Diary: On caring how it got there (2).

Part one here

  ... Quite a few of America’s 2,500 brewing companies quite likely are soon to face a scenario in which the self-centeredness of the non-brand-loyal narcissist isn’t enough to service their debt; a time when store shelves will be filled with too many brands of beer produced by the likes of Blue Moon, larger contract brewers AND folks we all still like (Sierra, New Belgium), and the 10% annual growth we’ve been celebrating will not be producing enough asses in seats to please bankers.

In short, it will be a market that bizarrely reflects conditions of consolidation and attrition that once presaged America’s decades-long beer depression. There could be a great deal of pain.

If simply making excellent beer isn’t enough, and such beers neither can compete in the high-end market of the priestly caste, nor survive at price points on a par with the upper echelon of production brewers, what’s left to the vast expanse of middle ground in brewing?

I’d have to say that the best shot is intensified economic localism (AMIBA or BALLE are national organizational examples), as well as getting back to the craft of the matter, in the sense that we all use the word “craft” while seldom seeking to relate it to other crafts, or even offering a fundamental definition of what craft means. I’m not entirely sure I understand it. It doesn’t mean giving up “export” markets and shipping packaged beer, but making a deeper commitment to doubling down on economic localization and the foundational, grassroots tasks of educating and informing.

My brewery makes outstanding beer. If this isn’t enough for the priestly caste, cool beans, because the priestly caste isn’t enough for me. It’s about the liquid in the glass to the extent that I won’t drink crap, but it’s about far more than the liquid in the glass, because the liquid in the glass got there by means of a number of considerations, which are being ignored far too often as we chase the ephemera of the newest, biggest thing.

Those guys in New York with the signs speaking of contract brewing as “death of craft beer” are doing the right thing by asking the question and getting the discussion started. Whether intentional or otherwise, those objecting to the question merely provide tacit support to what entrenched interests always seek: Protection of the status quo. But when the status quo stands in the way of progress, it needs to be questioned.

Why do you think we had an American brewing revolution in the first place?

Diary: On caring how it got there (1).

Being an American used to imply that desired ends don't always justify undesirable means. Maybe it never actually did in reality, or doesn’t any longer, and rather than espouse collective ideals, we’re all entirely left alone, destined to grapple with life all by ourselves just so long as we get what we want, when we want it.

I’m not comfortable with that, and never really have been.

To me, the end doesn’t justify the means. Recognition of such is the basis for almost every meaningful progressive reform in the history of the United States of America, and specifically, as it pertains to the American workplace. You can have the highest quality product to take to market, and make bucketloads of money in the process, but it matters to society as a whole what you had to do to achieve it.

Were workers abused or exploited? Was the environment despoiled? Was the idea stolen from the rightful owner?

This is why, at various times, Americans have thought long and hard about what it means (or doesn’t) to do business with oppressive regimes. A good example in the wake of Nelson Mandela’s recent passing is South Africa during the period of racial Apartheid. More recently, legitimate questions have been asked about Third World sweat shops where workers are paid a pittance to produce $200 pairs of sneakers.

How these questions are answered will vary, and the answers are important, but our possessing a depth of conscience sufficient to grasp that such questions must be asked is even more important. This is especially true when South African diamond miners or Chinese sweat shop employees are unable to ask, or to protest their working conditions.

The preceding are examples of considerations that run beyond the quality, either good or bad, of finished products. In addition, I’d suggest the very real existence of other planes in life apart from the primacy of simple consumer demand.

I think about these matters each time I encounter a discussion about craft beer, at the point when someone says: “It's all about quality beer, and who cares how it got here as long as it enters my stomach whenever I wish?”

Well, among other reasons, it’s because caring about how it got here is part and parcel of why we had an American brewing revolution to begin with. Mass-market mockrobrews, contract brewing and zombie craft beers may or may not be the death of better beer, but what surely will harm it is when the code of the narcissist prevails. In the coming years, defining craft beer and expanding consciousness as to its ultimate meaning are going to require asking those irksome questions. If we don’t ask them, there’s a good chance we’ll forget our foundational story … and that can only assist the Trojan Geese.

Part two here

At LouisvilleBeer.com: "Let’s Explore Anti-Local Craft Beer Unconsciousness."

Shall we?

Let’s Explore Anti-Local Craft Beer Unconsciousness

“Art can never take the place of social action … but its task remains forever the same: to change consciousness.”

– Amos Vogel, from “Film as a Subversive Art”

When will craft beer finally change the consciousness of the American beer-drinking mainstream?”

I’m tempted to answer one question with another:

Should mainstream consciousness ever be the desired outcome for craft beer?

But let’s play it straight. Some might say that craft beer consciousness already has arrived. Craft beer’s availability is wider than ever before, and statistically, most Americans live within close proximity to a craft brewer, even if the average measurement is skewed by Michigan as compared to the Deep South.

Slowly, even this imbalance is changing, and craft beer consciousness is penetrating all geographical areas of the country.

Yes, I get feisty on occasion.

Consider this just such an occasion.

There are 34 draft spouts at our pub and pizzeria, and a 35th if you count the cask cabinet. Typically, eight of them are given over to the beers we brew ourselves.

Because brewers Jesse Williams and Jared Williamson (with able assistance from Tony Beard) have been working very hard here of late, 12 NABC beers are on tap at this moment, including one firkin. That’s an all-time record.

I’m proud of this fact, and of the guys who’ve made it possible.

There’s a Colonial-style ale (Old Lightning Rod), a pre-Prohibition Pilsner (Kaiser 2nd Reising), and a retro Louisville sour ale (Phoenix Komon).

There are plenty of hops, even with unprecedented outages and shortages that require as many hours foraging as brewing: Hoptimus, Croupier, Elector and even Hoosier Daddy. We continue to counter the public’s default affection for Sierra Nevada Pale Ale with Mt. Lee, which strictly speaking is a “steam” beer, but which has Pale Ale character and has helped to cut Sierra consumption by roughly half since it became a full-time selection.

Jasmine the Mastiff, now being hand-pulled, is a bittersweet and oily gem, and it won’t last long.

The recently depleted Naughty Claus was the biggest selling house beer during Saturnalia, and Bonfire of the Valkyries, its listed counterpart, was smoky, black and delicious when I had a pint on Monday afternoon.

In fact, I’ve sampled all the NABC house beers during the past week, including Old 15-B and Community Dark. Given the problems we’ve been having with raw materials, which may be having an effect here and there, especially with hop character, I can’t find anything “wrong” with any of the NABC beers I’ve tasted, with the exception of a bit of wayward tartness at the front end of Community Dark.

It happens, folks. Get over it. And while you’re at it, how about veering outside the comfort zone now and again?

As I’ve labored mightily to make clear for quite some time, the reason why there aren’t that many places that try to do what we do on a daily basis is that it’s awfully hard to achieve a balance when pouring the best beers available from the entire world outside our doors, while also finding a niche inside the same building for house brewed beers.

But I persist in the view that internal competition is healthy, and furthermore, seeing as we all accept that our customer base is highly educated when it comes to beer, it would be impossible to foist off imperfect specimens for very long.

At the same time – straight up – I’m not sure that some of the pub regulars of long standing ever give the house beers a fair chance, and that’s because habits are a hard thing to break, which is why Sierra Nevada is not on tap this week. Those who walk past the blackboard every damned day without looking to see what’s there, and order Sierra by habit … well, you’re just going to have to forgive me for shaking your tree, because that’s exactly what I propose to do.

After all, I had to shake your tree way back when in order to get you to look past Coors Light, didn’t I?

And while I’m at it: The Phoenix tastes sour because it was made that way … the Kaiser has six-row and corn in it because that’s the way pre-Prohibition lagers were often built … yes, the Hoosier Daddy turned out a bit different this time, and I think it’s better than last time.

There’s always room for improvement in anything one does, and NABC’s house beers are no exception. We understand that, and it is one reason why we drink our own beers most of the time, livers permitting. Of course, being the one in charge, I get my choice of what to drink. The NABC lineup has been so good lately that it has been my go-to choice for leisure time drinking. Rest assured, I wouldn't drink them if I didn't like them.

So ... what am I missing here? I’m a reasonable guy, I love to talk beer, I’m available to talk beer, and I can take constructive criticism with the best of them, but I’m writing today to make a couple of things abundantly clear:

I will go to bat for my team, and when my competitive instincts get aroused, I’ll be an asshole about it.

If the beer doesn’t taste like you remember it tasting, it might just be because you’ve tasted it so rarely.

Maybe drinking the exact same beer every single night isn’t the sort of thing that brought you to this juncture in the first place.

And the big one: Viva la revolucion permanente!