About a year ago I was standing in the beer aisle at Harris Teeter picking out a six-pack for the night. I noticed a new item, Peacemaker Pale Ale (from LoneRider Brewing Co. in Raleigh, NC), nestled amongst their generous selection of American craft brews. I was in the mood to try something new, so I decided on the Peacemaker without giving it much thought. As fate would have it, the LoneRider brews happened to be garrisoned near the center of the beer aisle right at the transition between the "Microbrew" section and the "Imported" section. As I reached for my Peacemaker, I couldn't help but notice the beer stationed immediately to the right of it...Bass Ale. I'd had Bass a million times; it's sold in pretty much every supermarket around me and is served (in bottles) at a good number of the bars and restaurants I frequent. I regularly skim past its name on beer menus without a second thought. Yet for some reason, in the brief moment it took me to pull the Peacemaker off the shelf, I got to thinking about Bass Ale and what it represented. Bass Ale is the original pale ale. It has been brewed according to essentially the same recipe since 1777. It was one of the most popular beers of the early 20th century, appearing in paintings by Picasso and Manet and immortalized in literature by James Joyce. I was in the presence of a masterpiece, a sacrifice to the spirits of fermentation that had been judged by centuries of beer-drinking men and deemed worthy. I looked down at the six-pack of Peacemaker Pale Ale in my hand, taking in the cheap logo imprinted on its cardboard packaging, its generic dark brown long-neck bottles, and the nondescript hazy liquid sloshing back and forth as I brought the sixer to my eyes. I looked back up at the Bass and gazed upon its iconic "red triangle" label that represented generations of skill, industry, and fine taste. And then I turned around, walked up to the self-checkout register, and purchased the Peacemaker.
The beer was fine, but I couldn't help feeling that I had somehow cheated myself. I love craft brews, and I'm always excited to try an offering from a new microbrewery or limited-release seasonal from an old favorite whenever I come across one. But had I been too quick to dismiss their forebears in the "Imported" section? How many times had I bypassed a Hacker-Pschorr Weisse to grab a Pyramid Hefeweizen? How many Old Dominion Oak Barrel Stouts had I drunk at the expense of a Guinness? This isn't to say that European beers are inherently superior to their American counterparts. Just that I was placing a higher value on novelty than on quality and, in doing so, I was missing out on important segments of beer lore.
Remember those "Beers of the World"-type posters that every male college student had hanging in their dorm room (in between the cover art from "Dark Side of the Moon" and a black-and-white photo of the Rat Pack playing pool) ca. 2002? Consider this blog a literary deconstruction of that poster. I'll highlight a different classic beer in each post, take a look into the history and distinctive characteristics of that beer, and explore the off-shoots, imitators, and innovations spawned by that beer within the craft brew industry. There won't be any reviews or rankings; I like almost every beer I've ever tried so let's just assume they all get 5 stars and go from there. I'll also be throwing in my thoughts on divers beer-related topics such as lagers vs. ales, cask conditioning, and homebrewing. You probably won't learn anything of consequence about formal beer styles or the technical aspects of brewing, but you might be inspired to sample some new beers and gain a new appreciation for some familiar brands. Feel free to leave your opinions and beer recommendations in the comments. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy our journey.
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