-preferring tendencies. Mental note: I must try all of these again when I am not congested.
Well that about catches you up in detailed fashion with the ups and downs of my alcoholic consumption as of late. I have gone from sun to snow in a matter of hours and find myself dizzy from the transition. Maybe I’ll have another Guinness and see if this problem solves itself.
Prost!
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