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288 pages, Paperback
Published September 28, 2017
'In most cases, the very purest and finest water is, for brewing, the worst of all.'Of the four ingredients, I know more of hops than the others, as do probably most beer aficionados, and of course, he taught me more. Yeast would be second on my knowledge list, but... sure, more knowledge! I learned a lot in every chapter, even Water, and you'll just have to find the book and learn yourself because to summarize here wouldn't do any of the book justice.
- George Watkins,
The Compleat Brewer; Or, The Art and Mystery of Brewing Explained, 1760
When I think now about the science of understanding water chemistry, the incredible and ancient technology of malting, the magic of hops and the fact that we're being controlled by microscopic fungi we still don't understand. I realise the idea of 'raw materials' in beer is a fallacy. There's nothing raw about them. Each is incredibly sophisticated, each refined by centuries of scientific endeavor and discovery. After 10,000 years of brewing, we're still at the beginning of finding out what these four ingredients do. And all the work that's gone into understanding each ingredient so far, if the scientists, the maltsters, farmers and hop growers and, of course, the brewers who bring them all together, were to all get what they truly deserve for their efforts, and if the price of beer was an accurate reflection of its real worth, beer should be costing £10 a pint. As a drinker, I'm very glad it doesn't. But the fact that the most complex, varied, beautiful and difficult to make alcoholic beverage in the world is also usually its cheapest and most taken for granted, is something of a cosmic joke.
[...]
We apply the best thinking science can offer in order to increase our aesthetic pleasure. We pursue rigour and excellence in our pursuit of hedonism. And that's why beer represents, for me, at the end of this journey, the very best of everything we are.
Like Cantillon, the equally esoteric 'champagne of beers' created in a Brussels suburb, the reverence of its hardcore fans has always put me off a little. For me, these brands have always been beer's answer to progressive rock: complicated and aloof, celebrated more for the idea of them than their actual delivery. [...] Smoked beer is a minority interest, something we're supposed to like if we're really into our beer, but secretly don't, apart from a few fanatics. [...]I appreciate that it is special, but it's someone else's special.That what I think something like Bourbon County Brand Stout...idea rather than delivery. Oh, and don't even try to debate me on Guinness - nasty, watery, pseudo stout that should go back to calling itself the porter ... spelled 'poorter" ... it is.
The problem with having (a) much higher standards as a writer than I once did and (b) having searchable access to the world's entire store of historical knowledge, is that where I once let a good yarn go, I now have to go back an check it. In doing so, I often learn the most wonderful stories about the history of beer to be untrue or, at best, unproveableI get that. I don't like to share quotes unless I can verify the source. And if a story is too pat to be true...I'll go searching. Sometimes I'm surprised.
Getting through US customs is an interesting experience, always best appreciated when you've been awake and dressed for twenty-four hours. [That acerbic humor!] It seems designed to intimidate, to make you crack and say, "OK you got me. I was going to try to start a Communist revolution but you've foiled my plans.' Instead it makes me want to say, 'Get over yourself, you country's not that special.'{snort}!
Which happens rarely, if ever. In the fifteen years since I tasted my first American IPA, I've had two beers that match up to the experience. And when I go back to that first beer and taste it again, it's a pale shadow of what I remember. The beer hasn't changed, but my palate has. The beer changed me, permanently opening doors of flavour perception which can never be closed again, and changed permanently my demands, expectatins and standards for flavour experience. You can never have a first impression and second time.The beer hasn't changed, my palate has. Quite true for me. My palate has flipped at least twice since I fell into craft beer - not liking lagers and Belgians and bourbon barrel aged beer, to now not liking golden ales and now not disliking bourbon barrel aged beers (but...lagers are still wrong and I can only tolerate dark traditional Belgians.)
This is the most miraculous thing the world has ever seen. Nothing is a valuable as a glass of this stuff.To find out the rest...read the book!
It pours slowly from the cask into a glass shaped like a brandy balloon. The glass has been specially designed and hand-blown for the occasion. Slowly, the number of glasses multiples. Everyone forces themselves into polite restraint, while suppressing the urge to kill everyone else in the room to get the first glass. About a thousand years later, I finally have a glass in my hand. The beer is a deep, reddish brown. There's a faint but intriguing aroma that bears hints of honey, marzipan and caramel. I take my glass into a corner and contemplate it for a while without drinking it. I want everyone else to disappear, so it can be just the two of us. I photograph it. I stroke it. And, finally, I raise it to my lips.