With this installment, Bert Boyce takes over the Mash duties
for Jeff Alworth, who is currently writing a book on beer-related
topics.
I was born to be a beer drinker. At age 4, I was drinking
wine from the jug's screw-off lid. By 14, Miller Genuine
Draft was the preferred beverage at my folks' weekend work
parties--and mine as well. At 17, my dad snuck me into my
first bar and bought me drinks. However, the fun stopped
there.
When I turned 18, my parents suddenly decided that my interest
in beer was no longer worthy of their financial support
and that I should procure my own beverages. Good beer was
difficult to come by and quite expensive for an 18-year-old,
but homebrewing equipment was not. I started brewing, and
our house blossomed into a fragrant rose or a rotting pile,
depending upon whom you asked. Luckily, my friends were
behind me, and the San Diego version of the good-beer revolution
began.
My college education loomed around the corner, and it was
with little fanfare that I decided to major in beer, though
not the way most students do. Being the culturally devoid
agricultural mecca that it is, University of California
at Davis, with its fermentation-science program, drew me
in along with the cowboys, pre-vet students and wannabe
brewers and winemakers. The winos and brewers quickly aligned
themselves by beverage, and the skirmishes began. Cutthroat
bowling matches between teams with rampant egos were common.
Experimental fermentations gone awry were even more prevalent.
Once the dust settled, I still hadn't developed a strong
allegiance to either faction and discovered that fence-sitting
has its advantages.
Luckily, I found a part-time job at a brewery in Davis
to help finance my education. The down-home feel of actually
working within the industry balanced the stress of school,
and the daily processes of wort production, scrubbing fermenters
and hashing out marketing ploys reinforced the knowledge
I was gaining in school. When boot camp let out, I was still
standing and a lot sharper for it. I'd learned more science
than I ever thought would be necessary for something as
simple as making beer. I mean, did you know that Portland
beers are so hoppy in part because the region's soft water
extracts fewer of the harsh bittering compounds, allowing
more hops to be used per batch? I'm telling you, this is
fascinating stuff.
Upon graduation, I was drawn to the mystique of winemaking
and went to work at a winery for the harvest season. I again
learned more than I expected, such as the fact that the
microorganisms resident in oaken barrels are perfect for
aging wine in California and lambic beers in Belgium, but
not so nice for pale ales in Oregon. I also discovered the
beauty of loyalty to home-grown products, as locals sought
out their neighbors' beer, wine and cheese over all others.
Most importantly, I learned that I was still a brewer at
heart, and that left but one place to go.
I landed in Portland and quickly joined up with the Horse
Brass Pub and the Belmont Station shop, two holy places
in this Jerusalem of beer. The history of the craft-beer
movement flows through the Brass like rainwater through
the Willamette, and brew-crew types congregate in the Station
like activists on Capitol Hill. I've learned just how finicky
craft-beer drinkers can be and how many choices there are
to pick through. This is a good thing, though, as I get
to talk with distributors and beer lovers every day and
hear whatever interesting tidbits are running off the industry
mash. For example, the exalted Old Rasputin's Russian Imperial
Stout from North Coast Brewing will soon be pouring in Portland.
Look out folks!
I have recently put myself through more beer-related scholastic
stress in order to stay on top of things. In June, I went
back to Davis to take a challenging membership exam for
the London-based Institute of Brewing so that I might one
day be able to brew as a journeyman in England. Nine hand-cramping
hours and 18 biochemical pathway questions later, I laid
down my pen. Alas, I passed only two of the three sections,
but I don't feel so bad. Last year, of 241 candidates worldwide,
24 passed; 14 were from Davis. And they all paid $12,000
each to prepare, while I studied at night for nothing. Still,
no one wants to almost pass.
But what else can I do? Beer is my passion, brewing my
labor of love. I sometimes wish I had a job that paid more
and weren't so whimsical, but then life wouldn't be so fun.
The fall drinking season is about to begin, yet I can't
homebrew right now because it's too darn hot. That being
my biggest worry, I really shouldn't complain. So I drink
up. Cheers!
Previous
Mash columns:
Oregon
Brewers Festival
KÖLSCH
Me Again
Big
In Belgium
Spring
Beer Fest
Trappist Ales Await
Prohibition
Sneaks Back?
Bock
Is Back
Goodbye Blitz-Weinhard
McBeer
Beyond the Pint Glass
A Bounty of Barley Wine
Look Into My Crystal Ball
Rising with the Tide
The Benefits of Age
Winter Brews
Potpourri
Great American Beer Festival
Bizarre Brews
Oktoberfest
Hop Harvest
BridgePort
Brewing Company
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Willamette Week | originally
published June 16, 1999
|
