Beer Is Proof God Loves Us: The Craft, Culture, and Ethos of Brewing, Portable Documents

Beer Is Proof God Loves Us: The Craft, Culture, and Ethos of Brewing, Portable Documents

by Charles W. Bamforth

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780132172998
Publisher: Pearson Education
Publication date: 08/26/2010
Series: FT Press Science
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 256
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

Charles W. Bamforth has been in the brewing industry for 32 years, including 13 years in research, 11 in academia, and 8 with the famed brewing company Bass. After an international search, he was selected as UC Davis’ first Anheuser-Busch Endowed Professor of Malting and Brewing Sciences. His Web site gives fuller details of his career and much interesting information about beer and brewing, besides: http://www-foodsci.ucdavis.edu/bamforth/.

 

Throughout his diverse career, he has embraced every dimension of beer, from raw materials and processing, through quality, to beer’s impact on the body. This makes him unique among “beer people” worldwide. He has published many research papers in the peer-reviewed domain, but also those targeted at the layperson, seeking to engage awareness and debate about beer as a product and as part of social fabric. This is his ninth book on beer (one of his earlier ones is in its third edition), and he is generally considered to be one of the world’s leading writers and speakers on beer, from an authoritative, but also humorous and engaging, perspective. In recent years his major research thrust has been on the wholesomeness and public perception of beer.

Read an Excerpt

IntroductionIntroduction

My regular haunt as a boy was a pub called The Owl (see Figure 0.1). I was not yet 17, and the legal drinking age in England was (and still is) 18. Friday evenings. One or two pints of Walker’s Best Bitter.1 A bag of crisps (a.k.a. chips) with a tiny blue bag of salt in every pack.2 And Woodbine cigarettes, of which perhaps three or four would tremble on my lips. I would observe the comings and goings, mostly of the male gender (women then, as now, pleased my eyes more, but in those days they were heavily outnumbered in the pub). Many of the men were tough-as-teak workers, some clad in clogs, leaning against the bar, throwing darts, or rattling dominoes as they took their accustomed places in the dusty oaken furniture solidly set on rustic flooring. No television, no piped music. The food was restricted to pickled eggs, crisps, scratchings,3 and perhaps the offerings from the basket of the fish man who did his rounds of the pubs, with his cockles, whelks, and mussels.4 He jockeyed for position with the bonneted Sally Army woman and her War Cry.5

Arthur Koestler6 wrote, “When all is said, its atmosphere (England’s) still contains fewer germs of aggression and brutality per cubic foot in a crowded bus, pub or queue than in any other country in which I have lived.” Not once in the pubs of 1960s Lancashire did I witness anything to contradict this truth.

Who were these men, in their flat caps and overalls, or their simple and well-worn woolen suits? What unfolded in their lives? Were they drinking away their babies’ or teenagers’ futures, or were they rather savoring precious moments of content amidst the harsh cruelty of their labors? Were they stoking the fire of violence that would afterwards roar through the family home or were they merely rejoicing in bonds of brotherhood with others who knew only too well the rocky roads and unforgiving fields that each of them traversed as laborers and farmers, bricklayers, and quarrymen? This was no less their sanctuary than St Thomas’s church7 or Central Park, the home of nearby Wigan’s prestigious Rugby League team.8 This was oasis.

And in their glasses would be English ales, nary a lager in sight. Pints (seldom halves) of bitter or mild.9 The occasional bottle of Jubilee or Mackeson.10 Perhaps a Bass No. 1 or a Gold Label.11 Beers with depth and warmth and, yes, nutritional value to complement their impact on conviviality and thirst.

Wigan, immortalized by George Orwell in his Road to Wigan Pier,12 was a few pennies away on a Ribble13 bus. The pier was a landing stage by the Leeds-Liverpool canal, a place for goods to be offloaded, notably cotton for the mills of the grimy but glorious town. The folks lived in row upon row of small houses, all joined together in grey, damp blocks. Two rooms down and two up and a toilet a freezing trek away down the narrow back yard, with newspaper to clean oneself up and often no light to ensure a satisfactory result. Baths were taken in front of the coal fire in the living room, in a pecking order of father first, mother next, then the children. For those with coal-miner dads it was no treat to be the youngest offspring.

Was it then a wonder that the pub held appeal? Warm, cozy, buzzing with camaraderie and escape.

In England today, pubs are shuttering their doors at a rate of 52 every week. I blame Thatcher, whose ill-judged Beer Laws of the late 1980s led to revered brewers like Bass and Whitbread and Watney selling their breweries to focus on serving the brews of others in spruced-up pubs that are now more restaurant and sports bar than back street boozer. Cleaner, smarter, livelier? Sure. But do they have heart or soul? Yes, they are smoke-free zones,14 but there are as many folks on the sidewalk outside, spilling into the roadway and littering the pavement with butts and spittle.

Perhaps it is small wonder that many choose no longer to head to the pub and prefer to stay in front of their 70-inch surround-sound televisions, chugging on canned lager bought at fiercely competitive rates from a supermarket chain that commands one in every seven pounds of disposable income in the British Isles and which squeezes the remaining UK brewers to the measliest of margins as they entice the shopper to become solitary suppers of beers with names very different from those of yore.

Beers from breweries like the multinational behemoth Anheuser-Busch InBev, which commands nearly 25 percent of the world’s beer market, more than twice as much as the nearest competitor, South African Breweries-Miller. Stella Artois, Budweiser, Becks: all brands owned by the biggest of breweries. Excellent beers, of course, but at what risk to other smaller traditional labels?

The world of beer is hugely different from that I first glimpsed as a too young drinker close to the dark satanic mills15 of my native Northern England. Has beer, I wonder, lost its soul?

Or is it, rather, me that is the dinosaur? Is the enormous consolidation that has been the hallmark of the world’s brewing industry for decades nothing more than business evolution writ large as survival of the fittest? Do the beers that folks enjoy today—and the latter day “near beer” which is the malternative (think Smirnoff Ice)—speak to a new age of Kindle, Facebook, and fast food?

In truth, there remains much for this hoary old traditionalist to delight in: the burgeoning craft beer sector in his new motherland, the United States. A growing global realization that beer, rather than wine, is the ideal accompaniment to foods of all types and (whisper it) is actually good for you, in moderation.

All is not lost in the world of beer. Let’s go there.

© Copyright Pearson Education. All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Preface xiii

Introduction xv

Chapter 1: Global Concerns 1

Chapter 2: The Not-So-Slow Death of a Beer Culture 23

Chapter 3: Barbican, Balls, and Beyond 39

Chapter 4: On The Other Hand: The Re-Birth of a Beer Ethos 49

Chapter 5: So What Is Quality? 65

Chapter 6: Despite the Odds: Anti-Alcohol Forces 79

Chapter 7: Societal Issues 93

Chapter 8: Looks Good, Tastes Good, and… 101

Chapter 9: Whither Brewing? 115

Chapter 10: God in a Glass 123

Conclusion 129

Endnotes 133

Appendix A: The Basics of Malting and Brewing 213

Appendix B: Types of Beer 219

About the Author 223

Index 225

Preface

Introduction

Introduction

My regular haunt as a boy was a pub called The Owl (see Figure 0.1). I was not yet 17, and the legal drinking age in England was (and still is) 18. Friday evenings. One or two pints of Walker’s Best Bitter.1 A bag of crisps (a.k.a. chips) with a tiny blue bag of salt in every pack.2 And Woodbine cigarettes, of which perhaps three or four would tremble on my lips. I would observe the comings and goings, mostly of the male gender (women then, as now, pleased my eyes more, but in those days they were heavily outnumbered in the pub). Many of the men were tough-as-teak workers, some clad in clogs, leaning against the bar, throwing darts, or rattling dominoes as they took their accustomed places in the dusty oaken furniture solidly set on rustic flooring. No television, no piped music. The food was restricted to pickled eggs, crisps, scratchings,3 and perhaps the offerings from the basket of the fish man who did his rounds of the pubs, with his cockles, whelks, and mussels.4 He jockeyed for position with the bonneted Sally Army woman and her War Cry.5

Arthur Koestler6 wrote, “When all is said, its atmosphere (England’s) still contains fewer germs of aggression and brutality per cubic foot in a crowded bus, pub or queue than in any other country in which I have lived.” Not once in the pubs of 1960s Lancashire did I witness anything to contradict this truth.

Who were these men, in their flat caps and overalls, or their simple and well-worn woolen suits? What unfolded in their lives? Were they drinking away their babies’ or teenagers’ futures, or were they rather savoring precious moments of content amidst the harsh cruelty of their labors? Were they stoking the fire of violence that would afterwards roar through the family home or were they merely rejoicing in bonds of brotherhood with others who knew only too well the rocky roads and unforgiving fields that each of them traversed as laborers and farmers, bricklayers, and quarrymen? This was no less their sanctuary than St Thomas’s church7 or Central Park, the home of nearby Wigan’s prestigious Rugby League team.8 This was oasis.

And in their glasses would be English ales, nary a lager in sight. Pints (seldom halves) of bitter or mild.9 The occasional bottle of Jubilee or Mackeson.10 Perhaps a Bass No. 1 or a Gold Label.11 Beers with depth and warmth and, yes, nutritional value to complement their impact on conviviality and thirst.

Wigan, immortalized by George Orwell in his Road to Wigan Pier,12 was a few pennies away on a Ribble13 bus. The pier was a landing stage by the Leeds-Liverpool canal, a place for goods to be offloaded, notably cotton for the mills of the grimy but glorious town. The folks lived in row upon row of small houses, all joined together in grey, damp blocks. Two rooms down and two up and a toilet a freezing trek away down the narrow back yard, with newspaper to clean oneself up and often no light to ensure a satisfactory result. Baths were taken in front of the coal fire in the living room, in a pecking order of father first, mother next, then the children. For those with coal-miner dads it was no treat to be the youngest offspring.

Was it then a wonder that the pub held appeal? Warm, cozy, buzzing with camaraderie and escape.

In England today, pubs are shuttering their doors at a rate of 52 every week. I blame Thatcher, whose ill-judged Beer Laws of the late 1980s led to revered brewers like Bass and Whitbread and Watney selling their breweries to focus on serving the brews of others in spruced-up pubs that are now more restaurant and sports bar than back street boozer. Cleaner, smarter, livelier? Sure. But do they have heart or soul? Yes, they are smoke-free zones,14 but there are as many folks on the sidewalk outside, spilling into the roadway and littering the pavement with butts and spittle.

Perhaps it is small wonder that many choose no longer to head to the pub and prefer to stay in front of their 70-inch surround-sound televisions, chugging on canned lager bought at fiercely competitive rates from a supermarket chain that commands one in every seven pounds of disposable income in the British Isles and which squeezes the remaining UK brewers to the measliest of margins as they entice the shopper to become solitary suppers of beers with names very different from those of yore.

Beers from breweries like the multinational behemoth Anheuser-Busch InBev, which commands nearly 25 percent of the world’s beer market, more than twice as much as the nearest competitor, South African Breweries-Miller. Stella Artois, Budweiser, Becks: all brands owned by the biggest of breweries. Excellent beers, of course, but at what risk to other smaller traditional labels?

The world of beer is hugely different from that I first glimpsed as a too young drinker close to the dark satanic mills15 of my native Northern England. Has beer, I wonder, lost its soul?

Or is it, rather, me that is the dinosaur? Is the enormous consolidation that has been the hallmark of the world’s brewing industry for decades nothing more than business evolution writ large as survival of the fittest? Do the beers that folks enjoy today—and the latter day “near beer” which is the malternative (think Smirnoff Ice)—speak to a new age of Kindle, Facebook, and fast food?

In truth, there remains much for this hoary old traditionalist to delight in: the burgeoning craft beer sector in his new motherland, the United States. A growing global realization that beer, rather than wine, is the ideal accompaniment to foods of all types and (whisper it) is actually good for you, in moderation.

All is not lost in the world of beer. Let’s go there.

© Copyright Pearson Education. All rights reserved.

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Beer Is Proof God Loves Us 3.6 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 46 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The large amount of footnotes made for a slightly disjointed read, but the amount and quality of knowledge gained has made me recommend it to fellow beer geeks.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I've some familiarity with such chemical process of brewing; yet I lacked the depth of the history of this ancient process. I enjoyed the perspective of the author from the U.K. and found the recent history of U.K. pubs amazing. Sit back with a point of you favorite brew and take a long 'draw' of this particular book.
BrettJamen More than 1 year ago
Good overview of the decline of pubs in England, the consolidation of beer producers worldwide and how the smaller craft brewers fit into the new world. Informative on how much has changed and why the "big" beers are harder to produce then the smaller craft ones.
faithMG More than 1 year ago
This was a free Friday book. I wasn't even sure I would read it. I am not that interested in beer. This was an interesting book. My scientific side loved the chemistry and microbiology. My historical side loved the history and politics. And by manager side loved the business angles. I now watch beer commercials with a different eye. I linger longer in the beer aisle than before. The book didn’t make me change my brew of choice. However, now I know more about the beers I like so I might find a new brew with similar qualities.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Good overview of the brewing industry. Author talks fairly about a lot of the major and minor players in beer brewing. As a more refreshing approach he does not tell us which beers we should like but leaves it up to the reader's individual taste preferences.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Hey i want to have sex with you
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She sighs "oh i wanted to!"
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
"Because i couldnt stop it."
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
My family drinks beer and I can not wait ti fead this book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
For beer lovers only
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Rather droll. I was expecting humor, got corporate history.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
For serious beer fans this is a fun read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Ike this book
RADGUITARMAN More than 1 year ago
A quick and enjoyable read. Entertaining and Informative.
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