Even in Dubai, I can have a Duvel, at the proper temperature, in a tulip glass, before my flight home. Granted, both Dubai and the more financially-apt Abu Dhabi are fairly cosmopolitan cities that have been considerably westernized and occupied by numerous European expatriates. Yet, they are still places with no open liquor stores, most restaurants don’t serve alcohol, and there certainly aren’t any brewing operations.

This apparent isolation can be initially disconcerting. When you’re in Abu Dhabi and you’re tired of mixing duty-free gin cocktails in your hotel room or paying 30 dirhams for a shitty cocktail at an expensive hotel bar that’s a 20 minute taxi ride from where you’re staying, you’re tempted not to follow the maxim of “when in Rome…,” you go find whatever the hell you can. In Abu Dhabi, these days, there are two good choices: the relatively venerable Brauhaus for a select few German beers or the newly minted extension of the Dubai-first Belgian Cafe, which to me is the winner (based partially on style preference). This new establishment offers a surprising selection for someplace so far from good beer. The bottles are deeper than the drafts, the prices are reasonable for the amounts you get, and the food is sub-par (who puts a whole mess of celery in Mussels a Provence?). Bottom line: a nice place that serves Belgian Beer in a part of the world where you’re not going to find it anywhere else. For a beer geek in the Emirates, it’s a dream come true.

When you’ve been out in the desert (either real or zymugically metaphorical), some beverages are quenching and some are not. Abu Dhabi offers plenty of non-alcohol thirst slakers, such as deliciously fresh juices and crisp minted lemonade. In terms of more potent quaffables, it took a week of sipping gin and bitter lemon cocktails for me to truly realize how unsatisfying a mixed drink can be. The flip side is that beer (and beer with food) becomes this deeply refreshing and satisfying experience. The trip to the Belgian Cafe at the end of my first of two weeks became a special moment of appreciating something I take so incredibly for-granted in the states. Of the course of the meal, it became apparent that, to me, beer offers a deeper level of satiation than any other alcoholic beverage I know. While it doesn’t necessarily take a trip half-way across the world to realize this, it did take some time away from the craft beer world to remember how lucky I am to be a craft beer drinker in a place where the tap flows freely.

A few months ago, I was browsing through the “Best Beers by Style” on RateBeer, looking at examples I enjoy. Perusing the Belgian styles, I noticed that there were easily a dozen or so readily available, highly rated examples of Abbey Dubbel that I had not tried. Studying the list further, I was sure I could get about eight at my local store, and with a little more hunting track down a few more. After purchasing the first few, I thought, “I should rate these blind.”And so I did.

At first, I wrapped them tightly in paper bags and masking tape. My fiancée saw this desperate effort to conceal the identity of the beers and offered to pour them for me, since she thought that I would probably remember which paper bags held certain beers. I could not refuse, as my goal was utmost objectivity. Granted, no blind tastings are completely objective. I knew every one of 12 beers was in the sample set. I’d tasted some of them before. My palate was subject to the whims of what I’d eaten that day, the condition of my sinuses, my mood, and probably atmospheric pressure. That being said, blind sampling in this matter likely eliminates a large portion of the bias associated with rating beers (~70%). Furthermore, the results seem to indicate that I really had no idea what I was drinking.

This is how it went. Over the course of a week, I drank the beers. Two nights I had only one example, the rest of the evenings two examples. I drank them from a tall pilsner glass, so that my pourer could provide a single full pour, with good head formation and plenty of glass space for aroma gathering. They were all at cellar temperature (~55F) and they were all approximately 330mL bottles. I used the RateBeer rating scale and offered a first and second guess for each sample. The results are provided below, ranked from top to bottom. Discussion follows. To view the full notes, please visit my ratings page

I’m not going to provide a bunch of stats, because this was a relatively small sample. However, one can notice that the average is about 3.6, with a majority of the ratings falling with 0.1 of the mean.

Probably the most shocking and surprising result, is the remarkably low score given to the Rochefort 6. I had high expectations for this beer all along. However, it was easily the worst sample in the batch. It tasted like overly sweet unfermented dark liquid malt extract with raw fridge-stale East Kent Golding pellet hops slobbered all over it. The top two examples are not particularly surprising. Both Westmalle and La Trappe are wonderful trappist breweries that make a stunning line of great Belgian beers. The same could be said for Chimay, but somehow this personal favorite of mine fell in with the rest of the lot. The Westmalle was slightly anomalous to me, because it was notably hoppy, a character I enjoyed considerably, but thought slightly off-style.

The two American breweries came out in the middle of the pack, which shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, since both of them specialize in Belgian-style beers. I would imagine that if I had included, say, Blue Moon Full Moon Winter Ale, the Americans would have fared differently. Remember, I was sticking to top examples.

Along with the ratings came guesses for each sample, a first guess and a second guess. I was zero for 24, sufficient evidence to suggest that this was a respectably blind tasting. However, one strong bias remained, a potential issue for all blind tastings: bottle condition. A couple of samples (La Binchoise and Urthel) were noticeably and significantly oxidized (purchasers of Zeno’s Pub bottles beware!). This certainly had an impact on my rating, yet was something beyond the control of my experiment design.

The final line-up, in order, after they were revealed to me.

Overall, rating in this way was an incredibly rewarding experience. I became intimately familiar with a particular style of beer with which I’d had limited experience (only 13 rates of the style before this event). I had the opportunity to put my palate, my nose, and my pen to the test on evaluating a particular style of beer. But most of all, I got to wash away the impact of expectation, prior knowledge, and predilection and examine each beer as objectively as may be possible. With this information under my belt, the next time I want a stunning Abbey Dubbel, I will be more likely to reach for a La Trappe or a Westmalle.

Finally, I want to encourage everyone to give a blind tasting like this a try. Round up a dozen samples, cajole your closest confidant into pouring beers anonymously for you, and see what happens, without any pre-conceived notions of how you think the beers will taste. You may turn your conceptualization of those beers on its head.

I’m going to go ahead, jump on the bandwagon, flip Stan’s bad attitude about beer lists a bird, and write my own. Wanting to make a list that would capture the essence of the year in beer, I focused on what I experienced firsthand, what was newly released this year, and what was especially good. I whittled the list down to five exceptional new beers of 2009; beers released for the first time this year that I believe are worthy of attention. This list is definitely bent towards my particular interests and tastes, which lean belgian, smoked, and oddball. My tastes have proven to be a bit left of center, a fact that I enjoy, but a fact that may drive this list in a way that others may not agree with. That’s okay, it’s my list, not theirs.

Obviously, there is a geographic bias to this list, as I spent most of the year in the Midwest, Mid-Atlantic, and New England this year. I tried to produce a list of beers that are at least somewhat distributed or findable (thus, excluding brewpub tap-only one-offs). While some breweries (i.e. Bullfrog) were prolific in new beers this year, I chose only one example from each brewery for optimal diversity. Finally, there is no particular order. Enjoy!

Pretty Things Jack D’or

Dann Paquette has grabbed a lot of attention this year, by creating really solid Belgian ales through the Mikkeller method (borrowing other breweries). The concept of blending yeasts is not a new one, but it scarcely produces noticeable results (in my opinion). Here, three strains are used to produce a wonderfully complex Saison that’s both summer-thirst-slaking and introspective. Leaving the spices at the door also helps this example of Belgian farmhouse ale stand above other American interpretations. On top of all that, the artwork and cap labels add an additional level of whimsical flavor to the package.

Harpoon Leviathan Big Bohemian Pilsner

Granted, I’ve never given Harpoon much credit. I think my interest in exploring their lineup vanished a few years back when I got a mouthful of nutmeg-flavored soap from a bottle of their Winter Warmer. That being said, I’m really excited by the Leviathan series. They’ve smartly chosen some “extreme” styles and done a nice job with most of them. I think the Bohemian Pils stands out amongst the others because so few American craft breweries do lagers well, let alone BIG lagers. This is just a fun, crisp, bold beer with a lot of bright hop and malt flavor and plenty of added intensity from the alcohol.

New Glarus R & D Golden Ale

A summer visit to the new facility in New Glarus cemented my love affair with this brewery. Some suggested I “get a room” when I met this beer for the first time. There was some expectation that the first R&D beer would be a lambic, so folks (including myself) were a bit surprised that the first was an Orval-like belgian golden ale. Nonetheless, when I had my first bottle, fresh and days from the brewery, it was a winner, with a spicy Brettanomyces profile and nice, deep malt character to compliment. Even the label is a cellaring geek’s wet dream. Wild beers are rare from New Glarus and sometimes contentious (remember good ole’ filtered Enigma?) with mixed opinions from beer raters. This one is no exception, it seems to be a love or hate beer. I love it. P.S.

Bullfrog French Kiss

Bullfrog blew up this year, following an award-winning GABF session late last year and a whole slew of special sour ale bottle releases this year. While many might have expected me to pick the much-adored Frambozen or even the iconoclastic Liquid Sunshine Reserva, I’m going with a beer that had more bottles, but less attention. This biere de garde was wonderful on draft, holding a deep cellar character and some fun cave-like cheese rind notes. In the bottle, it was an apple-delight, backed with plenty of yeast spice. Again, another contended beer, with some loving and some hating. I think it’s one of the better examples brewed in the states (Haverhill’s La Dame de Peronne was a very close second for this list) and worth giving a try.

New Holland Charkoota Rye

If you’ve tried at least two of the Aecht Schenkerla rauchbiers and still aren’t able to call yourself a smoked beer fan, than this beer probably won’t do it either. It’s nearly as intense as the german predecessors, but with an extra level of complexity, uniqueness and character. The cherrywood smoke is distinct and the pairing with rye makes this beer extra zesty. When I finished my rate of this beer, I was left somewhat uncertain as to my overall impression, dwelling on an ethereal stinging quality to the smoke. But, in the end, the overall individuality of the beer was transcendent enough to warrant including it on this list. Oh, and it made my pee smell strongly of smoke the next morning.

Buddhist, thinker, and activist Thich Nhat Hanh once wrote, “The existence of this page is dependent on the existence of a cloud.” He was referring to the grand inter-connectedness of the universe, describing how a sheet of paper is made up of many non-paper elements, because paper depends on rain falling on trees, trees that are harvested by loggers, to be made into paper by workers at a paper mill, which is printed on by bookmakers. Similarly, the craft beer we enjoy so much is made up of many non-beer elements. Rain falls on barley and hops, which are harvested, processed, transported and eventually used for brewing the beer you’re drinking right now. Along the way, much land and many lives made that beer possible.

This time of year, it’s common to pause, give thanks for the great bounty we enjoy, and relish in rare quiet moments with friends and loved ones. Often, in giving thanks, we show our appreciation for the things we are fortunate to have, but often neglect to consider what was required for us to have them. Stopping for a moment to consider the lives, miles, and acres behind each and every beer we drink can make us more mindful, appreciative, and worldly beer drinkers, as opposed to sometimes needy, zealous, and consumptive hobbyists we …

Drinking Ithaca Excelsior! Alphalpha last night brought this idea to mind. The ingredients and their origins were right there, blazed across the front of the bottle for me to ponder and mull, while I savored the supple beverage. Many beers neglect to give reference to where their ingredients come from, or how they’re harvested. This can be due to the fact that it’s not relevant, the brewer isn’t doing anything special, or because you don’t want to know (i.e. macro swill). In the case of Alphalpha, the origin of the beer’s ingredients really brought the story of the beer to life, because instead of just listing barley, honey, hops, water, and yeast, the brewer’s gave provenance to each element. The label reads: “A Hoppy Upstate Ale brewed with Barley Malt, New York State Grown Cascade Hops, Local Alfalfa Honey, Pure Cayuga Lake Water and American Yeast.” The only ingredient they neglected to finger the locale of was the barley, because as I note in my last post, it probably came from Idaho and was malted in Wisconsin. Consider, for a moment, the non-beer elements of the other four ingredients.

Hops are largely grown in the Pacific Northwest and Europe, so it’s notable to see a local hop used as the primary hop in a beer from New York. In the nascent days of pre-prohibition American brewing, upstate New York was a hop-growing hot bed, before disease impacted harvest and prohibition affected demand. Bringing this idea forward in time, it’s possible to mentally place yourself in one of upstate New York’s current hop fields, amongst the Finger Lakes, between land dotted with vineyards and farms. The hop contract may have been specifically sought out by the brewer, hoping to establish a source of local hops and playing to the locally-conscious, crunchy Ithaca crowd.

The use of honey in beer can be traced back to the early history of modern beer brewing, when everything was local, including the malted barley. Here, honey is used to, again, impart a sense of local community. Bees found pollen in fields of Alfalfa, which in turn will be grazed upon by cows or sheep, either as pasture or hay, and those livestock will eventually harvested, either as milk or meat. Many people are involved in this chain, from the farmer who planted the alfalfa, to the ranchers who fed their animals alfalfa, to the beekeepers who tended the hives, harvested, and processed the honey. The essential connection is that all of them relied on the land, over which flows rainwater, eventually bound for Cayuga Lake.

Water is the largest component of beer. Wisely and proudly, Ithaca highlights “Pure Cayuga Lake water” on their label. The Finger Lakes of New York are quite deep, very clear, clean lakes, originally formed as the result of the last glacial period. The quality of water in the Finger Lakes is a matter of pride in that region. Keeping the nearby land healthy is necessary to keep the lakes healthy, so that they can continue to provide high quality drinking (brewing) water.

American yeast is the broadest of the ingredients listed with appellation. However, it’s probably the most historic one. This is American beer, not Belgian, not German, not British. It may be harder to imagine a chain of lives impacting yeast, but within those little organisms lies the essential history of brewing culture. Yeasts need to be cultivated, kept, used and reused. In some way, every batch of yeast used has descended from a yeast who has been involved in every past batch of beer ever made that used that strain of yeast. Continuing to use that particular strain of yeast is an act of keeping the brewing tradition alive.

The number of connections that these five simple ingredients have with the rest of our planet is infinite. And while it’s possible to get caught up in the mind-boggling number of possibilities, the simple point is that every beer is interconnected and dependent on a long series of other people and places. This year, I’m going to try and go beyond thankfulness for what I have. I’m going to try and be thankful for how I have what I have, to be thankful for healthy water, healthy land, my livelihood, and the livelihoods of others. In this way, it may be possible to appreciate a special occasion beer that much more.

The term “local beer” is a bit of a misnomer. “Locally-brewed” is a more accurate appellation. This is largely due to the fact that almost no brewers produce or source their ingredients locally, except for one, water. “Hop harvest” beers using locally-grown hops have become more popular recently, but the total percentage of a year’s hop use by a brewery is from hops grown in the western US or on another continent. Regardless, hops don’t weigh much, many beers don’t use that many hops, and their overall composition of a beer is very small. However, unlike wine makers, who often grow their own grapes, or cider makers, who often grow their own apples or pears, brewers rarely grown their own grains, the essential fermentable in beer. Barley is ubiquitous to almost all beer styles (some wheat beers use only wheat), it is bulky, and rarely, if ever grown locally.

While there are certainly a number of small operations growing their own barley and hops, few are well known. Recently, a PhD student in South Carolina (blog) set out to grow his own hops and barely to produce a completely local beer, as a proof of concept. However, on the production scale, with their Chico Estate Harvest Ale, Sierra Nevada may be one of the only breweries in the US to produce a beer with ingredients produced entirely on-premise. The caveat: they had to ship their barley to Canada (via freight train) for malting to use in brewing.

Malting is the unspoken lynch-pin that prevents the prevalence of completely local beer. Even if a brewer can grow or source grain locally or regionally, it still has to be malted properly. While homebrewing guru Randy Mosher quips in Radical Brewing, that “in the old days they just threw a sack of barley in the creek, waited for it to sprout, and dried it over anything that burned,” that process isn’t going to produce high-quality, well-modified malts that yield good beer. A trained maltster is necessary, because there are varying degrees of quality in malted grain. For example, I personally know a number of homebrewers who favor Weyermann pilsner malt over that of other companies because they believe it is far superior. Unfortunately, skilled malting, such Weyermann’s, is not a common skill or practice.

The map below shows the major barley producing regions in the United States and the 12 (only!) malting facilities, which are largely near barley production areas or in Wisconsin and Minnesota (freight train centers coming out of the breadbasket). Keep in mind that Canada produces a considerable quantity of barely as well. In the U.S., it is plain to see that if a brewer sourced or produced barely in, say, Rhode Island, it would have to be shipped up into Canada (the nearest facility is in Montreal) or to Chicago for malting. After malting, it would have to be shipped back. That’s a lot of transportation miles and a rather large footprint.

Barley Production Regions & U.S. Malting Facilities

Unfortunately, the absence of this type of “middleman” is present throughout other sectors of our food system. USDA-approved meat packaging facilities are few and far between (four companies control 80% of the beef).  Many local food experts note that the lack of production, processing, and distribution facilities at the local and regional levels inhibits the growth of local food producers trying to find sources beyond farmer’s markets and CSAs. These systems are now trying to change this by establishing their own structures through cooperatives.

To take the next step in making craft beer more local, by establishing more malting facilities, brewer/grower cooperatives are a good place to start. In Wisconsin, a group of brewers have established one of the first. However, they are lucky, because Wisconsin is home a number of maltsters and to fertile grain-growing soils. There is a reason much of the barley in this country is produced in particular regions, the climate is amenable to large-scale, high-yield grain production. But for local brewpubs and microbreweries, the appeal of producing or sourcing grain locally for the sake of price stability, stabilization of supply fluctuations, low carbon footprint, and individual character is high despite the fact that they may not be situated in the breadbasket.

A critical mass of small brewers demanding local grain and local maltsters needs to be reached, in striving to establish new malting facilities. This will not happen overnight, as there are many obstacles to overcome. In the mean time, though, brewers can revel in one fact about the locality of their beer: 90% of the beer is unique to wherever they source their water. As many homebrewers and craft beer aficionados know, water profiles are critically unique to a number of classic beer styles. Brewers are smart to tout their water sources when acknowledging the individuality of their beer. And that’s something that sourcing distant grain will never take away from a brewery (until they are forced to source water distantly).

“The most radical thing you can do is to stay home.” – Gary Snyder

Snyder, a poet and environmental activist, adds needed reflection to my decision, yesterday, to stay home and not drive three hours to the Captain Lawrence Flaming Fury in Pleasantville, New York. I bucked the trend (both personal and global) of chasing rare beers, not capitalizing on an opportunity to purchase four 375ml bottles of peachy sour ale, which, by most early accounts, is not particularly stunning. Instead, I stayed home, slept in, ran errands, exercised, and enjoyed the sunshine on an unseasonably warm coastal Rhode Island day. I finished the evening with a bottle of 2006 Hanssens Oudbeitje from my existing stash and paired it with some buttered oysters on toast. It was beautiful and it was local.

One particular reason that I wanted to bring up this topic is that it’s strikingly easy for me to draw a direct parallel between chasing rare beers and chasing rare birds (another semi-fanatic hobby I avidly pursue). Birders chase rare birds in almost exactly the same way that beer geeks chase rare beers. There are few differences. Birders don’t pay directly for the end commodity (birds can’t be bought), they don’t drink it, and they certainly don’t get drunk on it (although some get rather heady on their successes). Beer geeks usually know weeks in advance when they’re going to make a run (rare birds, however, may show up at any moment), they don’t usually accumulate speeding tickets en route to their destination, and they don’t require thousands of dollars in optics and cameras to fully appreciate beer. When birders don’t get their bird, it’s called dipping. When beer geeks don’t get their beer, it’s called bullshit.

Oddly enough, both groups would probably consider the other crazy. Stereotypically cheap birders have a hard time imagining a six hour drive to pay for a beer (they can be rare?). Stereotypically sports-oriented, suburban beer geeks have a hard time imagining a six hour drive to see a bird (they can be rare?). But, when you boil it down, the acts are extremely similar. Both groups wait around (standing, walking, or riding in a car) in anticipation of a brief moment to appreciate a thing of beauty, something which they may never have another chance to see or buy. Both are accumulating commodities (birds on a checklist or beers in a cellar), both geek out in the process, both have to work around external schedules (daylight, family, work) and everyone takes lots of pictures when the moment finally arrives.

And yet, while making this analogy allows me to provide some insight into a strikingly similar behavior, I’m not out to chastise and chide those who would chase beers or birds. This talking-down happens unnecessarily enough in both communities. Doing so would be hypocritical of me, as I have done plenty of both in my life. Instead, I hope to put some perspective on doing the opposite of chasing, staying home and staying local, instead of getting in the car in anticipation of seeing or buying something rare and limited.

First, one of the great reasons to stay home is that plenty of beer can be had right where you are, in this moment. This is true for most. However, there are regions of the country where good beer can be hard to come by. Lately, though, those places are becoming fewer and farther between. With this in mind, there are two great ways to take advantage of what’s immediately available to you: open up your cellar or patronize your locals. If you’re like me, you’ve got more beer in your cellar than you could drink in a month. Unfortunately, a lot of cellared beer goes un-drunk before it gets too old and oxidized. Many of us have obscenely large cellars, where this is happening as we speak. Go drink something. Stop accumulating, start drinking. If your cellar is a little paltry, there’s almost certainly plenty nearby to savor. In my case, I could have gone to a local tasting at Wakefield Liquors, or driven an hour or so to Julio’s in Westborough, Massachusetts for a quite large tasting. I could have gone to Mew’s Tavern and savored a couple pints of a personal favorite, Brooklyn’s Sorachi Ace. I could have sampled Newport Storm beers with local seafood at home. While none of these may hold up to the perceived excitement of chasing rare beers, they are each resourceful, beautiful, and simple appreciations of local brewers and purveyors.

Second, there are obvious environmental impacts to chasing. I’m not going to detail reasons for why spewing less carbon is better for everyone (plenty of material exists), but I will say that that there’s a certain satisfaction in using less of the earth. Driving three hours one way to buy a bunch of beer doesn’t fit well with the goals of a simple lifestyle. It’s also becoming more expensive to drive. Hauling halfway across a state to buy a bunch of beer is going to cost you some gas money. Why not save it to spend on more local, independent beer, instead of contributing to an oil CEO’s bonus that will probably go towards ice-sculptures that pee vodka? Finally, those six hours whiling away in a car could have been spent doing more productive things, like homebrewing, exercising, or spending valuable time with loved ones. The list of social and environmental support for not driving six hours for anything could go on and on.

Third, there is something to be said for letting local scenes be and to let locals revel in them, instead of introducing havoc. Fervor often develops when masses of beer geeks descend from across the country on a single brewer. And while the brewer may appreciate the attention, negative consequences have occurred. Notable examples include Dark Lord Day and all of its infamous behaviors, the unwanted pressure on the monks at Westvleteren, and local patrons of Bullfrog Brewery missing out on Frambozen because a bunch of greedy out-of-towners drove in, got in line at 7am, and each bought an entire case out of a twenty case production (such as myself, although I lived only an hour away). I’m not saying that beer tourism is a bad idea. I think that done right, it’s a simple, paced way to enjoy other cultures. What can be damaging is the frothy overexcitement that beer geeks often bring to a limited release. And in some ways, this demand for the best and rarest beers from every corner of the world is a form of globalization, a phenomenon that has been critiqued on many levels, including for doing damage to markets. Having beer geeks practically pee their pants to snatch up as many $30 bottles of beer has only made the craft beer market worse, driving up baseline prices on all craft beer and inflating the egos of some brewers to the point that they don’t have any problem repeatedly releasing $30 beers that are completely flat. In the end, this kind of behavior contributes to a decline in the quality of craft beer as a whole. It’s possible that staying home, staying calm, and giving locals persistent, metered patronage will keep them afloat, inject stability into the beer market, and allow you to develop a bond with down-to-earth folks, as opposed to making rock stars out of profiteers.

In the end, however, the decision to stay home or to get in the car, on the train, or in a plane, and pursue the next big beer is left up to the individual beer drinker. I understand the desire to be there on the cusp of the action, waiting in line, securing a special quarry of rare beers that hold value, trade well, and elicit attention and excitement from fellow beer geeks. It can be exciting, fun, and interesting. But, it can also be really rewarding to stay home open something in the cellar, enjoy what’s available to you in this moment, go easy on the earth, and let local scenes foster their own, patiently deserved appreciation.

The Monday of the week I packed up and left Pennsylvania, I went out with friends to Otto’s Brewery, for one last round of local brewpub beers. I savored their hoppy selections, some of Charlie Schnable’s better work, moving from the Belgian IPA (Tripel D), to the Slab Cabin IPA (a toned-down version of their Double D IPA for these hop-hard times), and the cask-served british-style Arthur’s IPA. All were excellent, the company was pleasant, and I enjoyed my last locally-raised, grass-fed beef burger and fries with world-class beer. Living so close to a brewpub producing such a fine range of beers and offering local foods was a real blessing during the past two years of my life. A day later, I swung by Zeno’s Pub for one last pint (a Barrel-aged Zeno’s Rye Ale – an Otto’s contract brew) in the familiar, basement setting of a world class beer bar that at times was only mere blocks from my apartment. In State College, I was beer rich and very grateful to have access to both local creativity and imported world influence. It will be something that I miss as I settle into my new life in Rhode Island.

While my new digs in the Ocean State lack an Otto’s-type brewpub within a reasonable distance (the nearest is Coddington and let’s just say it’s less than exciting), Rhode Island does offer a variety of other beer-related pleasures. The first of these is freedom from Pennsylvania’s stifling beer distribution laws and regulations. Wakefield (my nearest town center) offers both a fine beer store (Wakefield Liquor) and a beer bar with a decent selection (Mew’s Tavern – no Zeno’s, however). The beer store has a selection of singles affordably priced (gasp!) and a really diverse selection of local, regional, and imported beers. Second, Rhode Island affords one a close proximity to surrounding beer scenes much easier than does the middle of Pennsylvania. The fact that I’m writing this while I ride the commuter rail from into Boston from Providence for a one-day adventure in a large city is ample evidence. The two-to-three hours of driving from State College to either Pittsburgh or Philadelphia can’t compete with a one-hour train ride.

Beyond logistical affordances or the comforts of particular brewpubs, brewers, and their styles, the regions offer something different in terms of the attitude and cultural appreciation directed at beer. The differences are nuanced and will likely further reveal themselves in more detail as I spend more time in New England, but some initial impressions are worthy of examination. To me, craft beer culture in Pennsylvania gets frothy. There’s a lot of fervor around new releases (Troegs, Bullfrog, etc.) and many beer geeks travel throughout the state’s diverse culture of brewers to sample exciting new renditions, sharing that appreciation with other craft beer drinkers through websites like RateBeer, blogs, and twitter. In some ways, it’s as if there’s not really anything else for a craft beer aficionado to do in their spare time.

Here, in the parts of New England I’ve engaged so far, beer feels more like a necessary accessory to the wonderful array of activities this rich part of the country offers. With perceptibly less hype, expectation, and ego, craft beer just is, if you want it to be. I’ve already seen more beer bars and brewpubs (!) sling light commercial lagers to appeal to those who might not be interested in something heftier, even if it is made on the premise. This is not an attitude shared in many parts of Pennsylvania, where those who go into a brewpub and ask for Bud Light might be more likely to get a friendly lecture about craft beer, not a napkin and a longneck.

At the same time, the craft beer audience seems more diverse, everyday, and harder to typify. During a recent visit to the Track 84 beer bar in Warwick, I was pleasantly surprised to see an everyday range of folks getting excited about a decent, yet simple, selection of Belgian styles, with minimal pretention, and none of the obsessively deep knowledge that many craft beer geeks following up-to-date brewing scenes tend to cultivate. They were just digging the diversity that was on tap at their local beer bar. The New England beer scene doesn’t strike me as one that’s overly dominated by hipsters and yuppies, just people. You drink beer, it’s probably local, and you don’t make a fuss about it. While this might bother some, it’s something that I can settle into. A fine example of this is the classic lobster and clam bake that so many New Englanders (and others) enjoy. It’s a time-honored tradition of fresh local seafood and it’s perfectly paired with a tall pour of whatever local beer you can find on an early fall evening.

A classic New England feast, paired with Saison.

Out on the porch, enjoying a cool snifter of homebrewed Saison on a hot summer day.

I’ve already had two beers, I’m ready for the broom

- Bob Dylan & The Band

[Welcome to Ready for the Broom, a unique, on-the-street view of the craft beer movement, as seen through my eyes. In this first article, I hope to give you a sense of my perspective and what to look forward to in this blog. I’ll do my best to write weekly.]

Craft beer is a necessary beast. As a society of drinkers, we’re inching ever closer to the watershed moment when quality, independent beer usurps the dominant watered-down, chemically-enhanced corn froth. More importantly, though, this fast-growing and incredible craft beer culture needs to be further developed, so that we can share it with others. The craft beer movement appreciates quality, craftsmanship, and integrity, with brewers that are experimenters, tinkerers, environmentalists, avant gardists, and those who just plain make damn good beer without frills. This is not a culture of false image, unnecessary pretense, marketing, excess profit and ostentatious wealth. That’s why it’s important that we keep craft beer real and alive, because it’s honest and timeless.

Craft beer is adored, but it’s also fetishized, subject to the various depravities and bent obsessions connoisseurs direct at wine, scotch, cheese, tea, chocolate, or whatever else can be commodified. We have elitism, snobbery, class and race issues, greediness, and a lot of geeks who get bent out of shape about a lot of not much. I know, I’ve been there, and I’m guilty. However, craft beer aficionados can be some of the most generous, excitable, and appreciative people out there. We can’t let the loud voices of a few obsessives become too much a part of this movement’s zeitgeist. Craft beer is too important for that; it must transcend. Aside from craft beer’s inherent value in fighting the big guys, it’s an important part of a larger swing from the rabid consumption of over-marketed brands to the simple enjoyment of real products, made by individuals, who have the freedom to express their creativity and individuality.

I’m particularly excited about the creativity of craft brewers and find a lot of satisfaction in the simple pleasure that comes with enjoying quality beer. The craft brewing world contains a whole universe of potential, individuality, and uniqueness. Brewers are constantly developing new beers, pushing the envelope with new ingredients, techniques, and styles. Some results are amazing, while others are undrinkable. Regardless, this creativity injects a lot of excitement and energy into the movement and that’s a big part of what makes it fun. At the same time, craft brewers have followed in tradition’s footsteps and produced an astounding array of quality beers that are meant for simple enjoyment and satisfaction. These beers need not be subjected to quibbling over rating scales, price units, or rarity. They’re just meant to be beautiful, abundant, and enjoyed by everyone. This has influenced me as a beer drinker, inspiring me to slow down and appreciate each beer, having reverence for the process, skill, and insight that went into the beer.

With this blog, I hope to offer some wisdom, insight, experiences, and enthusiasm into the craft beer movement that comes from a place of appreciating creativity, slow and simple enjoyment, and reverence for the project. This might be done by drawing from and making parallels to similar connoisseur cultures, including, but not limited to: tea, cheese, slow food, and birding – other passions of mine. At times, my perspective may also be influenced by elements of eastern philosophy, mindfulness, and sensory experiences that can help carve ourselves out as individual, appreciative, and worldly craft beer revelers. Specifically, I find the following topic particularly engaging: Saison, American Sour Ale brewing, the New England craft beer scene (moving to Rhode Island shortly), organic and sustainable practices, cellar management, and tastings.

At the same time, I will do my best to steer away from unjustified rants, broad generalizations, and ruthless attacks. Many aspects of craft beer culture are loveable, while others are loathsome. There may be times when I speak out against the latter. Further, I will strive not to bore readers by posting extended versions of my Ratebeer ratings, my photos of beer, news about upcoming releases, and my everyday life. There are plenty of places to find that information online, including twitter.com/rbCharlesDarwin, leaving this blog as a sanctum for insight, introspection, and creative thinking about the craft beer movement. I’m particularly excited about participating in a community blog and look forward to engaging with readers and other writers.