Is there anything more ubiquitous than the Irish pub? No matter where you are in the world, there’s the beckoning image of a leprechaun, a sign in Gaelic with Celtic-style lettering, or the sounds of a tin whistle drifting onto the street from an invitingly open doorway. Irish pubs are literally a worldwide phenomenon.

But why? How does the social culture of this tiny island nation capture the imagination of people around the world, crossing all cultural and ethnic boundaries in the process?  What is it that makes Irish pubs, well, the places they are?

Maybe there’s something to the idea of “the craic,” that intangible feeling of good cheer and good times that supposedly gets sweated out of Irish pores the second a Guinness goes in.  After spending a fair amount of time in the pubs of Ireland proper, I experienced just about none of that.  Maybe Craic is an export-only thing these days.

Most of the “Irish” pubs opening these days are concept pubs, parts of local or national chains, or one-offs with a lot of financial backing. These frequently cavernous places often come modular and prepackaged direct from Ireland.  You can buy these bars as a friggin’ kit, for chrissake.

Then there’s the older generation of Irish pubs, the kind actually opened by someone who emigrated from Ireland. Often, these places contain very little Irishness, apart from a general sense of either warm hospitality or abject hostility.

Finally, you have your small independents: local places with the local feel, but enough of the Irish kitsch to identify what they want to be. They tend to be casual restaurants, usually a touch on the pricey side, that do most of their drinks trade in Bud Light and mixed liquor fare.

I think, ultimately, Irishness isn’t what people are after. The word “Irish” functions as a code phrase for a place where people know exactly what to expect. And even if the experience doesn’t always match the expectation (and even though the beer selection might be kinda lame), the joy of the Irish pup comes from people discovering that the true source of the Craic emeates not from fancy décor, framed Guinness ads, or red-nosed ex-fireman bartenders, but from within themselves, even if ounly for a couple of pints.

Bruce and I will be attending Ommegang’s Belgium Cmes to Cooperstown festival this Saturday as exhibitors. He brewed Rohrbach Belgian ale specifically for this event, and we’ll be pouring with the big boys. I’ll send disoriented updates form the scene via Twitter.

-Mark

Although tickets to Brewery Ommegang’s Belgium Comes to Cooperstown festival are sold out, There are still some seats left on The Old Toad’s bus tour. Meet at the Toad, take a comfortable motor coach down to C-town, drink a bunch of Tripel, then snooze peacefully while a nice bus driver hauls your butt back to Rochester.

If you want to get in at the last minute, call Jules at The Old Toad, (585) 232-2626 and reserve your spot.

Sometimes one needs to be reminded of life’s simple truths: The Dave Matthews Band sucks, The Yankees are the world’s best sports team, and great American beer still comes from Milwaukee.

Sprecher Black Bavarian is a treasure. Ostensibly, it’s a Schwarzbier (black lager), but I find more body and character than is typical even for that rare style. It possess the onyx color and coffeelike roasted character of a stout, yet it suffuses your senses with the sweet, heavy malt goodness of a German Doppelbock. Add in a creamy finish and teasingly bitter aftertaste, and you, my friend, have the makings of a great evening.

The Schwarzbier style is also a perfect case study for folks who are just wraping their heads around what characterizes ales and lagers. Because of its ubiquity, many people assume that all lager is pale or golden in color, whereas in reality the only thing that defines a lager is the type of yeast used (well, and the technical bits that go with brewing and aging the stuff). Schwarzbier a lager, but, because it’s made with dark roasted malt, it’s black as the inside of a coal miner’s ass.

You don’t see a lot of American indie breweries pumping out Schwazbier. I think it’s partly due to the lager/color disconnect that puts off unsavvy customers. Also, like all German lagers, it’s tougher to brew, unforgiving of off-flavors, and demanding in storage time and conditions. Still, props to Sprecher for creating what I think is the epitome of the American version of the style.

-Mark

Unique, Varied, Belgian
By Mark Tichenor and Bruce Lish

Belgium is freaking tiny, a jagged blob of land sandwiched between the economic powerhouses of Europe. But when it comes to beer, the nation looms large in the world’s consciousness.

But you guys know this by now. Belgian beer is everywhere these days. It seems like the stuff gets dropped off in oil tankers. And once the Belgian beer craze hit American shores, many independent brewers copied, perfected, and screwed with traditional Belgian recipes to make a new wave of strong, aromatic flavorful beer with a distinct homage to the land of Brabant and Wallonia.

Thing is, even if some beers are sold as ‘Belgian style,’ there’s no one Belgian style, Tripel, Abbey Ale, Witbeer, Saison, Lambic, it seems there are as many genres of as there are farmhouses in the Belgian countryside. When an American beer is labeled ‘Belgian Style,” it’s safe to say you’re getting something strong, maybe spiced with coriander. But brewers who take Belgians seriously will typically aim at a particular style.

Often, that style is abbey ale, the type traditionally brewed by Trappist monks, and less traditionally pumped out of any number of secular brewhouses. Fruity, citrusy, with a color ranging from pale brass to sunset orange, Abbey beers have become the face of the Belgian brewing nation, and the basis for experiments in Belgitude for many an American indie beer hacker.

In Belgium, traditionally, abbey ales come in ‘singel,’ ‘dubbel’  tripel.’ and ‘quadrupel,’ Reflecting the beer’s strength. Most American brewers never bother with the single, and few the dubbel. In keeping with our national tradition the tendency is to go right for the throat (and liver) with the tripel and quadrupel, both of which can knock a Russian on his ass. Maredsous 10 and Chimay White are classic Tripels from Belgium. Le Fin du Monde, from Montreal’s Unibroue, is a delicious North American expression of the style.

While abbey ale is the old standby, another Belgian style has been finding favor among American brewers and consumers alike. Saison is, as you can guess, a seasonal beer,, originally brewed before the warm months of summer made unrefrigerated brewing impossible.  Saisons are earthy, spicy and strong. Cooperstown’s Brewery Ommegang makes the excellent Hennepin in this style, or you could pay dearly for Saison Dupont, which many consider to be among the finest beers in the world.

Regardless of style, Belgian beers have characteristics that set them apart. Primary among these is the brewers’ embrace of microflora. The old-time, Belgian beermaker approached the brewing of his beverage as more of a craft than a science. So while the Germans, Dutch, and Scandinavians were wallowing through the nascent field of microbiology to isolate yeast strains and sanitize everything, your plucky Belgian was less, shall we say, fastidious about the behavior of yeast. In some beers, such as lambic, brewers happily left vats of cooling wort open to the naked air, trusting that something good would land in them and ferment the beer. The best results were skimmed and cultured, the thus-accumulated yeast becoming a signature piece of future brews.

This barely scratches the surface of Belgian Beer styles. The spectrum contains all kinds of wacky flavors, some fruity, some sour, some just plain bizarre. Tasting Belgian beer is a culinary adventure in its own right, and you’re well advise to dive in and try the stuff you’ve never heard of. The beers of Belgium may be different, but never will they be boring.

Bruce is a certified beer judge and commercial brewer. Mark owns a laptop and likes beer. For more on beer, check out the beercraft blog, updated regularly, at http:://www.beercraftsite.com. Send your questions, suggestions, or comments to beercraft@rochester.rr.com.

Due to ongoing renovations at the Korner, plus the fact that Jen Clark, the Manager, totally freaking forgot, Beer School will be postponed until next Thursday. The topic will still be Witbeer.

I’m about to interview Kiernan May of Syracuse, New York’s Landmark Brewing, which is brewed under contract by Flying Bison in Buffalo. This got me thinking about contract brewing. At first, the idea of a company putting its brand on a product made by someone else seems oddly duplicitous, in a corporate sort of way. But then you get to think about it. Most things you buy are made out of components sourced from other manufacturers.

Plus, contrat brewing has had a huge positive impact on the American indie beer scene. The Brooklyn Brewers started out with all its beers contract-brewed through Utica’s F.X. Matt brewery, and still has beers brewed there. Both Sam Adams is contract brewed at Rochester’s High Falls Brewery.

Contracting is a good means for a guy (or girl) with a great recipe and business plan, but maybe not a million dollars in capital,  to bring their concept to market. It also gives breweries an additional revenue stream. Seems like a win-win to me.

We’ll be holding the next Beer School on Thursday, July 24, at Monty’s Korner in Rochester, NY. The topic: Witbeer.

Witbeer, translatable as both “White Beer” and “Wheat Beer,” Is a refreshing, alluring taste of summer. Originating in Belgium, the style had nearly died out when Pierre Celis revived the antique recipe for Hoegaarden. The beer became first a local hit, then after purchase by InBev, an international smash.

Hoegaarden’s light body, coriander notes, and hint of orange zest has inspired dozens of brewers here in the USA to make beer in the Wit style, and we’re gonna try a bunch. So be there at 7:30pm, or frickin’ get your own.

-Mark

I guess I’m supposed to provide analysis on the big A-B sale to InBev. But in all honesty, other blogs and industry sites can do a far better job and frankly, I just can’t bring myself to care that much.

One thing I learned while reading CNN’s coverage of the sale was how far we still have to go to truly be a beer culture.  Quotes like this: “I was proud to drink Budweiser, not any more,” said P.J. Champion, a student at the University of Mississippi who said the brew is “a great piece of American history.” give me hope for future readership. While the kid’s right in that Budweiser is an important piece of American beer history, why drinking it would instill nationalistic pride, I dunno. Last I checked, the Taliban hated all forms of alcohol.

Anyway, I think, to the drinking public at large, this sale is a complete non-event. It’s a testimony to what commodities megabeers have become. The red cans will still be there. The hilarious Super Bowl commercials will still air. There will still be rice in the beer. And the Clydesdales are gonna get fed. So Belgium, this Bud’s for you.

-Mark

This dispatch is coming from a cool cafe called ‘The Wired Monk’ on the corner of Hollis and Morris in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Check the place out if you’re ever up here

I’d like to tell you we took the Alexander Keith’s brewery tour because of some journalistic ideal, presenting both sides of the story and all that. But the truth is this is our third day in Halifax and there really isn’t all that much to do.

Keith’s has always been a target of mine because their flagship brand, Keith’s IPA, is a lie. The beer is not an IPA. I doubt it’s even an ale. KIPA tastes remarkably like every other mass-produced Canadian lager, with zero floral notes in the aroma and a complete absence of hop bitterness. It’s even the same color as Labatt Blue (a beer which has the temerity to call itself a ‘Pilsner,’ but that’s a rant for another day.

But here we are in Halifax, and there’s a big stone brewery with a tour that promises samples- of something- at the end. So once more into the kettle we go.

The problem with brewery tours is they’re just a bunch of tanks and kettles. The product of these inert, hulking vessels might be marvelous but to non-brewers, the process of arriving at beer is rather mundane and make for a substandard tourist attraction. Keith’s attempts to jazz things up by dressing their tour guides in 1820’s garb and ‘taking you back in time.’ So myself and about 20 other substandard tourists were greeted by a buxom wench from a time generations before our own, generations before cell phones, digital cameras, or acting lessons. After marvelling at our magic electric boxes and clothes from the future, she led us into a quaint 1820s dining room with a quaint LCD screen mounted on the wall, which treated us to a video presentation about Keith’s beer, and mostly about Mr. Alexander Keith himself.

Here’s what I learned about Mr. Alexander Keith through this video:

• He was scottish
• He trained with English Brewmasters
• He came to Nova Scotia at 22
• He was the greatest brewer ever
• His beer was the best beer ever
• No one was as good as Alexander Keith at anything
• He was a combination of John F. Kennedy, Bill Gates, and Mother Teresa all rolled into one
• His semen cured multiple sclerosis
• He died for your sins
• Without the existence of Alexander Keith, Canada would have broken off from the North American continent and fallen under the sea a hundred years ago

After this move had imparted upon me a through dislike of Alex Keith, we got to ‘tour’ a small scale Keith’s brewhouse, which was impressive. Some of the prettiest copper kettles, tuns, and fermentation tanks served as background for another character actor’s explanation of the brewing process, a fascinating discussion of elementary chemistry that riveted our group for at least two minutes. When the guide sensed attention drifting, it was off to the ‘cooper’s shop,’ where he told us that beer used to be put in wooden barrels.

Finally, it was time for the sampling. The weirdest, most awkward beer sampling I’ve yet experienced. Our group was ushered to the door of a replica 19th century pub, where we met two more character actors. Inside we were each given a choice to try the ‘IPA,’ the brand new ‘Traditional Lager,’ or the Keith’s Red. After the first pour, we were directed to sit against the wall while the actors entertained us with traditional 19th-century pub entertainment

Now to me, traditional pub entertainment is drinking more beer. Instead, we were treated to a couple lame, non-bawdy jokes about sea captains, a brief little song, then a long and unecessary rendition of ‘Scarborough Fair’ (all seventeen verses), to which we were encouraged to sing along. There we were, a room full of cynical Americans and rotund Albertan holidaygoers trying to sample their beer while self-consciously attempting to join in on what I always thought was a Simon and Garfunkel song. It was…freakin’ weird.

Anyway, once they had distracted us from trying all three beers (we were poured a second sample) the tour ended with an uncerimonious dumping-off into the gift shop.

I guess the experience was enjoyable. The obvious enthusiasm of the character actors made up for the fact that dressing up a brewery is like putting perfume on a pig. And while Keith’s IPA still sucks, the brand-spankin’ new ‘Traditional Lager’ is a pretty good American lager that I’d order again.

Fortunately, while in Rochester, I won’t have to.