The Session #49: Regular beer (guest post)

The SessionThe topic for today’s 49th gathering of The Session is “regular beer.” Since I’m the host I offered to publish posts from readers who don’t maintain blogs. This is the first of two.

By Jeffrey McElfresh, Dayton, Ohio

Regular beer holds a special place in my beery heart, because, it is anything but “regular.” First, a definition: regular beer, to me, can be anywhere between a Kolsch, CAP and an APA. It’s a beer that is subtle in complexity or character and super drinkable because of that trait. Regular beer is not “dumbed down” nor does it require a sophisticated palate or the ability to appreciate the “finer things.” It has individual balance to the point that it tastes “right.” It is both easily missed and easily recognized by all beer drinkers. So, this “regular beer” is truly something special. It is the measurement that allows each of us to put all other beer into a perspective that we can trust. Price point does not define this beer and neither does my definition of style.

More than any other beer regular beer helps to define our culture. I believe we all want something that feels comfortable, but not normal. We want something that others can relate to, that reflects our group mentality without destroying our individuality. This is regular beer. This is why it has so many names and faces. This is where we define the familiar. (Some draw lines in the sand they will never cross just to prove that last line) Sure, the majority of us spend a ton of time peeling off the pack (wild, sour, impy and oak), but unless you are a sociopath or cult of personality(J), we want to spread our joy and give it depth and meaning. We want to know we are happy by seeing it beyond our mirror. The social implications of regular beer may be one of the most significant tools we use in the days ahead to mediate the technological innovation that scars our interpersonal relationship skills.

And so I truly believe we will see “world class” regular beer flourish as the craft beer segment inevitably folds in on itself (sorry Sam?). That’s ok with me. I am always thinking of jazz when I consider this point. Beer can be angular, free, wild or careless, but it must have that swing (local innovation that delivers). It is after all, beer. Recognize it or not, the enjoyment will succeed.

Reinheitsgebot as Einheitsgebot?

“Brauereisterben: The sad state of German beer culture” has been making the rounds since Slate posted it yesterday. Not exactly news to those who have been paying attention. But Slate doesn’t devote much bandwidth to beer, and doesn’t count among those paying attention.

The word Brauereisterben, drawn for the term for Germany’s dying forests (Waldsterben), has been around since the mid-90s. No disputing that beer production and consumption are sinking, but when Americans are called upon to comment on anybody else’s beer culture we should take care using words like “sad state” in the headline.

It would have been one thing had Germans said just that in the story, but it hardly reads as if they were consulted. Additionally, the supporting evidence was at times questionable — or best I can tell plain wrong.

For instance, the statement that Berlin supported 700 breweries in the early nineteenth century. According to Ron Pattinson’s meticulously documented European Beer Guide 82 breweries operated in Berlin in 1800 and 42 by 1816. Go back to 1730 and 426 existed, but most of those would have been in homes. Where does the number 700 come from? Perhaps Wikipedia, which in turn cites the German Beer Institute. Pattinson has documented just a few of the errors there.

Or there is the aside that German beer production is less than half of the United States’ output — not surprising since Germany has only something more than a quarter of the population.

And then there are the parts of the story that are missing. Such as details in an article by Sylvia Kopp, who is German, in All About Beer Magazine three years ago. She wrote, “However, most Germans, when asked what beer they prefer, will answer, passionately, with a brand name. This is the German paradox: we love beer dearly, it is an integral part of our culture, yet it has become a commodity.”

The challenge is not unique to Germany. Brewers everywhere want to make regular beers special enough that they are not a commodity, but still regular beers. (Yes, there is another category of beers that are stronger, hoppier, include ingredients beyond the norm, and they are one way for brewers to make a statement that “Everything I make is special.”)

Kopp talked to brewers about this.

Sebastian B. Priller, the junior owner and manager of Brauhaus Riegele, the foremost independent brewer in Augsburg, holds a clear opinion: “When it comes to beer, Germans focus more on marketing, branding, sponsoring, pricing and all that, instead of talking about the product itself. I think it is high time to put the beer first: its taste, its ingredients, the way it is brewed, the food it pairs with. And we need to live this culture and celebrate beer like they do with wine.”

Of course she addressed the matter of the Reinheitsgebot (the story was headlined, “Ruled by the Reinheitsgebot?”) As did Barry M at the Bitten Bullet in commenting on the Slate story, noteworthy because he’s an Irishman living in Germany. If we get a look at this sucker from enough angles we might be able to figure it out.

So one more view. From a man born in Wyoming, who has lived in Europe and Germany for more than 20 years and been the brewmaster at Private Landbrauerei Schönram for 13 years. The Bavarian brewery in Petting/Schönram — not far from Salzburg, Austria — has more than doubled its sales during that time.

Eric Toft has succeeded by emphasizing quality ingredients and traditional brewing methods, but he’s also an agent of change. Last week he bottled his first IPA in 750ml corked bottles. Most of that will go to Italy.

He is a member of Bier-Quer-Denker, a group of brewers who look both within Germany and beyond for inspiration. Bier-Quer-Denker, roughly translated means “beer lateral thinker.” For instance, for one seminar Frank Mueller from Brauhaus Riegele brought a kellerbier made with a mixture of three grains, including wheat, and fermented with an English ale yeast.

Toft makes a strong argument that the Reinheitsgebot should not limit a brewer.

“There has been a collective, though not all brewers are guilty of this, mass misinterpretation of the ReinheitsgebotReinheitsgebot as Einheitsgebot, meaning all beer must taste the same or all brands are interchangeable. Over the years, processes and technology in the breweries have also become very similar. I see the Reinheitsgebot as just the opposite,” he said. “Because we are forced to work within these narrow confines, we should see it as motivation for creativity and opportunity to set our brands apart from the others. This begins with the selection of the raw materials and carries through the entire process.

“The Reinheitsgebot should be a guarantee for the greatest diversity possible, unfortunately the opposite is true. But consider this: worldwide, 199 different hop varieties are cultivated. In Germany alone, we have 23 different varieties of two-row barley. The yeast bank in Weihenstephan lists 80 strains on their regular list, and more are available on request. Luckily, there is more than a handful of brewers around who are swimming against the tide.”

They aren’t ready to leave the German beer culture for dead.

Blues & beers at the crossroads

Cemetery at historic Robert Johnson crossroads (or not)

beernews.org reports that Dogfish Head Craft Brewery and Sony Legacy are set to collaborate on another beer/music project, this time turning to the blues.

In mid-January, Sony Music Entertainment filed a trademark application for Robert Johnson’s Hellhound on my Ale. The name is a play on words from one of Johnson’s songs, Hellhound on my Trail. This week, Dogfish got TTB approval for a keg collar. The only description available is that it’s brewed with lemons.

Enough about beer. On to Robert Johnson. Here’s what Sony Legacy wants you to know about him: “May 8, 2011, marks the 100th birthday of Mississippi Delta bluesman Robert Johnson, who, according to legend, sold his soul down at the crossroads of Highway 61 and Highway 49 in a midnight bargain that has haunted the music world for three-quarters of a century. The ‘deal’ brought forth Johnson’s incandescent guitar technique and a run of 10-inch 78 rpm singles for the Vocalion, Oriole, Conqueror and Perfect labels recorded in San Antonio in 1936 and Dallas in 1937.” Sony then gets to the point. It’s selling two special Robert Johnson sets.

One of many possible Robert Johnson crossroadsSince we’re pretty sure that Johnson didn’t actually enter in a transaction with the devil it might seem silly to worry about the location of THE crossroads themselves, but humor me. It wasn’t necessarily, or even probably, where Highway 61 and Highway 49 meet.

More than twenty years ago Living Blues magazine devoted pretty much an entire issue to “The death of Robert Johnson.” Jim O’Neal set the tone with his introduction.

As marvelous and influential as Robert Johnson was, his life, lyrics, and legend have still received an inordinate amount of attention over the past 20 or 30 years. The mythic proportions of the Johnson legend are largely the product of modern-day audiences’ and writers’ enthusiasm (further fueled by this issue of Living Blues, of course). The search for anything of substance pertaining to Johnson has produced a valuable body of research, but it has also created more and more pitfalls where fiction may bury the facts.

Almost every blues artist of Johnson’s generation who has been interviewed has probably been asked about Robert Johnson (sometimes ad nauseam), and who knows how many times one bluesman or another has fabricated a tale merely to prey on a young interviewer’s anthusiams and keep his attention a little longer.

Honeyboy EdwardsHoneyboy Edwards, who’ll be 96 years old in June, tells a convincing story in that 1990 Living Blues about playing with Johnson the night he was poisoned. By a bit of chance we heard him repeat it in 1992 at a Clarksdale, Mississippi, lunch spot called Fair’s. He was in town to enjoy the Sunflower Blues Festival. The week before he performed at the first — there might have one or two more — Robert Johnson Crossroads Festival in nearby Greenwood (the photo on the right). Anyway, if I were in charge of organizing a Robert Johnson commemorative beer I’d invite Honeyboy to toss in a few hops.

To return to beer for a moment, apparently they wouldn’t want to call this new one Crossroads because Anheuser-Busch briefly tested a wheat beer by that name in 1995. Flunked the test; guess there was no deal with the devil.

Back to Robert Johnson. We made two trips into the Mississippi Delta in 1992, because Daria was writing a story for Touring America called “Where the Blues Began.” We used Living Blues to help us find historically important spots. O’Neal wrote an article called “A Traveler’s Guides to the Crossroads” that even had maps, and was still properly skeptical.

I have never heard any musician claim to have made any deal at any crossroads, by the way, although some say they have heard such stories told by old-timers. But Napoloan Strickland of Como, Mississippi, did tell me that, following instructions from his grandfather, he learned to play music by going to a cemetery and ‘straddling a grave” at midnight.

One of the crossroads mentioned was near Bonnie Blue Plantation, where Johnson lived, and White Cemetery. We headed there near dark, per O’Neal’s suggestion. I’m not sure we actually found the right cemetery, but we did spy three crosses, shined the car headlights on them and I took the photo at the top. The experience became the lead to Daria’s story.

“You’re standing in a tiny cemetery that’s surrounded by a cotton field. The few stark white crosses rise from the grass like ghosts. Across the dirt road in one direction is a field of tall corn, in the other, a field of sorghum. It’s growing dark, and you realize that if you screamed your loudest, no one would come.

“This could be the place, you think — the crossroads where blues musician Robert Johnson claimed he met the Devil. Here, the idea doesn’t seem so far fetched. You can easily imagine a thin young man with a guitar slung over his shoulder making his way down the road, and a dark stranger appearing suddenly from out of the corn.”

It’s going to take a spectacular beer to stand up to that memory.