America is a beer-drinking country — we consume about 10 times as much per capita as wine — but you’d never know it from the state of beer-related journalism. Most newspapers have a wine columnist, but few have a part-timer for beer; the New York Times turns to its wine writer, Eric Asimov, for the occasional write-up. That’s not to say there aren’t great beer writers, or great beer magazines, books, and blogs. But compared with wine, they’re few and far between — and, to put it as kindly as possible, not exactly aimed at the mainstream, non-beer-obsessed public.

This is a problem, especially during the current craft-beer renaissance. Newcomers to wine can follow a reliable guide like Asimov or the Wall Street Journal‘s Lettie Teague; good luck finding their equivalents (i.e., deeply knowledgeable but layman-accessible) in the world of beer. And while it’s possible to find entire shelves of authoritative books on the Napa wine scene or the history of cabernet sauvignon, anyone looking for a comparable resource on brown ales or wet-hopping will find, at best, an ever-changing Wikipedia page.

The book is precisely what a companion should be: an engaging, subjective, erudite guide to the interested novice and a quick reference for the initiated.

Which is why the Oxford Companion to Beer was so highly anticipated in the months leading up to its publication — and why it has been so viciously criticized upon its arrival. Edited by Garrett Oliver, the brewmaster at the Brooklyn Brewery, the book includes more than 1,100 entries by 166 contributors, covering everything from acrospires (the tiny sprouts that grow out of grain seeds) to the Zatec hop region in the western Czech Republic. Like other books in the Oxford University Press “companion” series, this is decidedly not encyclopedic: As Oliver makes clear in the introduction, while this is arguably the most comprehensive book on beer, it is by no means all-encompassing.

Nevertheless, online critics have made an intramural sport of identifying the book’s omissions. There’s no entry on Oregon’s Deschutes Brewery, nor is there one for Avery or Stone, all three of them powerhouse craft breweries. Such absences would matter more if the book pretended to objective universality; as a companion guided by Oliver’s subjective perspective, their absences are points for debate. Deschutes makes great beer, but is it important enough to the history and culture of beer that it warrants its own entry? Reasonable people can disagree, but Oliver clearly doesn’t think so. The book, already 920 pages long, can only be so big.

More trenchant criticisms have come in the form of attacks on the Companion‘s accuracy, often under breathless headlines like “The Oxford Companion to Beer: Juggernaut or Dud?” and “A Dreadful Disaster?” There’s even an unofficial Wiki for errata and clarifications. Many of the critics, like the British beer writer Martyn Cornell (who is, awkwardly, a contributor to the book), really know their stuff, and have identified several mistakes. Some of them are quibbles with language, some are outright errors.

Except for baseball fans, few groups get as worked up over details as beer geeks, so I’ll set aside the relative importance of such errors to others. Cornell clearly thinks they matter; he nearly has a coronary while writing that “the lack of proper research shown by even the small number of examples I’ve quoted here, and the repetition of inaccuracies that they represent, threaten to wipe out much or all of the advances that have been made over the past 10 or so years in getting the history of beer into proper, accurately researched shape.” (Presumably he doesn’t mean the entries he wrote himself.) But what I find striking is how relatively few errors have been identified in the weeks since the book has been out. The Wiki has only about 40 entries, and most of them deal with matters of interpretation. In a book that may have upwards of 100,000 factual statements in it, the presence of a few dozen errors, while regrettable, is pretty impressive.

It’s a shame that would-be critics have spent their entire time fact-checking the precise rules of the Royal Court’s brewing guidelines under Henry VIII (subject of one catch), because they’ve overlooked the achievement of the book as a whole — though, given their vehemence, it’s a good bet they weren’t going to give it a chance in any case. Thoroughly illustrated and beautifully typeset, the book is precisely what a companion should be: an engaging, subjective, erudite guide to the interested novice and, at the same time, a quick reference for the initiated. As a dedicated drinker all but ignorant of the chemistry behind brewing, I feel I’ve already learned a lot — and I’ve only read through the five entries that start with “acid-.”

One thing lacking in the Oxford Companion to Beer is any guidance on where to actually find the stuff. Fortunately, Christian DeBenedetti provides a useful, if necessarily incomplete, guide in his The Great American Ale Trail (for which Oliver somehow found the time to write the preface). A young and talented beer journalist, DeBenedetti provides extensive descriptions of beer bars, stores, breweries, brewpubs, and restaurants with extensive beer lists (11 Madison Park, one of Manhattan’s toniest eateries, also boasts one of the country’s best beer inventories). Tucked between are travel itineraries, regional overviews, and general musings about the culture of beer in America. What could have been a dry mash note to the nation’s beer havens is, in DeBenedetti’s hands, a fluid, entertaining handbook.

That said, like any travel book, this one is defined and thus limited by DeBenedetti’s interests and experience. Anyone who picks up the The Great American Ale Trail can think of a bar that was wrongfully overlooked. Them’s the breaks: this is a guide, not a directory. Still, it’s frustrating to see large swaths of the country left out completely. Yes, the best bars and breweries may be in Oregon, Colorado, and New York, and they deserve coverage. Then again, anyone passingly familiar with craft beer will know that if you find yourself in Bend, you absolutely have to visit Deschutes. How many know, on the other hand, that Wilmington, North Carolina, has a robust beer-bar scene?

There are also some suspiciously impersonal write-ups of several out-of-DeBenedetti’s-way spots, which make a reader wonder if he actually visited them in person. His sole entry for Tennessee is the Yazoo Brewing Co., with a fine and fun taproom that he mistakenly says is open just for growler fills (that’s only true on Wednesday; Thursday through Saturday it’s open for pints). He also implies that Sue — Yazoo’s sublime, 9-percent-ABV smoked imperial porter — is available on site; in fact, because Tennessee law restricts the sale of beers about 6.25 percent ABV to liquor stores, you won’t find it at Yazoo. You also won’t find DeBenedetti discussing any of Nashville’s other great breweries and bars, including Blackstone and Boscos, both of which boast chestfuls of beer-festival medals.

One could argue that, as nice of a beer city as Nashville is, it simply doesn’t stand up to the likes of Brooklyn or Boulder. And that would be right — all the more reason it should be more thoroughly covered in DeBenedetti’s book than it is. You can’t swing a hipster in Williamsburg without hitting a bar with a decent row of taps. But even a connoisseur might need help finding a good list in Carolina Beach, North Carolina, a town left out of The Great American Ale Trail (check out the Fat Pelican, which has a self-serve walk-in fridge full of craft beers).

In other words, DeBenedetti and Oliver’s books are similarly incomplete, yet still impressive in their overall depth and scope. More exciting, still, is that their success opens the door to future beer books that might drill down on, say, the top 50 American breweries or the best watering holes in the Southeast. Beer writing may be empty territory, but don’t expect the drought to last.

The two took breaks from their busy travel schedules to talk with Brooklyn Based about the state of the American craft beer scene and Brooklyn’s place in it.

Brooklyn Based: Where does Brooklyn fit into the country’s craft beer movement? Is it a trailblazer in any sense, or are we just following the lead of other cities like Portland, OR?

Christian DeBenedetti: Brooklyn stands on its own. I wrote in the intro to my Northeast section that all of New York City, and especially Brooklyn, has beer in its very foundations. No fewer than three breweries called New Amsterdam home in 1612; in 1913, Jake Ruppert built a $30 million dollar brewery and got himself a baseball team, the Yankees. Brooklyn produced one-fifth of the nation’s beer by 1960, according to a recentTimes story. By 1976, the number of local breweries had bottomed out, and no one really cared about beer anymore.

I tend to think that NYC’s modern craft beer evolution has been more food-oriented and didn’t really grow as much out of the DIY homebrewing and brewpub culture in the same way that, say, Portland, Seattle and San Francisco has.

Garrett Oliver: Brooklyn has, as Christian has mentioned, very deep brewing roots. In more recent times, the Brooklyn beer culture was based on pioneering places such as Sam Barbieri’sWaterfront Ale House. Today, Brooklyn’s beer culture has outstripped Manhattan’s, despite the excellence of great places like The Blind Tiger on Bleeker Street. The fact that a fairly short walk will take you from The Diamond, The Gutter, Brooklyn Bowl, Brooklyn Brewery, Mugs Ale House (also foundational), Teddy’s and Brooklyn Ale House to Spuyten Duyvil, Fette Sau and Barcade is nothing short of amazing.

I think our beer culture is probably deeper and more varied than Portland’s (witness the relatively British-based bent of most of the beers up there; not nearly so much Belgian influence), but Portland wins for sheer volume. And yes, food is a very big part of the Brooklyn beer scene.

Christian, what city do you think has the most adventurous craft beer scene in the country?

It depends, because adventurousness is totally relative these days. Compared to the watery norms of beer selections past, one could make the case that cities like Billings, Montana, New Orleans and Los Angeles are all contenders for “most adventurous” these days. All three once craft-beer-averse cities are awash with unusual styles on offer. You can now drink barrel-aged beers made at a deliciously high level in rural outposts like Bozeman, Montana and Jackson, Wyoming.

But for the sake of making my friend Garrett squirm a little I’ll say this: while my old stomping ground of Brooklyn has superb beer in the kettles, a glorious history, and virtually un-improveable watering holes, there’s an eye-popping number: 53. That’s the latest count of craft breweries in a city essentially the size of Park Slope. And among these you have everything from homebrewer-founded giants like Widmer and Bridgeport, to award-winning experimental wizards of sour and farmhouse and wood-aged styles at Cascade Barrel House and Uprightand Breakside and Hair of the Dog. I mean, there’s a food cart with a built-in brewery on wheels–Captured By Porsches Brewing Co.

It gets crazier: You can buy and fill a glass growler with Rogue or Laurelwood beer in the Portland International airport and carry it on your flight, because it’s all beyond security. Who said flying sucks? Forget those skunky $7 Heinekens. How about four pints of fresh IPA for the same price?

Garrett, do you think Brooklyn Brewery is a victim of its own success; meaning, more specifically, do you think it is unfairly considered too “big” or not local/craft enough by some in the craft beer scene?

Given that we’ve been brewing for 22 years, including 16 years in our current location in Williamsburg, I think that we’re the size that we should be. No matter what your endeavor is, a rock band or a brewery, you’re going to find some people who want you to remain tiny and unknown. I think that outlook is really pretty weird.

If a brewery is successful, it grows; if it doesn’t grow, it’s a failure.

We have, in many ways, defined “craft” for many years, pioneering things like collaborative brewing and even now-established beer styles. We also have the largest 100 percent bottle-conditioning operation in the U.S., which represents a true evolution of a distinctly artisanal nature. In fact, I think we are one of the most genuinely artisanal breweries in the country. Do people know that? Some do, but I think many don’t. So perhaps we need to be better at telling people who we are.

How much Brooklyn Brewery beer is actually made in Brooklyn now?

Garrett: The brewery in Brooklyn is now four times the size it was a year ago, and we produce more than a dozen beers, including all of the bottle-conditioned beers, from there. With the new expansion we will take some of the upstate production back in-house. It’s hard to know exactly what proportion that will be during the next year, but right now it’s looking like about 30 percent or so.

How much has the craft beer scene changed over since Brooklyn Brewery started 22 years ago? Do you think craft brewers are more free to experiment and make ambitious beers than they were in the past?

Christian: Craft brewing in America—and abroad—is practically unrecognizable today from the scenario we were sipping at the end of the ‘80s. There were perhaps a couple of hundred microbreweries then, whereas we are soon to pass 2,000. Most made a few basic varieties of British-inflected beer. Stylistically speaking, brewers were charting new ground, sure, but nothing like the wide-ranging, genre-bending efforts we’re seeing now, swerving into smoked, sour, super-hoppy, hop-less, fruit-infused, and even gluten-free territory.

Garrett: It’s hard to remember now that back in 1989 there wasn’t a whole aisle of bread at the supermarket and there weren’t cheese departments either. Back in 1989, sushi was considered exotic food–now sushi is at baseball stadiums. Our food culture has been transformed by diversification. We’re no longer a meat-and-potatoes nation.

In 1989, New York City, except for Brooklyn Lager (the only beer we made back then) and New Amsterdam, was pretty much a craft-beer desert. We had to go to Boston just to get some Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. It was possible, in 1989, to open up a bar and maybe have four to six draft lines, and have them all be mass-market beer. That’s impossible today–you wouldn’t have any business. It would be like opening up a 1989 supermarket next to Whole Foods or Wegmans.

What many people don’t realize is that craft brewing is not a trend or a fad. It’s a return to normality. One hundred years ago, we had the most interesting beer culture and the most interesting food culture in the world. We forget that, but we did. Our immigrant culture meant that we had everything from everywhere. We took bread and made it into sponges, we took cheese and made it into plastic, and we took beer and turned it back into water. Now we’re in recovery. And I have a message for every 55-year-old beer salesman who figures he’s going to ignore craft beer because he’s only 10 years from his retirement. And my message is simple:  you don’t have 10 years. If you don’t learn this stuff now, you simply aren’t going to make it. The world has changed and it isn’t going back–it’s accelerating.

 Posted on 10/18/11 | Interview by Keith Wagstaff

MONDAY: Beer Revolution: October 12th, 6-9pm: 464 3rd St. Oakland, CA beer-revolution.com

TUESDAY: 21st Amendment: October 11th, 6-9pm: 563 2nd St. San Francisco, CA 21st-amendment.com

Please come and help celebrate the release of my new book, The Great American Ale Trail! 

I will be on hand to talk about and sign copies of my first book, the essential road map to 430 of the best craft beer destinations in the United States, including Beer Revolution and 21st Amendment, of course. Also, meet publisher Megan Flynn, of Beer West, a quarterly magazine covering the craft beer lifestyle on the West Coast. Come check out the magazine and sign up to start receiving a subscription. There will be beer specials and raffle tickets awarded for purchasing beer, books, and magazine subscriptions; drawing includes tons of great prizes. Hope to see you at one or both events!

About the book: 

After a year of toil, travel, and tasting my first book on beer pilgrimages is ready! Are you? THE GREAT AMERICAN ALE TRAIL: The Craft Beer Lover’s Guide to the Best Watering Holes in the Nation, came out nationwide 9/6/11 on Running Press and has already nearly sold out its first print run…

With a preface by Garrett Oliver and detailed profiles of hundreds of destinations from Kona to Cooperstown, South Beach to SoCal, Portland East and Portland West, it’s a 368-page, full-hearted celebration of America’s amazing craft beer community, with profiles of brewers and key beers to seek out in more than 40 U.S. states.

I hope you will consider sharing news of my book with your FaceBook fans and Twitter followers by directing them to the Amazon site for the book or the book’s FaceBook fan page to “like”,  and the Twitter feed.

Cheers!

Publicity Contact: Craig Herman -  215-567-5370

Germany’s secret to summer has taken over America.

by Christian DeBenedetti

When it comes to summer beer, habit usually dictates plunging your hand into an ice-filled cooler for a bottle of the watery domestic swill you drink all season. There’s no reason to do away with this tradition — it is the perfect, pleasurable barbecue and poolside brew — but there are other, more refined approaches. Of course, it’s the Germans we look to for guidance. Their answer: Kölsch, a light ale from the northern German city of Cologne, which will fast become part of your warm-weather drinking.

Kölsch is the ultimate summer beer because it is layered with faintly sweet, soft malt character and a finish that is crisp, grassy, and a bit floral. Light in body, it’s ideal with grilled meats, fairly low in alcohol — generally under 5 percent, like a PBR — and is technically a pale ale, meaning its yeasts work from the top of the tanks, giving it a touch of the fruity mojo that brewers refer to as esters.

Not surprisingly, the best way to drink Kölsch is, like in Cologne, at a Kölsch Kneipe, or corner bar, where the beer is poured into the straight-sided, 7-ounce glasses built for quick drinking — so the beer doesn’t warm in your hand — and mandated by the Kölsch Konvention (we’re not kidding), an agreement brewers signed in Cologne in 1985. It’s then served on doughnut-shaped trays, which will be restocked again and again and again without asking.

There are a few American pubs exacting enough to re-create this experience, right down to the serving trays, but you can do it just as easily at home. Simply buy a crate of the thin, straight glasses ($13.95 per dozen; leevalley.com), and get a few cases of the beer. You can purchase imported German Kölsch, like Gaffel and Reissdorf, but freshness is essential for this beer, and so a domestic brew will likely be better.

Insurgent American brewers are reinventing Old World classics all over the country on draft, in bottles, and even in cans. One of the most widely available on draft and in bottles for Westerners, especially, isAlaskan Summer Ale, brewed in Juneau using water from nearby glaciers. It’s got the perfect mix of bready flavor and lightly lip-smacking hops. And because we love nothing more than a cold-canned beer (they can’t break and won’t skunk out in sunlight), Rocky Mountain mainstay Steamworks of Durango offers up the cracker-crisp Colorado Kölsch in cans. From the Midwest, we suggest the bright, goldenGoose Island Summertime. Easterners: Harpoon’s uber-refreshing Summer Beer is an ale made for those long summer days and nights if ever there was one.

—

This article originally appeared in the August 2011 issue of Men’s Journal.