A Shameful Confession
There’s something I need to get off my chest. I want to make a confession, come clean if you will…
I like boring beer.
There, I said it. I, Michael Agnew, Certified Cicerone™, like boring beer. I am led to this impression by my perusal of beer forums and beer rating sites. The beers that I like most…are apparently boring.
I adore American ambers. But it seems that to many of my peers they are blasé brews offered up by brewpubs to appease the macro-swilling masses. But I confess that I would rather drink a caramelly amber ale than a grapefruity IPA any day. My spirits are buoyed by mellow browns, Southern English, Northern English, mild, and American. A friend though, recently referred to a locally brewed mild that I was quite enjoying as “barley tea.” I was dumbfounded by the hordes that voraciously snapped up every last can of Surly Hell, a heavenly Helles, and then complained that it wasn’t “extreme” enough. I found it sublime. I even love Sam Adams Boston Lager. Yet I often hear others refer to it as though it were the latest macro swill, deriding other beers by saying, “It tastes like Sam Adams.” In my world bitters are the beautiful, pilsners perfect. Yes, I’m afraid it must be true; my beer tastes tend toward the bland and the banal.
I believe I was shoved in this direction by a trip to the Great American Beer Festival. After two nights of sampling all the big, bitter, bourbon-barrel aged, doubletripleimperial beers that the brewers had brought, I found myself wandering the hall in search of a blond…a blond ale that is. Or a pilsner. Something, anything that wouldn’t assault my senses any more than they had already been assaulted. A brew that wouldn’t inebriate me any more, or at least not much more, than I was already inebriated. My breaking point came when I approached the Victory Brewing table. There I spied a tempting tipple that I had theretofore never tasted. It looked promising; pale, yellow, and clear. When I asked the hapless volunteer what kind of beer it was that he was pouring he replied, “I don’t know, but it’s 12%!” I snapped.
It’s not that I don’t still love big beers. I do. One look at my reviews or blog will tell you that. I just no longer want my beer to beat me up. Heaps of hops repel me. My palate tells me that bourbon barrels don’t always make beer better. The “more is better” ethos, higher alcohol, bigger body, a kitchen sink of malts, often leaves me wanting less. And I hate the feeling that often accompanies my consumption of high-test brews, that feeling that my brain has given up on me and is attempting to escape my skull and seek refuge elsewhere.
Perhaps I should just face facts and accept that I like boring beers. But I have this feeling…call it a nagging suspicion…I have this feeling that these beers aren’t boring at all. In fact, I secretly believe it may in truth be some of the monster beers that are boring. Hops alone do not compel me; playing only one note, they need the counterpoint of a well-developed and intriguing base of malt to back them up and give them interest. But simply loading up on malt can lead to murky flavored, heavy bodied brews that leave me struggling to make it through a single glass. My gut tells me to appreciate the simple pleasures of subtlety and balance. There is fascinating depth to the interplay of fresh-baked breadcrust and spice in a Munich Dunkel. There is daring in the delicate fruit of a kölsch. The perfect balance of malt, hops, and yeast makes an English bitter sing. A light hand with spices gives a Belgian wit or Belgian holiday ale an alluring air of mystery…But only if you are patient enough to look for it.
Upon further consideration I retract my confession.
8 Comments to “A Shameful Confession”
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Michael. It’s encouraging to finally hear your confession that beer is boring. We must admit defeat before we are able to grow again.
I have a whole cellar of wines that I would be happy to school you on. Welcome to the bright side.
You know Erik. The problem with you wine people is that your myopia prevents you from comprehending the actual intent of well written prose.
I may be headed to STL for a conference sometime this winter. I’m still extending the invitation to a beer/wine dinner challenge.
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I’m with you Michael.
I’m crazy for my big, hit-me-over-the-head beers, but I’ve also grown a taste for something more subtle.
I think the problem some people face is that an amber, blonde, american wheat, etc can easily be a throw away effort by a brewery. They write off the style and completely miss out when a brewery excels in making a fine example of the sessionable beer. The American ESB is going in that direction as well.
Come to the Bay Area and we’ll raise a pint of Speakeasy’s Prohibition, a Lagunitas Pils, or Moonlight Lunatic Lager. Here’s to boring beers!
Mario, Pils was my favorite beer of the Lagunitas tour.
Michael, I hear you. On a trip to Seattle I tried an Alaskan Amber Ale. The simple pleasure of a good beer is underappreciated. Every brew that rushes across your palate does not have to be a complicated multiple choice question.
Don’t forget what makes ‘good’ beer good! You are right on here!
[...] on the heels of my Hop Press cohorts Mark and Michael, I have been thinking about the stigma assigned to macrobrews by so many craft beer enthusiasts, [...]