Microbrewed Adventures Read online

  People had come from miles around for the pleasure of each other’s company and the fine beers brewed right there on the premises. Behind the bar, a glass wall separated the “New England Deco” pub from the small, beautifully lit 800-square-foot brewery.

  Peter Egelston, 1987

  A table awaited us with glasses of beer (pitchers had recently and ridiculously been outlawed in Massachusetts; certainly the founding fathers were turning over in their graves). Gold, amber and bock beers complemented the warm ambience, quiet conversation and excellent food. We spoke with the four owners; Peter Egelston brewed the beer while the other three managed the restaurant and bar. (Peter later moved on to establish New Hampshire brewpub Portsmouth Brewery and microbrewery Smuttynose Brewing Company.)

  The passion for homebrewing and good beer got the better of the four founders of the Northampton Brewery, and now there they were, operating a brewery and restaurant/bar filled with enthusiastic customers in a small town in western Massachusetts. In 1987 they were among only 21 brewpubs in the entire United States. Only a few years earlier, in 1982, brewpubs were illegal in most of the country. There were none. As brewpub laws were enacted, permitting breweries to serve fresh beer at their own pubs, the numbers have grown.

  Russ Scherer, co-founding brewmaster at the Wynkoop Brewery, 1988

  In my home state of Colorado, brewpub legislation was slow to be enacted. Pioneer John Hickenlooper was instrumental in helping enact brewpub laws in late 1987. It was in 1988 that he and partner-brewer Russ Scherer founded Denver’s first brewpub, the Wynkoop Brewery. Having been homebrewers inspired both of them. Russ had won the American Homebrewers Association’s top honors as Homebrewer of the Year in 1985. He was certainly one of the most creative homebrewers and microbrewers up until his death in the 1990s. Although homebrewers were experimenting years earlier, Russ can certainly be credited with having brewed one of the first microbrewed chili beers in the country at the Wynkoop Brewery. In 2003, John Hickenlooper was elected mayor of Denver.

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  MILE-HIGH GREEN CHILI ALE

  The British would never dream of doing this to their pale ale, but Russ Scherer’s pioneering roasted chili pale ale provides both a spicy and an exotic flavor to an otherwise smooth, purely drinkable English-style pale ale. It has to be brewed to believe. If you love the flavor of green chili, you will adore this beer. The recipe can be found in About the Recipes.

  * * *

  There are now more than 1,000 brewpubs throughout the United States. Each has its own fascinating story. The invariable common thread is that they were all born of the passion for homebrewing and microbrewing. You will almost always find a founder, brewer or investor with roots in homebrewing and a passion for beer. Certainly the most successful brewpubs in America embrace the passion that is the very definition of the joy of microbrewing.

  Beware the Puritanical State

  DID YOU KNOW that you are in a puritanical state?” a member of the audience asked me during a speech I was giving on a 1991 book-signing tour in Philadelphia. Suddenly you could hear a feather float. Silent was the room as I hesitated in panicked thought. I had just taken a sip of water to clear my voice. Had they thought I had forsaken them? Everyone’s face seemed to have a shocked expression, staring straight at my hand as if thinking, “Look. He’s drinking water.”

  I scratched my head in confusion and asked, “What’d I do?” I had never been accused of being puritanical, and now my mind began to race, “Oh my God. This is not good. I certainly don’t want to project that kind of image. Quick. Someone get me a beer.”

  On the verge of panic, my questioner began to see the beads of sweat on my forehead and came to the rescue. “No, no, no. I mean you are in a puritanical state; this state of Pennsylvania is very puritanical when it comes to beer laws. You can’t buy anything less than a case of twenty-four 12-ounce bottles of beer in a liquor store. That makes it really difficult to try something new. What if you don’t like it? Well, then, you’re stuck with 23 bottles of, well, er…23 bottles…and the laws are restrictive in the amount of alcohol allowed in beer and all agricultural products must be approved by the state before they can be sold here.”

  I was both relieved (I wasn’t being accused of being puritanical after all) and sympathetic. Yes, in these 50 United States we now enjoy more than 14,000 American-made beers from more than 1,300 breweries spread across the land. Irish-style stouts, Belgian-style Dubbel and Tripels, fruit beers, German-style ales and lagers, British-style real ales and so much more. There are some laws that apply nationally, but the truly weird laws are enacted at the state level. In some states, if a beer is in excess of a certain level of alcohol you must call it ale, even if it is a lager. Elsewhere, if you brew a traditional stout you can’t call it stout, because wise liquor commissioners translate the word stout as a reference to strength—and it seems they don’t want you to know you are drinking strong beer. How about the state that allows commercial brewing only if you have a farm that grows the ingredients you would use? (Now, of course, you don’t have to use your own farm-grown product, but you do have to go through the motions of growing it. Such is wisdom!)

  Weird laws? You bet. All 50 states have the option to regulate the sale and production of alcoholic beverages. It’s obvious that few of these regulators are homebrewers yet. But perhaps someday things will change.

  Meanwhile, there is homebrewing. Ahhhh, home sweet homebrew! The beauty of it all! The regulations are quite simple: brew it for personal consumption and don’t sell it. No label laws, no alcohol limits and no ingredient limitations. Homebrewing is a personal thing. It’s a statement about you. It is an interpretation of your priorities and an expression of the freedom you’ve been given. I don’t know of any other hobbies that express themselves as wonderfully as homebrewing.

  If you wish to make a traditional German Altbier, brew it. A potato beer—brew it. A chocolate, chili pepper beer—brew it. A Down Under light lager—brew it. An Irish stout—brew it. A kiwi-flavored ale—brew it. You need no one’s approval but your own.

  What a great advantage homebrewers have! Brew it your own way, from a kit, from extracts, from grains. With the quality of ingredients, instructions and the wonderful supply of quality brewing yeasts available, excellent beer can be made using the simplest or most sophisticated of methods. You can immerse yourself in the science and technology of small-scale brewing or masterfully hover while communing with the art. But keep in mind that science and technical knowledge is best used as a tool and not to be embraced as the final word. You can become a master of brewing only through your own experiences and awareness of the qualities of great beer at whatever level of brewing you choose to pursue.

  * * *

  PURITANICAL NUT BROWN ALE

  This nut brown ale blends aromatic malts with caramel-flavored malts, fermented as a slightly fruity ale with the subtle bite of roasted chocolate malt. It offers a mouthful of soft, smooth nutlike flavor balanced with a blend of flavors and aromatically floral hops. It will sway even the most puritanical to indulge in brown ale. This recipe can be found in About the Recipes.

  * * *

  Your homebrewery, your recipes, your process—homebrewing is about you. And there is every reason to take pride in your beer and brewing endeavors, no matter what degree of sophistication you choose to pursue. If you like your beer, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? If you already brew, you know of what I speak. If you don’t already homebrew—please do.

  The guiding principle of homebrewing is remembering that you are an individual with individual taste preferences and priorities. And don’t ever forget that homebrewing is supposed to be fun. Relax. Don’t worry. Have a homebrew.

  Sure, there’s room for serious discussion and seriously good beer (and even for enjoying beers that are commercially made), but when you lose sight of the enjoyment of homebrewing, you’ve lost the microbrew touch. You may as well be in that “puritanical state.” I thought I was there for
a moment. It was a frightening experience.

  Drinking Deliberately

  I WAS IN TELLURIDE, Colorado, faced with the daunting task of picking from seven excellent brews, house-brewed by Archie Byers at the San Juan Brewing Company’s brewpub, and I was very, very thirsty.

  My new friends Ann, Melanie, Tom, and Sandy and I had just spent the better part of the day attempting to climb Wilson Peak. Telluride, tucked away in a tiny valley in southwestern Colorado, is surrounded by dozens of 14,000-foot peaks. Wilson Peak, at 14,087 feet, loomed above us in the clear morning sunshine. It should have been a three-hour walk and scramble to the top—but wasn’t.

  By the time we had reached timberline, the billowy clouds we had seen earlier on the western horizon surrounded us. At 12,000 feet we paused on a stretch of pink glacier snow and discussed whether we should proceed. Thunder rolled on the other side of the valley. The storm patterns were four to five miles on either side of us. This valley seemed to be spared from rain and storm. We proceeded.

  We reached the 13,000-foot ridge. Preparing for the final ascent we paused again, lingering over lunch. With growing anxiety we seriously considered whether to proceed. The weather cleared and on we went, taking a deliberate breath with each step, hand holding the rocks we scrambled upon.

  At 14,000 feet we were within 50 yards of the top. The rarefied air twists your perceptions. Colors were more intense, and a sense of otherworldliness washed over me in gentle waves. Looking down it was easily noted that we were very, very high. On a small outcrop of exposed rock, all five of us regrouped. Ann was putting on warmer clothes and taking pictures. Sandy was catching her breath. Tom was gazing longingly toward the summit. Melanie seemed intent on completing the hair-raising final 50 yards. And I was gazing down, down, down to the pinprick buildings I knew were towns, far below. I was thinking: “Now. Right now there are people down there enjoying a beer.” We all had our priorities. Life is about priorities, and given certain circumstances we are intensely reminded of them.

  We were all brought back together in discussion as the wind picked up, the sun disappeared and it began to ominously snow in July. There was a clap of thunder somewhere in the distance.

  Suddenly we reached consensus. None of us wanted to be there. We were booking ourselves out of there. I mean scooting, vaminosing, fleeing. Tom did so reluctantly, frequently looking back over his shoulder. This was his fourth unsuccessful attempt at conquering Wilson Peak. Rain, snow and wind had defeated him on three previous tries. Under his breath he was cursing repeatedly, “F———you, Wilson Peak.” He was visibly pissed.

  All of us wanted to get back down, but Melanie and Tom wanted to get down faster than the rest of us. They began descending an avalanche chute. The rest of us followed, but some yards down as rock scree cascaded down the mountain with every disturbing step I heartily embraced Annie’s wisdom: “This was the stupidest thing we’ve tried all day.” Three of us opted to go back and descend the way we’d come and help assure ourselves that we’d live to have another beer and try another time. Life is full of choices, and this choice was easy for me.

  We all made it down. At the bottom of the valley we learned Tom was overcome with anger and stubbornness at the high altitude. He couldn’t take defeat a fourth time. Incredibly, he had decided to go back up and made it to the top. He told us later, his face still a bit ashen from the experience, “The rocks began humming like a beehive, but there were no bees.” Strangely, his hair had stood on end from the building electrical charge the mountain and atmosphere could have released at any moment. He’d fallen flatly onto the ground, crawling and scraping his belly as he slowly slithered from the top of the mountain. He was quite certain he was about to die. He was very, very lucky, and it wasn’t because he had finally conquered Wilson Peak.

  On the mountain we each had our own priorities. Now that we were off the mountain, those priorities changed. We all headed straight for the San Juan Brewery. I think Ann chose the golden ale, as did Tom and Melanie. Sandy may have had the red. I was ready for my first beer of a long day. I was tired, dehydrated and very thirsty. It was a tall glass of India pale ale, alongside a tall glass of water. I alternated between the two and savored every wonderful nuance of what seemed to be the best beer I’d ever had in my life. A part of me savored my glass of water. But the rest of me—the conscious, living me—gleefully established my priorities. While most of the beer-drinking world might have preferred a light beer at this moment, I chose to drink deliberately.

  Drink deliberately!

  Only the day before had I come across a trendy advertisement for footwear. It encouraged, “Live Deliberately.” Never mind the product they were selling; I thought, “Yeah, live deliberately. I like that.”

  * * *

  TELLURIDE INDIA PALE ALE

  Loaded with hops, but not overdone, this ale is characterized by malt balanced with the unique twist of a healthy handful of Belgian Special-B and toasted biscuit malt. Crisp and refreshing, it’s highly drinkable at any altitude. The recipe can be found in About the Recipes.

  * * *

  Perhaps it was the bubbles rising in my second India pale ale (alongside another glass of water) as I gazed hypnotically into my glass. “Drink Deliberately” floated to the surface of my mind like the creamy head on my nourishing ale.

  We all have our priorities. I had chosen to come down off the mountain, not having reached the top, to try again another time. I don’t regret most of the choices I’ve made in my life. My priorities continue to evolve. I often think about how lucky we are in America to have so many choices, though most of us don’t exercise our opportunity to choose. Beer? Beer is one of those wonderful things in life. Does it dismay me that I’ve observed so many mindless choices across so many bars and dining tables? No, although I wonder why people bother to make a mindless choice of what beer to drink when there are so many wonderful options.

  I suppose at any given moment it’s all about priorities. There are so many wonderful beers…if people would only take a moment to think about their priorities.

  For now, I choose to live deliberately, and when it comes to beer I’ll take that moment to drink deliberately.

  That day in Telluride in the mid-1990s, I was lucky. I could drink Archie’s India Pale Ale after a long day’s journey. But if I hadn’t been so fortunate and had found myself trapped on top of the mountain with my own ingredients and equipment, I’d have brewed a simple but most excellent batch of my own…

  CHAPTER 4

  The Bad Boys of Beer

  WHILE THE MICROBREWS of today owe much to the pioneering work of the brewmasters of the early 1980s, they have contributed their own personality and twists to America’s growing lexicon of beer. There are now more than 1,300 microbrewies across the country, offering thousands of choices from Dogfish Head’s Raison d’ Etre to Rogue Ales’ Morimoto Imperial Pilsner and Stone Brewing’s Arrogant Bastard ale.

  No longer simply content to brew world-class German-style kölsch, bock, Altbier, pilsener, Dunkel, and having perfected English-and Belgian-style stout, porter, India pale ale, gueuze-lambic, barley wine, mild, Tripel, Dubbels and Kriekbiers, today’s brewers continue the adventure beyond all boundaries. They are always on the frontier, with beers aged in sherry, bourbon, port and wine barrels, infusing hops at the point of serving, using indigenous and exotic sugar, spicing their beers with the perfect balance of cocoa, coffee, coconut, exotic fruits and herbs. Today’s brewers maintain their reverence of classic styles while creating new balanced beer flavors that offer even the avowed non–beer drinker new opportunities to indulge in a vibrant and convivial beer culture.

  Rogue Ales

  Charlie 1981

  JOHN MAIER, brewmaster at Rogue Ales, Newport, Oregon, has brewed more than 30 million pints for Rogue. So states John’s short bio, but I beg to differ. John has brewed more than 30 million pints of Rogue Ales for beer drinkers!

  Article 2 of Rogue Ales’s “Beer Manifesto” reads, “We hold
that beer is worthy of passion.” Agreed.

  Rogue Ales is a unique and “beer-alive” brewing company, owing much of its growth in popularity to John Maier’s creative skills.

  I don’t quite recall the very first time I met John. It was probably in the mid-1980s. He began his beer journey in 1981 brewing his first batch of homebrew from my book The Complete Joy of Homebrewing. Entering numerous beer competitions, he saw his newfound passion rewarded with several top honors at homebrew competitions. In 1987 he took a job as assistant brewer at Juneau’s Alaskan Brewing Company.

  It was in the year 1988 that I truly recognized the talents of John Maier. The American Homebrewers Association was celebrating its tenth anniversary at their annual conference. I was wearing only a white toga and a wreath of hops. The celebrations were beginning. I was roasted and then twice pied in the face by hooded “pie terrorists.” Speeches were made to embarrass me further. It was all in fun, and the buildup to the final ceremonies awarding the winners of the American Homebrewers Association’s National Homebrew Competition. I had the honors of presenting the top award, best of show and Homebrewer of the Year. It was to John Maier.

  When he came to accept his award John whispered to me, “Charlie, it was your recipe for barleywine ale, right out of your book.” In his acceptance speech, he encouraged all by reminding us that quality beer needs passion and anyone can make great beer at home using simple techniques.