Today would have been Bert Grant’s 95th birthday, and he is still definitely missed. Bert opened the country’s first brewpub in 1982 in Yakima, Washington and was a fixture in the industry until his death in late July of 2001. Join me tonight in lifting a pint to Bert’s memory.
Here’s his obituary from Real Beer:
Craft brewing pioneer Bert Grant, who founded the first modern day brewpub in the United States, is dead at 73.
Grant had been ill for two years and died Tuesday at the University of British Columbia Hospital in Vancouver. He had moved to that city a year ago to be close to his children.
When Grant founded his brewpub in Yakima, Wash., in 1982 there were fewer than 50 individual brewing operations in the U.S. Today there are more than 1,500. That brewpub expanded to become a bottling microbrewery, selling about 10,000 barrels of Bert Grant’s Ales in 2001. He sold the brewery to Chateau Ste. Michelle wines in 1995, but Grant remained an active spokesman until being slowed by illness.
He’d sometimes wear a kilt at his pub in Yakima and occasionally dance on the bar. He kept a claymore — a double-bladed broadsword — just in case he had to enforce his ban on smoking.
He was born in Dundee, Scotland, in 1928. He moved to Toronto, where he grew up and got his first job in a brewery … at 16, he became a beer taster. He remained in the beer business all his life. He moved to Yakima in 1967, where he helped build and operate two plants that processed hops. His patented processing of hops is still in use today.
Bert Grant Bert was one of a kind,” said Paul Shipman, who founded Red Hook Brewery around the time Grant began Yakima Brewing and Malting Co. “He was a scientist, a brewer, and I don’t think he even graduated high school.”
He remained dedicated to assertive beer and carried a vial of hop oil in his pocket to boost the flavor of a bland domestic beer. His first priority was to brew beer he liked. “It may not be your favorite beer,” Grant’s son Peter said. “But it was his.”
And here is his obituary from the New York Times:
Bert Grant, a veteran brew master who in 1982 opened the granddaddy of all the good, bad and so-so brew pubs slaking thirsts across the country today, died on July 31 at a hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia, where he had recently made his home. He was 73 and a longtime resident of Yakima, Wash.
The cause was a bowel rupture, his family said.
Mr. Grant’s experience in brewing stretched back to his teenage years in Canada. He worked at big brewing companies and later as an international consultant to them before settling in Yakima, the center of American hops country.
Mr. Grant started the Yakima Brewing and Malting Company in the 19th-century former home of the Yakima Opera, using plenty of the flavorful hops he thought other beers lacked. At first he brewed just eight kegs at a time.
Friends who sampled his recipe liked it and spread the word. It caught on with Yakima beer lovers, who welcomed it as an alternative to national brands and expensive imports. Mr. Grant got some chairs to sit on in the lobby and convinced skeptical licensing officials that Washington State law permitted each brewer to operate one pub.
This gave birth in the summer of 1982 to Grant’s Brewery Pub, the first such establishment in the United States since Prohibition. Food and tables were added, and a growing clientele prompted Mr. Grant to move his pub across the street into what used to be Yakima’s downtown railroad station. He liked to greet customers personally and, as a native of Scotland, often did so wearing a plaid kilt with a clan pin.
His brewing company, meanwhile, came to offer an assortment of beers and ales, including seasonal brews that varied with the harvest of the region’s distinctive types of hops. Mr. Grant built the company into one of the Northwest’s leading microbreweries and started bottling his brands, like Grant’s Scottish Ale, Imperial Stout and HefeWeizen. Last year, Yakima Brewing and Malting brewed 10,000 barrels and shipped bottles to distributors in 20 states, from Alaska to Connecticut to Florida.
Herbert Lewis Grant was born in Dundee but immigrated to Canada with his parents as a toddler. With World War II draining his adopted country of manpower, he left school at 16 to work at Canadian Breweries (now Carling).
He moved on to the United States to develop a pilot brewing program for Stroh and, as his reputation grew, became an independent consultant for makers like Anheuser-Busch and the Australian brewer Foster’s.
Also working for hops companies, he became well acquainted with Yakima and moved there when he decided to brew to his own taste. He sold his business in 1995 to Stimson Lane Ltd., a long-established winery, but remained a consultant to it until recently.
Mr. Grant is survived by two sons, David H., of Winnipeg, Manitoba, and Peter A., of Vancouver; three daughters, Shannon D. Grant and Melanie Bond of Vancouver, and Wendy Cundall of Calgary, Alberta; and five grandchildren. Also surviving is his former wife, Daphne Grant of Vancouver.
According to family lore, the Scottish doctor who delivered little Herbert lifted him by the heels and, slapping breath into him, said, ”Bottoms up.” His first cradle, the lore goes, was an oaken barrel sawed in half — possibly apocryphal, Mr. Grant allowed.
And finally, here’s a great retrospective written by Ryan Messer for the Yakima Herald in 2017, entitled “Bert Grant: The Godfather of Craft Brewing.”
He’s been called the “Dean of America’s craft brewers” and the Wall Street Journal called him “The Patriarch of the micro movement.” Personally, I prefer Bert Grant as the “Neil Young of Microbrews.” Neil didn’t invent Rock ’n Roll, but he was the Godfather of Grunge. Likewise, Bert didn’t invent beer but what he did to change it made an indelible mark.
Most people know Bert Grant as the man who gave us Yakima brewing and Malting Co., or Grant’s Ales. While he launched that business in 1982, his passion for beer, and hops in general, started decades before.
Bert was born in 1928 in Dundee, Scotland. Before he reached the age of 10, the Grant family moved to Toronto, and Bert had consumed his first beer. I should say his first of many beers. I don’t even know if it’s possible to quantify what Bert consumed over his lifetime. As a child, Bert’s father let him drink opened beers left behind, and his first job at age 16 was to taste beer; 50-100 per day — you do the math.
The thing about beer drinking for Bert was that he truly enjoyed it. It wasn’t about the feeling, it was about the flavor. And, it was about the science behind the flavor. Bert was a chemist and loved studying why one beer could taste remarkable, and another could ruin your evening.
Part of his career included working for Canadian Breweries (parent company of Carling) and Stroh Brewing Company, doing experimental brewing. He had the freedom to try new things, but sadly neither company utilized his research or expertise. Finally, Bert realized consulting was the best direction for him. He eventually worked with large breweries spanning the globe such as Guinness, Coors, Foster’s, Anheuser-Busch and Yakima hop company, S.S. Steiner.
Steiner was the business that really changed Bert’s world, and ours as a collective of beer drinkers. They convinced him to move to Yakima and redesign a hop extract plant. After great success, Bert and Steiner changed gears — literally. Under Bert’s supervision, Steiner built the first hop pellet plant in the United States. This was a game changer for the beer industry. It took the varying aroma of a whole hop cone (based on time from harvest) and replaced it with exacting smell and bitterness. It was similar in nature to the extract, but far easier and more precise for the brewer to use.
With over 40 years of beer tasting and testing under his belt, Bert wanted to share his knowledge with the world, or at least the people of the Yakima Valley. It would be a daunting task because at the time, no one even knew what a microbrew was. In the early ‘80s, there were two little known breweries in California, Sierra Nevada and Anchor Brewing, that were making something entirely different than the “King of Beers.” In 1982, when Bert was ready to start brewing professionally, his only competition in the state was Redhook. On July 1st that year, Yakima Brewing and Malting Co. poured its first Grant’s Scottish Ale in the old Opera House on Yakima’s Front Street.
Bert was at the helm as one of the chief investors and brewmaster, and the recipes and ideas all stemmed from him. He started with his son-in-law and a few others to round out the investment team and hired Rick Desmarais (who he had worked with at Steiner) as his first head brewer and Dan Boutillier as production manager. Within the first few years the Scottish Ale shared tap space with an Imperial Stout and an India Pale Ale (IPA). A few years beyond that, a low calorie “Celtic Ale”, Weis (white beer), “Spiced Ale” (winter beer) and Yakima Cider (a hard cider made exclusively from apple concentrate) were added to the lineup.
The unique thing about Yakima Brewing and Malting is that it started without a bottling line. It was only available in plastic bottles that the consumer could bring or purchase like a crude precursor to today’s growler. It was also available for consumption on premises. This is what really stood out because it was the first time anyone had an establishment of that nature in the United States since before prohibition. Yakima, Washington was the home of the first “brewpub” in America in over 60 years.
In 1984, Bert hired Darren Waytuck who eventually became head brewer. Waytuck said it was a tremendous learning experience working for someone like Bert. “He wasn’t only into the chemistry of the beer and that process, but in hops as well. That was really his forte. But he also had incredible experience. Someone new might know if a beer was flawed but wouldn’t know why. It was Bert’s job to understand why and how to correct it.”
As brew master, Bert was still in charge of all things happening with his beer. All ideas would come from him on the brewing process and ingredients. When asked about what hops they used to brew with, Waytuck said, “I preferred the whole hop cone and didn’t care for the smell of a hop pellet, but Bert insisted. When I still didn’t use them, Bert ran us out of whole hops so I had to use the pellets.”
Bert was a risk taker though, and had no problem with pushing the envelope for something he was passionate about. “No one was out there getting their beer in front of people like Bert did, it just didn’t happen before his time.” Waytuck said. With that success they had to build a bottling line directly behind the brewery in the Opera House. They also expanded into a space to the north for a larger pub which my mother, Jana Johnson, ran for the better part of two decades. When that wasn’t enough, the brewery expanded to a 20,000 square foot building off Washington Avenue and the pub moved across the street to the old train depot.
Waytuck and the crew enjoyed their craft, but he said, “it was a lot more fun at the Opera House. It became more corporate at the new brewery and was more of a task.”
Shortly after the locations changed, Bert continued to push the envelope, but this time with an organization that no one beats — the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, (ATF). Bert had done some testing on his beers and found that a 12 ounce bottle of Scottish Ale contained beneficial vitamins and nutrients, including 170 percent of the U.S. RDA of Vitamin B-12. He had table tents printed, added it to his 6-pack cartons and even made shirts advertising the news (although a bit tattered, I’m happy to say I still have mine).
Of course the ATF wouldn’t allow someone to suggest that beer was actually healthy for you and ordered him to stop. At the same time, the Bureau looked into his cider making process which was not technically a beer, but considered by them as a wine. Not only did they prevent him from continuing to make the cider, they required he pay back taxes for the years he paid too little. Waytuck said, “It was tough for Bert. He didn’t like the confrontation, but he was going to push as far as he could.”
After achieving a greater success than I believe Bert imagined he could, Yakima Brewing and Malting was sold to Stimson Lane, the parent company of Chateau Ste. Michelle, Columbia Crest and other wineries in Washington and California, in 1995. While his role changed, Bert stayed on with the company until he passed away in July of 2001. Stimson Lane sold the company only a few months later. Waytuck stayed committed to the brand and eventually became brewmaster, before the company closed in 2004. “I promised Bert I would see it through and make the best beer as long as we were open,” Waytuck said.
So by how much did he beat “Buffalo Bill” Owens’ pub in Hayward, which I visited in my early beer-geek days (1982-83)? Buffalo Bill’s was the only one I’ve ever been to that had open fermenting vats a la Anchor.
Which brings me to a topic that has yet to show up in a book – a history of US brewpubs from 1982-2000 (w/annotations for those that survived beyond & either still exist or the reasons for their demise. The variations & possibilities on this topic are many, & many readers of this would be able to help w/the research (hint, hint) 🙂
Gary Gillman says
Sierra Nevada, which started about 1981, used open-top fermentation as well and I’d guess New Albion did too. Bert Grant was a trailblazer and is responsible surely for inaugurating India Pale Ale, not the taste as such, which really started with Liberty Ale, but the nomenclature. Sadly missed.
The Professor says
Bert was a pioneer, a nice guy, and made good beers…but giving him credit for “inaugurating the nomenclature” of India Pale Ale is overstating it a bit. Even saying that Anchor was responsible for inaugurating the “taste” of IPA with it’s Liberty Ale is a bit far fetched.
But Bert Grant certainly _was_ a true pioneer.
Gary Gillman says
Bert Grant did inaugurate the term India Pale Ale during the modern craft era, meaning two things: i) he was the first (as far as I know) to put it on a bottled beer label, ii) he used the term in connection with assertive PNW hops. Liberty Ale has a similar taste profile but didn’t call itself India Pale Ale.
The existence at the time of Ballantine IPA does not affect these points because it pre-dated the modern craft era and did not rely on PNW hops for its signature taste.