Is Beer Vegan?

The question was recently raised about whether or not craft beer (or beer in general) can be considered vegan. As people become more conscious about what they eat and where their food comes from, and especially as organic claims and certification more often than not blur the lines of truth and nutrition, this can be a genuine concern to those on restricted diets.

First of all, all beer is clearly a vegetarian foodstuff. Vegetarianism is the abstaining from eating the flesh of all animals, and no meat products are ever used in any brewing process of any kind. (Medieval recipes exist for variations on a rather unappealing brewed beverage known as cock ale, but that is a topic for another day.)

However, modern veganism is much more restrictive than a traditional vegetarian diet. As defined by the American Vegan Society, “[t]he vegan diet excludes flesh, fish, fowl, dairy products (animal milk, butter, cheese, yogurt, etc.), eggs, honey, animal gelatin, and all other foods of animal origin.” This means avoiding not only animal flesh but all animal byproducts and derivatives.

From simply an ingredient standpoint, most beer can be considered wholly vegan. Even the most adventurous craft beers include nothing but malted grains, hops, water, fruit or spice additions, and yeast. (Any beer containing honey obviously cannot be considered vegan.) Yeast itself is classified as a fungus, so although it is an independent microorganism it should offer no objection as mushrooms and tofu are acceptable to the vegan diet.

The point at which some beers may garner the disapproval of vegans lies in the various methods used for clarification of the beverage. Many craft brewers prefer to leave their beers unfiltered as it can enhance body and flavor, so these should offer no objection whatsoever. But an additional clarification step at the end of the brewing process can be problematic, depending on the method used.

One popular method of clarifying beer is the addition of finings near the end of the brewing process. Finings are materials that function as flocculation points for yeast in suspension to collect and eventually sink to the bottom under their own weight, where they can be easily removed in bulk. Even though very little of the fining material remains in the finished product, this practice is enough to render the beer non-vegan if animal byproducts are used.

Specifically, at one time brewers used a material known as isinglass as a fining material. Isinglass is a collagen product obtained from the swim bladders of sturgeon, and it has a few other cooking applications in confectionery and dessert-making. However, many modern brewers are abandoning the use of isinglass in industrial brewing—not over vegan objections but simply due to the expense, as the material has become quite costly.

Another fining material very popular with homebrewers is known as Irish moss. Irish moss is a red algae containing carrageenan that looks much like any other herb when dried, and is of course wholly vegan. Other fining substances such as gelatin from fats, casein from cheesemaking or albumen from chicken eggs are so rarely used any more they are virtually nonexistent within the modern commercial brewing industry.

Most clarification processes used today do not involve added finings at all but instead rely upon physical filtration methods. The beer flows through either a very fine-grade industrial microporous screen or, more commonly, diatomaceous earth. Diatomaceous earth is a chalk-like mineral product formed from the fossilized remains of diatoms, or phytoplankton with a calcareous skeleton. It is cheap, easy to replace and recycle, and is the preferred method of filtration for many craft brewers today.

Of course, nothing beats first-hand information. Virtually all American craft beer on the market today is wholly compliant with the vegan philosophy, but if you are still concerned talk to the brewer directly. Most would be happy to explain their process to you and rather flattered that you showed such a detailed interest in their profession.

Contract Brewing

At their initial stages, some brewers do not have the necessary funds to establish, staff and open a fully functioning craft brewery. Other brewers, having established themselves in the market for years, can have excess capacity or at least equipment that is idle to some degree. The solution? Contract brewing.

The concept of contract brewing—literally, brewing under contract—is similar to outsourcing any other skill or trade. An outside client pays to have their products brewed by a traditional brewery that has the free capacity for hire, or at least is looking for another stream of revenue. Sometimes these may be special projects with single batches, and other times this is de rigueur for a virtual brewery.

As a practice, contract brewing spans the spectrum of both operations and opinions. Some companies called beer marketing companies are not breweries at all but contract out all their brewing operations. They have no formal corporate facilities beyond an office, if that, but present themselves as a traditional brewery like any other. Examples of these marketing companies are Pete’s Wicked and Pabst Brewing; there are no longer any physical breweries for these companies.

For many brewers, contract brewing is a means to establish a brand and actually generate revenue before embarking on a fundraising and building program for a new brewery. With a larger brewery handling the brewing labor as a fee service, the brewery-to-be can better test the market and attract investors before committing hundreds of thousands of dollars to a new building or renovation program.

For some brewers, it is simply a logistical necessity. Hawaii’s Kona Brewing finds it more cost-effective to contract their U.S. beers on the West Coast rather than ship everything produced from the islands. For others, it is a legal requirement: Due to a hindrance of Texas state law, Houston’s Saint Arnold Brewing brews all the beers for the Texas locations of California’s brewpub chain BJ’s Restaurant & Brewhouse.

However, contract brewing has caught somewhat of a negative connotation with craft beer consumers. For many, it is seen as cheating because there is no physical brewery behind the name, or that the beers may as well be considered products of the contracted brewer. This negative aspect may be a result of the practice being abused by the national corporate breweries, who often create virtual companies as a means of marketing while actively hiding a connection to their own house brands. For example, Blue Moon Brewing is a Coors company, the same way Green Valley Brewing (makers of a line of certified organic beers) is an Anheuser-Busch company.

Contract brewing arrangements should be judged by the consumer on a case by case basis. Some brewers (Stampede Brewing) have little to no brewing expertise, and even less interest in ever establishing an independent facility. Others (BJ’s Restaurant & Brewhouse) have professional brewers at the national level who actually office at the contracted brewery, and are as hands-on with their products as any other employee. It may be a shortcut, but contract brewing is not always a lesser status for a brewer.

Texas Brewers Parity Amendment

It is illegal for breweries in Texas to sell you beer.

Let me state that once again: It is prohibited by current Texas law for a brewer (large or small) to sell beer directly to the public. If you take a tour of one of our state’s microbreweries, you can sample their beers for free and buy as many branded tee-shirts or pint glasses as you like, but you cannot purchase a single bottle. The one product they make, they are not allowed to sell.

In a relic left over from Prohibition known as the three-tier model, breweries are only allowed to sell to distributors, and distributors are only allowed to sell to retailers (bars, stores, restaurants, clubs). The original purpose of the three-tier system was a sort of monopoly-buster, a system of checks and balances to keep any portion of the brewing industry from having too much power.

Unfortunately, the three-tier model does not work. Over time, the parties involved have shifted, with major commercial brewers spawning their own distribution networks (legally separate on paper) that today hold almost total sway over the retail market. Large breweries have constructed the distributors to be largely dependent upon them and them alone, radically skewing the balance originally intended.

Some U.S. states have subsequently modified or eliminated laws surrounding this post-Prohibition thinking. But unlike many other states with blooming brewing industries, the brewer in Texas is still restricted from selling directly to the consuming public. The only legal means of selling beer in Texas is at the mercy of a distributor, but a bill currently before the State House wants to change that.

The Texas Brewers Parity Amendment, or formally HB 1062, was introduced in February by Tarrant County Representative Lon Burnam. (A similar version was also introduced into the State Senate, SB 754, and another compromise bill, HB 2094, followed that one.) What it asks for is rather modest: Brewers “may sell ale… manufactured or bottled on the permitted premises to ultimate consumers… in unbroken packages for off-premises consumption in an amount that does not exceed 35,000 gallons annually.”

Similar legislation has been attempted in the past but has always been defeated. Two years ago, Saint Arnold’s Brock Wagner spearheaded a comparable bill that never saw the House floor. Strong opposition is generally raised by distributors and retailers, who fear direct sales will only cut into their bottom line as people go straight to the source for the sale.

But these fears are unfounded and paranoid. Consumers are unlikely to forgo more convenient retail outlets to patronize a brewery only open a few hours each week. Our nine Texas microbreweries are located so far apart that business “stolen” from distributors will hardly be measurable. No one is driving from Dallas to Houston just to buy a beer they can get at the local supermarket.

And counter to any arguments against this compromise is the real-life example of wine. Winemakers won the same rights several years ago for wine sales on-site at vineyards (Texas alcohol laws are annoyingly specific to the type of alcohol they cover) with no impact on anyone’s sales. In fact, many winemakers claim an increase in sales because of the change.

Visitors on a brewery tour usually want something to take home with them. Being able to purchase a six pack will only generate more business for distributors and retailers, as the beer tourist is converted into a beer consumer. Customers will return to the nearest store for more beer instead of returning to the brewery each time.

What can we do? If you live in Texas, contact your state representative and your state senator and express your support for our local Texas microbrewers and for this legislation.

Cask Ale

Consumers are quite familiar with the common serving methods for beer, both mass-produced and craft. Beer may be served either from a large keg via a tap in the wall or it may be put into smaller containers, either colored glass bottles or aluminum cans. But most consumers in the United States are woefully unaware of a third, unique style of service that gives rise to a world of different treatments: cask ale.

A cask is nothing more than a small traditional wooden storage vessel, still used today for aging whiskey and other spirits. Taking its name from the historical container, cask ales are more accurately described as cask-conditioned ales and very often as real ales, as their methods are steeped in tradition long eschewed by modern commercial breweries. The beers are fermented and then packaged into the cask (although the process can use modern metal kegs as well), at which time a small dose of yeast is added before it is sealed.

The resulting beer is a naturally fermented, unpasteurized ale that has striking differences to the same brand available in bottles, cans or kegs. Cask ale is actually “unfinished” beer, as the late dose of yeast provides a natural and ongoing late fermentation and the lack of pasteurization means the ale is still “alive.” Yes, with cask ale you will most likely be drinking what few living yeast cells are left, depending on the age of the cask—and this is just fine.

What should you expect from a cask serving? First, the beer is not propelled through the lines using gas pressure on the keg, as most taps are served (a blend of carbon dioxide and nitrogen aptly named beer gas). The beer must be laboriously hand-pumped using what is known as a beer engine, a simple mechanical piston with a thick handle used to draw the beer from the cask that is the historical and traditional method that beers have been served.

Other differences arise from the nature of the late fermentation of the product. The beer is generally served at “cellar temperature,” or a temperature slightly cooler than ambient and closer to that found in underground cellars used for aging. The beer is also left unfiltered, so a glass of cask ale may be cloudy and turbid. Keep in mind that nothing is wrong with this style of service; a cool (neither warm nor ice-cold) and hazy pint of beer is normal for cask ales.

What you taste is something fuller, richer, softer and more subtle than the same product poured from a wall tap. The beer is naturally carbonated by the remaining yeast instead of force-carbonated by gas pressure, so the mouthfeel is generally softer and less effervescent. Because it is unfiltered and unpasteurized, different delicate flavors are present that are tied to the yeast and other compounds usually removed by sterile filters and heat.

The tradeoff with a dramatic rise in the quality of flavor in cask service is a great reduction in shelf-life. In this sense, cask ale has much in common with freshly baked bread or fruits and vegetables. Pasteurization is a preservative measure, and the lifetime of a cask of beer is generally listed in terms of days or a couple of weeks. Left in the cask too long, the beer can sour through the continued action of the live yeast and other microorganisms.

Tragically, cask ale is a rare species as its short shelf-life and unfamiliar qualities are frowned upon by mass consumers and profit-driven retailers. Long enjoyed as the standard product in the United Kingdom, organizations such as the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) work hard to keep cask ale alive and popular. If you see such a device in the States, enjoy it for the rarity it is here.

Don't Be a Ticker

The term railfan or railway enthusiast is used to describe an amateur hobbyist interested in commercial and industrial rail transport. These fans indulge their passion for trains by rail travel, building websites and gathering in groups with like-minded train buffs. They read books, write books, collect photos and other material related to rail engines and transit systems around the world.

Some individuals are derisively called trainspotters (a British term) by other enthusiastic railfans. These trainspotters have morphed their hobby into an obsession, and are usually regarded with contempt by other members of the practice. Trainspotters are more concerned with the competition than the content, taking great efforts to “spot” each and every type of train without a care or appreciation for the subject that other railfans feel they should.

The American craft beer scene has given birth to their own version of trainspotters. Called tickers for their penchant to tick beers off a largely arbitrary list, these obsessive fans of beer often care more about their lists and acquisitions than about the product itself. They live in a constant state of competition, always striving to be the first to try a new beer and then post a review of it online for all to see.

Sometimes, tickers blend into a crowd but often they are not difficult to identify. At beer festivals or at any social gathering where craft beer is served, some can be seen with heads down, writing in notebooks, photographing labels or even collecting empty bottles to take home. Many have advanced from pen and paper to laptop computers or PDAs. Interactions with the general group at large are limited.

Tickers are also noted for writing full and detailed reviews of beers from the smallest of samples. Gatherings are specifically planned for new and rare beers, and bottles are passed around so that every person can taste just a few ounces of a new beer. These activities are only fueled by online rating websites like Rate Beer and Beer Advocate and their competitive point systems.

Addressing this last point first, many believe that a craft beer cannot be adequately judged short of a full serving, or without an adequate volume to consume. Some beers change their nature through the course of a full glass, and some mature for both good and ill as they warm. An otherwise tasty sip may turn cloying with a full serving, or an off-putting sourness may turn pleasant after just a few ounces. Many flavor elements may not be immediately apparent or detectable with only a brief sample.

Craft beer is an inherently social beverage, and it should be treated as such. It is to be shared and enjoyed among comrades, exchanging opinions about the tastes and discoveries of the flavors. It is not meant to be consumed apart from the group but instead as part of the group. Conversation enhances the enjoyment and appreciation of craft beer, not ignoring others to scribble meaningless notes in a futile competition.

This is not to say that reviewing beer is bad, or these beer review websites are responsible for this behavior, or that small samples do not have their appropriate place. There is nothing wrong with jotting down a few tasting notes. However, our beerfan hobby should not turn into a mocked obsession, alienating other craft beer fans and reducing this pleasant drink to mere ticks on a list. We do not want this to be the image of craft beer taken away by those outside the subculture. Craft beer is meant to be savored, experienced, appreciated and shared.

Don’t be a ticker.

Someone Called Me “Brewmaster”

If prompted, I am happy to talk beer and brewing with most anyone. Many people are either fascinated with the method or amazed it can be done at home, and almost all are understandably ill-informed of the entire process and subculture that has developed. For that reason, I was caught a bit off-guard when during a recent conversation, someone said to me, "So, you’re a brewmaster, right?"

To the general public, brewmaster is a term that lies somewhere between kids' fantasy toys and overly enthusiastic hobbyists bordering on obsession. However, what this innocent layman actually committed was a rather minor faux pas by using that term incorrectly. Within the brewing community, especially within the professional and commercial realms, this honorific is reserved for a select few.

In Germany, a brewmaster (or rather Braumeister) is a formal title and job position. It reflects a professional brewer who has completed a university course of training for the Diplom-Braumeister, somewhat equivalent of a Bachelors of Science degree in brewing beer. Inspired individuals can even proceed to a Diplom-Ingenieur, something like a Masters of Science with a specialty in biotechnology/brewing science.

In the European world, calling someone a brewmaster or master brewer is a designation of respect. It means that they have mastered the art and science that is beermaking, and have the credentials to back it up. It implies not only a knowledge of brewing but also an advanced education in the chemistry and biology of those involved processes. Although not entirely uncommon, there are but a few schools that offer such programs in both Germany and the United States, and their popularity is growing.

Overall, finding such certified brewmasters in American craft brewing operations is not necessarily a given. Many owners of microbreweries do have a similar academic background, possibly having attended one of the domestic brewing programs such as the University of California, Davis or the Siebel Institute of Technology. Most are simply talented homebrewers who have turned professional, or have apprenticed at other craft breweries. However, few are certified brewmasters of the German tradition.

Because of this, it is much more common to find a head brewer in charge of a small brewery here in the States. There are several variations on this title—such as Head of Brewing Operations, Chief Brewer or simply Brewer—and all reflect more of a journeyman aspect to the profession on this side of the Atlantic. Being the upstart entrepreneurs that they are, some small brewers have adopted more playful titles, such as Chief Zymurgist.

Do homebrewers have any such titles or rankings? Not at all. Aside from being no more than a pastime, homebrewing is a much more egalitarian activity. Even award-winning, long-time homebrewers still make mistakes and are still learning about their devoted weekend diversion. There is much more camaraderie and less status among homebrewers, as the hobby lends itself to teaching and learning across both the novice and the expert.

Given that most American craft breweries are small operations at best, titles and positions are little more than words printed on a business card. With small profit margins and a lot of labor involved, most professional head brewers are as up to their armpits in muck as any volunteer or lowly trainee. What title should these professional brewers use? As more than one has personally told me, "Janitor."

As Near-Bear as Not-Beer Can Get

Another rising trend in the world of American craft beer stretches the definition of beer to its very limits. This is the appearance of gluten-free beers on shelves, beer made without the traditional malt or grain products. A relatively young and very narrow specialty product, these gluten-free beers are seeing a toe-hold in the American craft beer market.

Gluten is a sticky protein that develops from wheat and related grains such as rye, barley or oats. It is the same substance that gives bread or pizza dough its chewy mouthfeel. Unfortunately, sufferers of celiac disease have a condition in which their small intestine becomes inflamed in the presence of gluten, leading to a host of uncomfortable symptoms and nutritional disorders. Presently, no cure exists except a lifetime of a dedicated gluten-free diet.

An estimated 1 out of every 133 people in the United States suffers from celiac disease. This is enough to merit a commercial response, and the American craft brewing scene is as inventive as they come. However, it does pose a rather major problem for brewers as malted grains are the largest ingredient (besides water) used in making beer.

The leading malt alternative in brewing presently is sorghum, a grass commonly grown for animal feed. Sorghum lacks the protein that becomes gluten when worked but still has enough sugars and fiber to be used as a foodstuff. It is a major crop outside of the Western world, used for porridge, couscous and unleavened breads and cakes. Americans are probably most familiar with it as sorghum syrup or molasses, popular in the South as an analogue of the North’s maple syrup.

Of course, yeast love and need sugar, and are not so particular as to its origin, so sorghum makes them as happy as any grain. Individuals with celiac disease have no problem with hops, so that flavor ingredient presents no difficulties, and water is a neutral and flavorless component. Thus, the only real difference between regular craft beer and gluten-free beer is the grain bill. But what a difference that can make.

I have tried several commercial gluten-free beers—mainly out of curiosity—and I find few that I can recommend. The flavor profiles are very limited by the lack of traditional grains and the flavors derived from their roasting or caramelization in the boil. Residual tastes range from being too sugary (as in table sugar) to saccharine (as in artificial sweetener). Although rarely horrible, some of the strange and unfamiliar off-flavors can be quite off-putting.

Styles available at present are very limited; most commercial versions are no more than amber ales or simple lagers. To maximize their market, few brands are pushing the hop profile, which could be a great assist to this type of beer. The stronger hops flavors in pale ales or IPAs might mask some of the more undesirable components and leave the resulting beer closer to traditional styles.

Some of the best of the gluten-free choices are from outside the United States, but a few domestic craft brewers are catching on to the trend. Lake Front Brewery of Wisconsin produces a gluten-free beer, and one of the oldest of the style is Bard’s Tale Beer of California, which claims to be the first to develop gluten-free beers in the States. The best that I have found currently is Redbridge, an Anheuser-Busch product; it is actually clean enough not to immediately come across as a nonstandard beer.

Regrettably, gluten-free beers are not a variety that excels in flavor or that are highly prized or sought by the craft beer public. Whether they ever will be remains to be seen, but the limitations of using none of the traditional grains severely handicaps their quality and potential. But if you are an individual with celiac disease or some other related food sensitivity, these beers can be an answer to a prayer.

Is Organic Better? Part 1

One of the latest trends to hit the U.S. marketplace is the offering of organically produced food, and craft beer is no exception. The rise in sales of organic beers has been meteoric in recent years, with annual jumps in the 40% range based on sales. But is this about a conscientious product or about marketing? Are organic beers better tasting or healthier than “regular” beers?

Being organic can mean different things to different people. For most breweries, there is only their word and reputation that the products advertised as “organic” actually are, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. Some are sanctioned by organic-foods organizations such as the Organic Trade Organization and adhere to their (nonbinding) requirements. The only law in the United States for such products is certification from the USDA National Organic Program, which is a legally enforceable award.

Fundamentally, organic beers are those brewed strictly using source ingredients (primarily malt and hops) that are produced without the application of artificial chemicals for the purpose of herbicide, insecticide or fertilizer. The USDA’s certification allows some commercial leeway as it only requires that 95% of the ingredients be produced with these methods. These requirements have also been extended to include the use of genetically modified organisms (GMO) as ingredients.

The Green Movement has taken hold of many industries, and brewing is no different. Brewers and producers of brewing ingredients are working in many ways to upgrade their standards of production, storage and delivery. Some do this out of a motivation for better products, some for moral and ethical reasons, and some upgrades are solely in the name of efficiency and for financial benefit. Many times, it is a combination of these reasons.

Long past are the days of crop dusting with DDT. Many industrial farms are now using more green solutions for their day-to-day operations, not to pursue any organic status but simply out of a concern for the environment and to yield a better product. Fertilizers are less toxic and more bio-friendly than they have been in years past. Hop farmers are today more likely to use predatory insects to control pests than chemical insecticides. Craft breweries are now often models of green efficiency, integrating recycling and environmentally friendly practices with wastewater and chemicals as standard practice.

One issue particular to the brewing industry is that beers are not simply grown from the soil. It is comparatively simple to refrain from using nonorganic additives on crops, or to easily substitute one agent for another greener equivalent. But beer is an industrial product, and some portions of its production require otherwise questionable compounds. Water must be cleaned and filtered and, in some cases, chemically treated for proper pH levels advantageous to fermentation. Sanitizers must be used with every step after the boil, as the same environment in which the yeast flourish is also a welcome home for hundreds of other microbial agents.

Fortunately, acceptably green substitutions can be found for all these industrial issues, but thinking of organic beer the same way one thinks about an organic carrot can be misleading. The lines between what is by definition organic and what is simply another product on the shelf are blurring. Obviously, a beer certified organic or produced with all organic ingredients will be relatively free of any harmful chemicals, ostensibly making it a healthier choice. But by how much? With many craft brewers already integrating green practices and higher quality ingredients, the health and safety benefits of the “organic” label become marginal.

But does this make the beer taste better?

In Praise of Session Beers

The evolution of the craft beer consumer is fairly predictable. Raised on a steady diet of bland corporate products (or no beer at all), the new beer drinker will discover their first craft beer. It may be brewed by a local craft brewer, or perhaps it is a popular import. From that point forward, eyes are opened, tastes are awakened and what was once good is no longer satisfying enough.

Sooner or later, the craft beer consumer will find a local source for a wide variety of craft beers, and then will read a beer website online, and then all bets are off. The new enthusiast will consume with abandon, drawn to the strong, pungent elements of the high-end IPAs and barleywines, the robustness of the Imperial stouts and the intoxicating (literally) complexity of Belgian beers.

However, on the other side of this heady flavor binge lies another, more subtle arena. This place marks the maturity of the craft beer drinker—not another phase, simply a move from fervent amateur to appreciative yeoman consumer. It is certainly not the endpoint of this journey but instead another beginning. This is the landscape of the session beers.

The origins of session beers can be traced back to Great Britain, probably from one of the world wars. British laborers (or is it labourers?) worked in shifts in the factories, sometimes around the clock. During their off hours, often either before or after work, they would “pop 'round to the local” in true pub culture fashion. These visits became the origin of the drinking session, where a patron would consume four, five, six or more pints at one sitting.

The attributes of session beer arose from these British drinking sessions. The workers required a beer that was alcoholic but not so strong as to leave them impaired or outright inebriated. They required a beer that was flavorful but neither so bitterly hopped nor cloyingly sweet as to grow tiring before the end of the session. Although interesting and mighty delicious, Trappist ales and strong IPAs can quickly lead to palate fatigue, rarely have a neutral finish and the alcohol content can be regrettable in volume. Thus arose the brewing quasi-category of the session beer.

Although traditionally British, session beers can have any origin and are not necessarily limited by defined style. At their core, session beers exemplify the ideal of balance in a beverage. They are bitter yet not too much so, malty but not too much so, lightly alcoholic but with sufficient flavor complexity not only to defer boredom but to keep the drinker genuinely interested.

These session beers are the delicate Goldilocks of the brewing world. They generally have a rich malt base and are mildly hopped, sometimes only barely so. Their alcohol content is generally higher than non-alcoholic beers (which are usually around 0.5% ABV) and almost by definition all are under 5% ABV. Both ale and lager yeast are used for session beers, although distinct and robust strains such as in Belgian ales are usually avoided.

Session beer styles range from English milds, bitters and brown ales to porters and even the milder stouts and Scottish ales. Teutonic varieties include the mild bocks, Vienna lagers, altbiers and dunkels—almost by definition, the Oktoberfest/märzen style is a session beer. Many wheat beers such as hefeweizen and Berliner weisse would also qualify as session beers, as would standard lagers and a few pilsners. Across the pond, American varieties like wheat ale, blonde ale, rye beer and California common also fall into this category.

Do not take the next logical step and believe that anything you can imbibe in quantity will qualify as a session beer. Individual tolerances do not define the session beer category. Instead, it is a world of subtlety and whispers, the enticement of spotting a fawn in the wild as opposed to listening to a lion roar in his cage. Appreciation of session beers marks the successful fulfillment of your craft beer education but still only the start of your craft beer journey.

The Purpose of Limited Editions

One of the fastest growing trends in the craft beer industry is the offering of limited edition products. A limited edition beer is a beer that is brewed only once by a brewer, often in a single small batch. Limited edition beers are different from seasonal beers, which are sometimes brewed in the same manner but are on an annual production schedule. Limited editions appear one time only.

Most limited edition beers are styles that are either high gravity or out of the ordinary. Favorite selections for limited editions may be alcohol-soaring barleywines, imperial stouts, old ales, Scotch ales or Belgian-inspired beers. Other choices can be based on specialty hop varietals, fruit or nut infusions, artesian beers or even historical or extinct styles. But why do brewers choose to produce limited editions at all?

Contrary to the true nature of beer festivals, this time the cynical view is correct: money. Limited edition beers are highly profitable ventures for most craft brewers. Even in cases where the specialty ingredients are not cost-effective, and even when normal production schedules are reorganized around a special batch, the brewer still benefits financially if only through the marketing value surrounding their new product.

First and foremost, limited edition beers get noticed. They are talking points in brewery newsletters, subjects of advertising and marketing campaigns, and fuel for the fire of craft beer consumer zeal. Saint Arnold’s Divine Reserve series consistently sells out in less than a day statewide, even with reservation lists and limits on purchase quantities. Stone Brewing has dominated the limited edition world with their Vertical Epic series, building toward an eleven-year series conclusion in 2012. Carlsberg brewed their Jacobsen Vintage No. 1, which retails for $400 a bottle, a price artificially inflated by that brewing giant specifically for press appeal.

The attraction for craft beer consumers is a sight and taste of something different and unique, often never to be seen again. It is the same allure that drives concert and sports ticket sales, the desire for the individual to be “witness to history” and build up a cache of stories with which to impress their friends. It is the draw to maintain a complete sample set from a brewer, leaving no product untasted, and brewers are happy to oblige.

For the craft brewer themselves, it is a chance to flex their skill and creativity. Unhampered by the necessity of providing a business-dependent product, consistently and perpetually, brewers are able to design beers based on their personal tastes or ennui to experiment. They are able to construct their own badges of honor within the brewing industry, gilded even more so at craft beer competitions.

More significantly and more practically, limited edition beers allow an ideal test market for the craft brewer. Risk is contained as new products can be produced on a narrower scale and with restricted commitment. Those beers that do not sell well can easily be forgotten; those beers that surpass all expectations may become the next seasonal or permanent edition to the brewer’s portfolio.

To the individual craft beer company as an entity, limited editions can be a chest-thumping roar to other craft breweries. It is a method to announce their presence, no matter their scale or lackluster public opinion of their more mainstream products. A limited edition beer is a calling card of aptitude and expertise from a brewery that forces others to take them seriously by demonstrating their own irrefutable dexterity in the market.

The point behind limited edition beers may be patently financial but they do provide an all-around win for both brewers and consumers. Craft brewers benefit from additional revenue and industry clout, and craft beer consumers benefit from an increased and perennial variety. With the imaginations of brewers nourished by the pocketbooks of consumers, the limited edition trend is not likely to slow down.

Defining Craft Beer

The phrase craft beer is thrown about quite a lot in beer-centric publications, as if the audience naturally knows and understands precisely what this means. To fans of craft beer, the phrase is inherently understood and adopted as lingo within the subculture. Actually, the phrase is not as easy to define as it would seem, especially to those consumers “outside” the craft beer movement.

Let us start with some public and objective definitions, courtesy of the Brewers Association. Craft breweries are often also called microbreweries, or defined as a brewery that produces less than 15,000 barrels of product annually. (A barrel of beer is about 31 gallons.) The next step up from there is the regional brewery, defined as a brewery that produces between 15,000 and 2 million barrels of beer annually. Altogether, these micro- and regional breweries currently account for somewhere around 7% of total beer sales in the United States.

Any brewery that produces in excess of 2 million barrels of beer annually leaves only the major national brewers, namely, Anheuser-Busch, Miller and Coors in the US. Collectively, these brewers are called macros (in opposition to “micros”) by the craft beer community, and are generally regarded as cold corporations more concerned with balancing budget sheets on the backs of an inferior product than actually brewing something tasty for the consumer.

At this point, the lines begin to blur and definitions start to bend and morph as we enter a much more subjective arena. To craft beer fans, macros are the enemy (by definition), somehow having gained market dominance by foisting insipid and flavorless lager variations upon the consumer. Macro beers are not just to be avoided but completely resisted in favor of the “higher quality” of the independent small craft brewers across the country.

I place the term “higher quality” in quotation marks because at this point, definitions of what is and is not a craft beer enter a grey area. Craft beer fans regard their favorite beverages superior in all ways, thus painting the macro products as somehow inferior and flawed or, dare we say, impure. Surely, with their robust flavors and heady aromas, craft beers must embody all that is good and pure with American industry and idealism.

It becomes very difficult to delineate craft beer in terms of quality. Macro brewers have built very technologically advanced brewing and delivery systems and are near-obsessive about monitoring quality and consistency of product. They manage not only ingredient sources but also international distribution chains to ensure the highest quality at all levels of production. Telling an employee of a macro brewing corporation that they have no regard for the quality of the product they produce can be personally hurtful to many.

One can argue against macro quality by their use of adjuncts, or additive products besides malted grains (such as rice or corn) used to enhance the beer’s body or clarity. Adjuncts are generally regarded by the consuming public as somehow “cheating” in the brewing process. But the fact is that craft brewers often use adjuncts — where called for in a recipe — in some of their beers as well. Either way, the use of adjuncts should not be regarded as somehow related to the lessening of a beer’s overall quality. It is simply another brewing tool, nothing more.

Indeed, some macro brewers have taken note of the growing popularity of the craft beer movement and have spawned their own subdivisions devoted to producing more craft-like beers specifically tailored for that market. Some have gone as far as setting up mock-craft enterprises, branded and marketed as a small brewery but wholly owned and manufactured at the macro establishments. More than anything else, these macro/crafts have blurred the line in the argument of what defines a craft beer.

Perhaps one of the best ways to obtain a meaningful definition of craft beer is to correlate it with the Slow Food movement. Craft beers are artisanal products, much like meat that is produced by a small farm and butchered locally, or confections from a local independent bakery, or vegetables grown and sold at a local farmer’s market instead of trucked nationally from a single valley in California. Craft beers should be produced locally, marketed locally with local personalities, and reflect the local preferences of that consumer region.

It should be noted here that this blog is wholly in support of the independent craft brewers in the United States and abroad. That said, no hostility is directed nor intended here toward the macro brewers, and macro brewers and their products should not be weighed with a moral component. They are simply recognized as another valid consumer choice… just not this consumer’s choice.

Geek Is a Four-Letter Word

Depending on how you date it, the craft beer movement in the United States is well into its third decade now, and is mature enough to have spawned countless books, websites, magazines, festivals and social groups both amateur and semi-pro. In short, a subculture has grown up around this movement, with members affectionately being referred to as beer geeks.

Or are they? With maturity brings reflection, and craft beer lovers are beginning to turn the microscope on themselves and rethink their modern-day appellation. “Geek” can be either a modern familiar self-deprecating pun or a juvenile epithet hurled against the skinny kid in sixth grade. In our society today, the geek plays the dual role of socially inept misfit with thick glasses and acne as well as the underdog hero who eventually turns out to be your boss. (Mr. Gates, anyone?)

But “geek” has worked its way into our lexicon with a slightly negative connotation, as someone either unusually obsessed with a subject (as in computer geek or Star Wars geek) or as someone exceptionally knowledgeable about a subject, equivalent to our modern use of “guru” — or indeed, both. It is this first association that is causing some grief, especially from those who consider themselves more of the latter.

Fans of music fidelity are called audiophiles, fans of English culture are called anglophiles and even wine connoisseurs designate themselves as oenophiles. As craft beer fans especially like to compare themselves with the wine crowd, of course, they must keep pace with the lingo. However, cerevisaphile has never caught on as an alternative; hence, the seeming default back to beer geek.

Other names have been tried. There have been beer aficionados, beer enthusiasts, beer advocates, beer lovers and many different permutations thereof and more. The bald truth is that neither the prefix “beer” nor its Latinized version of “cerevisa” lend themselves to catchy linguistic combinations. It must be unique, trendy and roll off the tongue to be widely adopted and, frankly, these requirements only bring us right back to beer geek.

Much of this consternation arises from one of the three categories of drinkers that may be designated by the term beer geek. The first is the casual consumer who prefers the taste of well-made craft beer over the larger national brands. Their involvement begins and ends at the palate, and while possibly loyal to a brand or style, their interest goes no further. This category makes up the largest fraction of the subculture by far.

At the other extreme are those obsessed with their hobby almost to clinical levels. They are not only educated about styles, brands and brewers, they often go to lengths to obtain, review and check off each beer as they find it. For these drinkers, the game of acquisition and categorization is almost more consuming than the actual consumption and enjoyment. Trainspotters, if you will.

But the rebuff of the terminology comes from the middle group, the true and loyal soldiers of the craft beer movement. These are individuals who are generally well-educated about various beer styles and different microbrewers across the nation as well as a variety of imports. They know about ingredients and the brewing process, and may even be homebrewers themselves. They take enjoyment in the beverage and the subculture without ever crossing the line into obsession.

This middle category of craft beer fans are stirring the pot against the moniker beer geek because to the rest of society, the term has become synonymous with the obsessive/compulsive group. “Beer geek” has become our culture’s newest four-letter vulgarity, and this misconception drives genuine craft beer fans to seek out new language with which to label themselves.

But why should we let an obsessive minority drive our self-image? The pejorative arises because of a negative stereotype, most likely from a disinterested public outside the movement having only limited or unhelpful experiences with craft beer consumers. Fight back and change the mass characterization. Craft beer fans should proudly take back the definition of beer geek and let society sort itself out.