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Jay R. Brooks on Beer

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Session #5: Atmosphere

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Today is our fifth Beer Blogging Friday “Session” and the topic is decidedly cerebral. Ron and Al, who run Hop Talk have chosen a topic near and dear to their hearts: atmosphere. Ron at Hop Talk wrote about atmosphere when they first started their blog almost a year ago. In that first atmospheric post, he wrote: “It might be a place, it might be a time, and it might be the company you are with; but, there’s no two ways about it, a beer will taste better if enjoyed in the right atmosphere.”

Fast forward to this June and the set-up for today’s session, which Ron and Al describe thusly:

Beer is about more than flavor, IBUs, and the debate over what is a craft beer and what isn’t. It’s about Life. It’s the proverbial icing on the cake.

So, we want to know about the “Atmosphere” in which you enjoy beer. Where is your favorite place to have a beer? When? With whom? Most importantly:

Why?

Because while life isn’t all about beer, beer is all about life.

I like this topic because it appeals to my philosophical nature and my tendency to over-analyze everything. I can’t really decide what is the right beer to have for such a discussion, though something atmospheric should do the trick. I suspect one isn’t really even necessary but I want to keep the tradition of including a beer as part of each Session. After all, what’s a Session without a beer?

After rummaging through the beer refrigerator I settle on a small 375 ml bottle of Russian River Temptation (batch 002) that’s been in there for several months, at least. As this is an out-of-this-world topic I give in to temptation and pick an out-of-this-world beer. So beer in hand, let’s tackle this sucker. High in the upper atmosphere — the exosphere — where the air is thinnest, is a good place to start. Metaphorically, I’d like to peel back the layers as we get closer and closer to the surface of things, where the air is thicker and richer. Will the heat shield hold? It’s been hotter than hades in the Bay Area this week. I hope I chose my beer wisely.

This far from home, your favorite place to have a beer is undoubtedly home. No matter how far you roam, no matter how many places you adopt as new homes, no matter how much time has passed, you only have one original home, the place you were born. I spent the first eighteen years of my life in one place and only three houses, two of which belonged to my grandmothers and the third one was purchased by my mother when she married my alcoholic stepfather when I was five. That one was in downtown Shillington. After high school, I left and came back more times than I care to remember, always drawn home like the proverbial moth to the flame, perhaps for the warmth of familiarity.

I was amazed to see Stan over at Appellation Beer chose the Northeast Taproom in Reading, Pennsylvania and included a piece he wrote ten years before when owner Pete Cammarano still had the place. What’s amazing about that is that Reading is my hometown — or near enough, I grew up just outside Reading in a little suburb called Shillington. So every visit home also included stopping in at the Northeast Taproom to spend time with friends who weren’t fortunate enough to escape the slow death of Reading from a mid-size industrial, manufacturing hub into the “Outlet Capital of the World” where busloads of shoppers from all over the east coast flock to buy cheap goods and take advantage of Pennsylvania having no sales tax on clothing.

After a stint in the Army Band, I was back living in the Commonwealth when I turned 21. I was also married (to my first wife) and putting myself through college and working full-time running a record store in the mall. So my best bar days were behind me, at least in Reading. I learned about most of the good ones while still underage as my stepfather had an uncanny knack of knowing all the best taverns, especially which ones had the best food. So by the time I was 21, I already knew the best ones to go to and so spent little time on experimentation. I already knew which ones felt comfortable to me, though it would take considerably longer to understand why that was so. Two teachers at Wilson High School — where by father-in-law was superintendent — wrote a book called “The Bars of Reading” and were invited to be on the Tonight Show. (My prick of a father-in-law told them they couldn’t go, but they managed it without his blessing, but that’s another story). I still have my copy and it’s still remarkable just how many corner bars there were in such a small town. At some of them, even today, you can still buy a 7 oz. glass of draft beer for under a buck. But the Northeast Taproom was by far the best in modern times. It was a great combination of good selection, quirky weirdness yet with that neighborhood bar feel to it. I haven’t been back since Pete sold the place and in a way I’m almost scared to go. I just don’t want to prove Tom Wolfe right, even though in this case he probably is correct.

So there is something about a drink at home in places dripping with nostalgia and memories. I often glance about such places furtively, forgetting for a second that I’m old enough to legally be drinking inside, not just stealing sips from my stepfather’s glass when no one is looking. But as comfortable as I feel in such places, having grown up in them, and despite such wonderful atmosphere they are more a piece of history and the past than my favorite places right now. For that, we have to descend farther into the atmosphere to the Thermosphere, where the Space Shuttle happily tests yeast and the Aurora Borealis straddles the Karman Line (at 100 km — the international definition of where space begins).

Below that is the Mesosphere, which is where most of the meters that shower the Earth burn up in the atmosphere. They’re just too hot to drink with, despite there being a French beer called Meteor. As we close in on Earth, we next descend into the Stratosphere, which is where what’s left of the ozone layer resides. It’s also where we send weather balloons to track the patterns in the atmosphere used by meteorologists to incorrectly predict the weather so maddeningly often. Just a little farther along we reach the final layer, known as the Troposphere. This where the airplanes fly, at its thickest a mere 23,000 feet (4 1/3 mi.) at the poles and 60,000 feet (10 1/2 mi.) at the equator. We sit at the very bottom of this airy fishbowl, on our barstools, talking about the weather and quenching out thirst with another beer. That’s our own atmosphere. Of course, it doesn’t answer the question of our favorite drinking atmosphere.

So let’s break the question down:

  1. Where
  2. When
  3. With Whom
  4. Why

1. Where

Where is probably the first aspect you think of when the question of atmosphere is posed. Location, location, location. The other W’s are merely window dressing to place and merely modify your experience of that place whether temporally, by its fellowship or the reason you’re there in the first place. So without question “where” is what atmosphere is all about. It’s the hokey pokey. Everything else that may or may not enhance it doesn’t stand a chance unless you’ve chosen the right place to begin with. So where are the best places? That’s undoubtedly a personal decision, but there is, I think, some universal criteria that we’d all more or less agree with.
 

  • Comfort: In my opinion, the best places are the ones where I feel the most comfortable, however you define that. I don’t necessarily mean safe, some of my favorite places are often described as dive bars. But you have to feel in place, not out of it. Often, that requires other people, but not always. There are plenty places of solitude that would qualify for me.

    •  

  • Beauty: It’s hard to admit, but looks do matter. Who wouldn’t prefer the stunning vista of mountains or a lake to a brick wall? There’s something universally calming about the idylls of nature. Why fight it?

    •  

  • The Source: It’s hard to imagine a better place than the source of something as the best place to enjoy it. I can’t imagine the unfiltered Radeberger Zwickel tastes sweeter outside of its native Dresden. Isn’t that why barrel tasting is so wonderful? You just can’t get closer to the source than that. I’m sure that’s why I like drinking in breweries so much.

 

2. The Rest

To me, when is less about time than season. Even here in California, where the seasons don’t make themselves individually known as forcefully as more temperate climates, there is a rhythm to the year. Some of it is imposed artificially by the calendar but much of it is still managed by nature herself. The time of year often makes the decision of a beer or range of beers for you. The blonde ale I’m enjoying right now is ideal for the warmth of this July day. If it were cooler, I’d be craving something heartier.

The people you drink with to my mind does more to change the experience than any other single factor, except for place. Simpatico drinking buddies are worth their weight in gold. They take a good situation — great place, great beer — and turn it into an experience worth remembering. Oftentimes, you can’t even remember what was discussed, just that it was an enjoyable experience. And in the end, that’s really all that matters.

And that brings us to why, which our hosts Ron and Al regard as being of the utmost importance. I’m not sure I place as much stock in the why as they do, though it’s undoubtedly important. I think, more often than not, the why of what makes a particular atmosphere comes out of the other factors, is in effect created by the place, the beer, the camaraderie, etcetera. It’s the synergy of all of the other factors coming together in such a way as makes them all fit together. I’m sure you can create those conditions artificially, but I’m willing to bet that it’s the ones that come together of their own accord that are the best. You can choose a great place. You can order a great beer. You can invite terrific friends to join you. But that’s still no guarantee of a great time. Oh, I’ll grant you it’s a good start and will probably work more often than not. Still, you could also go to the same place with the same people and drink the same beer night after night and not recreate a magical evening. It’s that indefinable synergy that provide the final ingredient and makes a pleasant evening into a truly memorable one.

Of course, like the best philosophy (not that I really have one), all of the preceding says quite a lot yet fails to answer the simple question of where is my favorite place to enjoy a beer. So here goes. During the day, my favorite location is where I spend most of my time — my house. In any comfy chair — comfort is king! — whether on the back deck, my office or the snuggle chair in the living room surrounded by my wife and friends is the ideal spot. At night, I fancy being out in the middle of nowhere with the bright stars twinkling overhead and a roaring campfire in front of me. Again, in a — what else? — comfy folding camp chair surrounded by my wife and friends.

Notice that regardless of the place, friends are an indispensable component of a favorite place to drink. Even though I continue to feel that location is of the utmost importance, it all falls apart if the experience can’t be enjoyed with the right people. Beer isn’t called a social lubricant for nothing. I haven’t read many other Session pieces yet, but I’m willing to bet sight unseen that for almost every single one, drinking with the right people is what it’s all about. I think that’s going to be near universal. Because while “place” makes the experience, “people” makes the experience worthwhile.

We started out, perhaps reluctantly, admitting “life isn’t all about beer” instead championing that “beer is all about life.” For those of us who think about beer so much more than the rest of the population — whatever we call ourselves — we do so because we’ve convinced ourselves that we’re in on a secret that enhances our very lives. It’s not necessarily a secret we want to keep, but instead is one we want to shout about to anybody willing to listen.

I imagine it’s like seeing color in a black and white world. How would you describe red or blue or yellow to someone who’s never seen color? And once you’ve seen the world in all it’s rich hues, the black and white world seems all gray and lifeless by comparison. It’s such a rich experience that you can’t help but want other people to see it, too. It’s too magnificent to keep it to yourself. It’s frankly a little frustrating when so many people seem to say, “nah, I like my world in black and white, thank you very much” because you know how much they’re missing. Sometimes I feel a little sorry for them, even though I know how patronizing and condescending that sounds. I see people I’ve known for years, still drinking industrial light lagers without a moment’s pause, and I just shake my head thinking of all of life’s pleasures they’re denying themselves. Because how could someone who thinks all beer is the same possibly even consider a question like atmosphere? It’s all the same, right? So what can it matter? I always imagine such people — trying to give them the benefit of the doubt — just feel they have more important things to think about. Truthfully, that never actually seems to be the case, and in fact many just seem to be sleepwalking through life not giving too much thought to any of the choices they make, beer or otherwise. If that really is the case, how many simple pleasures that you and I take for granted do they miss over and over again? If nothing else, loving beer is about enjoying life to the fullest, because it never stops with the beer. I guess beer is a gateway pleasure, because it leads to single malt scotch, cider, pairing with food, purposeful travel, fantastic cheese, port, cooking, and all manner of decadence that leads to a richer, fuller life. It also leads to an intuitive understanding that the very idea of “atmosphere” is important to the true enjoyment of life. That there is a healthy percentage of the world that can’t see that is very sad, indeed. Maybe that’s why there’s so much misery in the world today. Perhaps better beer really could save the world. Okay, I’ve changed my mind again. My favorite place to have a beer is that future world where everybody drinks good beer, war is an unknown concept and everybody understands that a life half-lived is a life wasted.

Hey, I can dream, can’t I? I’ll hold out until everybody understands the following poem, Lines on Ale (1848), by Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849):

Fill with mingled cream and amber,
I will drain that glass again.
Such hilarious visions clamber
Through the chamber of my brain.
Quaintest thoughts, queerest fancies
Come to life and fade away.
What care I how time advances;
I am drinking ale today.

Amen, brother.

 

Alabama Loses One to Fire

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There are already painfully few craft brewers in Alabama and yesterday another one — Olde Towne Brewing — was lost, destroyed by fire. It had been Huntsville, Alabama’s only brewery since Prohibition ended, opening in 2004. According to the Huntsville Times, the fire began in the middle of the night — around 2:30 a.m. — and by morning was gone. Owner Don Alan Hankins had returned to his native Hunstville to open the brewery after having worked at and founded several more throughout the Southeast. So far, no one’s sure what started the fire.

 

Oly Pancakes

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olympia
Oakland Tribune staff food writer Steve Dulas did a fun piece on food for camping last week. He included baked apple, chili and, naturally, camp-style bean soup. But what caught my attention was a recipe for beer pancakes. Basically, the recipe calls for using a mix and substituting beer for the water, also including some oil or grease. But the author insists that Olympia beer must be used and that no other beer may be substituted. Hmm. They claim to have tried using a different beer that didn’t work as well, but neglected to tell us which beer they tried. As long as you use a beer similar to Oly, I really can’t see it making much of a difference.

Even Olympia beer, of course, hasn’t really been Olympia beer for at least four years, when SABMiller closed the old Tumwater, Washington brewery on July 1, 2003. Since that time it’s been made at any number of Miller breweries dotted throughout the west. Before that Olympia bought Hamm’s and Lone Star, but business continued to decline and the family (the Schmidt’s) decided in 1982 to sell to G. Heilemann, then one of the largest brewery businesses in the U.S. The following year, Pabst bought Heilemann, who later sold it to Stroh’s, which itself was eventually bought by Miller Brewing. Union politics probably led Miller to close Olympia, who by then was also brewing many other regional brands such as Hamm’s, Lucky Lager, Henry Weinhard and Rainier.

Olympia beer — than and now — is one of dozens of regional American-style light lagers that are all but interchangeable. What makes any of them unique has more to do with marketing and perception than reality. People don’t buy Olympia because it’s good, they buy it because it’s cheap. As pointed out by The Snitch (a blog at SF Weekly) Olympia beer is the “Offical Beer of 18-year-olds Walking Through the Door, Hoisting a 12-Pack Overhead and Shouting ‘Woo-Hoo!'” The Snitch tried Dulas’ recipe, both with Oly and Henry Weinhard’s Blue Boar Ale, perhaps not realizing the Henry Weinhard is an “ale” and Oly is a “lager,” concluding that the Oly was discernibly better. I’m still willing to bet any cheap lager will make the pancakes taste exactly the same.

The Snitch also wonders aloud (a-print just didn’t sound right) what the pancakes might taste like if made with “Pyramid Apricot Ale or Bass Peach Ale?” I’m not sure there’s enough apricot flavor in the Pyramid to give the pancakes any sweetness. The Bass suggestion is a complete bust, of course, because there is no such beer. The Snitch also ruminates over “Cranberry Lambic,” by which I presume he means Samuel Adams’ version of a lambic. And lastly, he believes Arthur Guinness would “come back from the dead and stop you” if you tried using his stout. I’m not sure why he feels so strongly about Guinness given that it has been used successfully in cooking for centuries. Despite being dark in color, it’s quite light-bodied and thus might work quite well in pancakes.

Certainly, the notion of taking the idea from the campground into the kitchen is an intriguing one, as is using different beers. For that to work best, I think, you’d have to throw out the mix and make the batter from scratch, however, and use richer beers to have them actually affect the taste of the pancakes beyond fluffiness and texture. Would the yeast in a bottle-conditioned beer contribute anything? [Lucy, Bruce, Sean – anyone know?] It could be fun to use something like Marin’s Blueberry Ale or a syrupy wood-aged beer.

Perhaps it was because I was hungry when I first read the article, but I think I’ll be giving it a try the next time I make pancakes. If you try it, too, let me know the results. Post a comment with the beer you used and how the pancakes tasted. Let’s build a beer pancake database.
 

Steve Dulas’ World’s Best Pancakes

oly-cakes
(Photo by Mike Lucia – Tribune Staff)

The preferred beer is Olympia. Any other American beer will likely mess this up — seriously. The morning we ran out of Oly and used another brand, the pancakes were not as tasty.

1 2-pound package Krusteaz Buttermilk Pancake Mix
4 to 6 12-ounce cans Olympia beer
1/4 cup vegetable oil or bacon grease

While the grill is heating to medium, pour pancake mix into a large bowl. Add beer, one can at a time, until the batter reaches a smooth consistency. When a few drops of water dance and sizzle on the grill, it’s ready. Wipe the grill with a thin coating of oil or grease on a paper towel, then drop batter onto the grill, about a half-cup per pancake. Cook about 2 minutes, and flip each cake when the top is covered with air bubbles. Cook another minute then serve. Makes 40-50 4-inch pancakes.

Note: If you’ve got a lot of campers you might want to graduate to the 5-pound package of Krusteaz and use more beer, up to a full 12-pack.

Announcing The Brookston Beer Pix Photoblog

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It’s been a busy week. I just got back from almost a week in Colorado for my cousin’s wedding. Of course, I did a little sightseeing and was fortunate enough to sample the special edition of La Folie that New Belgium did for the Falling Rock’s 10th anniversary. Chris Black, along with New Belgium brewer, Eric Salazar, blended beer from 10 foders (four 60- and six 130-hectoliter wood tuns) into one pretty spectacular beer. I missed seeing Chris while I was there, which meant I didn’t get to hear his version of what will undoubtedly be come to be known as the Twisted Pine Debacle, which culminated in the wooden sign that hangs above the center booths being sawed in half diagonally. The second-hand story I was regaled with was pretty good but I can only imagine it coming from the horse’s mouth. More reports from Colorado will follow this week.

All of which has nothing to do with this post’s title, except by way of explanation of the two reasons there haven’t been as many posts or rants lately. The second reason is I’ve been working on something new. I’m pleased to announce the launch of The Brookston Beer Pix, a beer-themed photoblog. For no better reason than I thought it would be fun for me, each day I’ll post a new photo that I’ve taken over the years that has something to do with beer. To be sure there will be gleaming stainless steel and glowing copper along with lush green hops, but also some other fun and more unusual shots as well. The hope is to showcase beer, brewing and the brewing community in a more artistic way and feed my own creative side. Plus, it gives me something to do with all those photographs that I can’t sell. Who knows, perhaps it will make me a better photographer. Take a look and let me know which pictures you like and which you don’t, and, of course, why.

 

 

America’s Oldest Standing Brewery?

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Don Russell, better known as Joe Sixpack, had another very interesting column yesterday about an unassuming pink stucco home in Burlington, New Jersey, which may — or may not — have at one time been part of a brewery. And not just any brewery, but because records seem to date part of the structure to around 1693, it could be considered America’s oldest standing brewery. Currently, that title goes to “the Patrick Creagh house in Annapolis, Md., circa 1749.” The house is on sale on Craigslist for a mere $159,000 (hey, I live in California) but when I search for it, it didn’t turn up. Perhaps it’s already been scooped up by a new owner who, as Russell speculates in his closing, wants to be able to “thump his chest and boast, ‘Hey, c’mon over for brats and beer in my house, the oldest freakin’ brewery in America!'”

America’s oldest standing brewery?
Curt Hudson © the Daily News

 

Miami’s New Vices

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A south Florida distributor friendly to craft beer, Fresh Beer Inc., sent in the following article that ran in Thursday’s Miami Herald, entitled “Microbrewers push the envelope with extreme beer” (thanks Adam). It’s a nice overview of the recent spate of big beers with some history and examples, perfect for the uninitiated and enthusiast alike. Florida, in part because of their hot, humid weather and also an entrenched distributor network (not to mention the Florida crown and package size laws instituted after Prohibition, both of which happily have finally gone the way of the Dodo), Florida has for a long time been a tough sell for craft beer and many imports. Oh, there are definitely fans — I’ve met more than a few over the years — but by and large statewide sales are driven by big brands that rely heavily on price. It sounds like things are beginning to change, which is terrific news for craft beer.
 

Oregon Craft Beer Month Coming

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I’m glad to see Oregon has been keeping up with celebrating local and American beer during the month of July. The Brewers Association first promoted July as American Beer Month and encouraged events throughout the month, to mixed results. A couple of years ago, they quietly dropped it in favor of American Craft Beer Week in mid-May. And while I like the new May holiday, personally, I felt they abandoned American Beer Month too quickly without really giving it time to develop. Holidays normally take years and even decades to catch on. One that seeks to highlight a niche product in our society is bound to take even longer. That’s why I still continue to celebrate it each year, not that my lone voice will likely make any difference. Happily, the Oregon Brewers Guild, along with the support of the many beer enthusiasts in the state, have for three years made July Oregon Craft Beer Month. If we can’t have it nationally, at least we can have it in one of the best beers states in the union.

From the press release:

Oregon celebrates its profusion of good beer all year, but July is the state’s official Craft Beer Month. 2007 marks the 20th anniversary of the Oregon Brewers Festival from July 26th to 29th. This year’s festival features 74 beers from craft brewers around the country along with educational displays and live entertainment.

Soft, pure water cascades down from the mountains, aromatic hops spring from the valley’s fertile soils, and barley thrives on the high plains over on the state’s dryer eastern side. Oregon beers are truly local and incredibly delicious. The state’s brewers produce traditional styles from pale ales to dark stouts, but they’ve also pioneered new beer styles, created organic beers, and breathed new life into the typical American beer style with handcrafted lagers.

Governor Tom McCall Waterfront Park in downtown Portland provides the Willamette River and Mount Hood as backdrops for the Brewers Festival. At least 50,000 beer enthusiasts are expected at the Festival during its four-day run.

Other Craft Beer Month events include a beer and sausage fest, cheese pairings by the dean of American beer writers, Fred Eckhardt, an Oregon Brewers Guild barbecue featuring 24 special beers that you can’t get at the Brewers Festival, and a rousing parade of brewers strutting along Portland sidewalks to the beat of the March 4th Marching Band.

“We are proud to be the only state that has designated a special month to recognize our local craft brewers,” said Brian Butenschoen, Executive Director of the Oregon Brewers Guild. ”Beer is one of Oregon’s iconographic agricultural products and Oregon Craft Beer Month is a wonderful opportunity to stop and lift a glass to all the passion and success we have had here.”

America’s beer revival began in Oregon in the early 1980s, and the state, the second largest producer of craft beer in America, is home to 82 craft breweries. Portland has 29 breweries, more than any other city in the world. Industry pioneers such as BridgePort Brewing, Widmer Brothers, McMenamins and what is now Pyramid Breweries started in Portland. Full Sail Brewing, Deschutes Brewery and Rogue Ales also started in Oregon and now have regional, national and international distribution. Emerging breweries such as Terminal Gravity, Ninkasi and Cascade Lakes beers can be found all around the state and local breweries like Amnesia Brewing, Laurelwood Brewing and Roots Organic Brewing offer unique beers on tap at their neighborhood pubs.

Another big media coup surrounding the month-long festivities is a 16-pg. pullout in the Portland Oregonian. Co-edited by Lisa Morrison and Chris Crabb, with help from Don Younger and Brian Butenschoen (with the Oregon Brewers Guild) along with a handful of others. It was a special section of the newspaper and is also available online. It contains of wealth of information about Oregon beer and the various events going on throughout the state during the month of July.

 

A Grill’s Best Friend

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My good friend and colleague, Lisa Morrison scored a nice coup in the Oregonian yesterday with the publication of an article by her entitled “A Grill’s Best Friend,” and not only just in the food section, but on the front cover. The Oregonian’s attitude toward beer has been much like that of the San Francisco Chronicle, which is to say adversarial and often condescending — in both cases quite odd given the vibrancy of their respective beer scenes — so it’s great to see her crack the glass bottle ceiling. Hopefully, it’s a signal of changing attitudes in the press generally or even in Portland, more specifically, whose attitude toward their local beer has been less hostile than in many places, at least.

The PLCB Card

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In my recent screed over Tennessee’s decision to make carding for off-premise beer purchases mandatory, I mentioned that I still have my Pennsylvania drinking card, or PLCB card. A couple of people called me on it and so while I knew I had it somewhere, laying my hands on it I knew might prove more difficult. Surprisingly enough, I found it in the very first place I looked. So for Shaun and Jim, and anyone else curious to see what these things used to look like, here is my 27-year old PLCB card.

Front: Well, the first thing you’re bound to notice is that unflattering photo of me when I was 20, and that helmet hair. Sheesh, that’s embarrassing. Notice that it’s called an “IDENTIFICATION CARD” and follows that up with the peculiar “(For Proof of Age Only)” which is, as I said, the only thing the card was good for, proving you were old enough to drink in Pennsylvania.

Back: The legalese about the card representing that I had presented “documentary evidence” — my birth certificate — when I submitted the form at the State Store.

 

Tennessee Scopes Out the Future

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When I turned 21, oh so many years ago, the state I grew up in — Pennsylvania — still didn’t have pictures on their driver’s licenses. As a result, the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board had their own method for insuring that no one under the age of 21 could get served. It was called a PLCB card, though we called our “drinking card.” A few weeks before you reached the magic age when you could drink in public, you went to one of those old photo booths where you got four black and white photos for a few ducats, filled out a form and returned it to any State Store (which in Pennsylvania is the only place where you can legally buy wine and spirits off-premise). Then anytime after your birthday, you returned to pick up your laminated drinking card complete with cheesy photo. I still have mine. Naturally, once they started issuing photo driver’s licenses, the PLCB card was discontinued.

Around that same time, MADD railroaded through the National Minimum Drinking Age Act, which effectively took the decision about a minimum drinking age away from the states and created a federal standard by tying it to federal highway subsidies. That was 1984 and since then the drive to make it harder for everyone to get their hands on alcohol in the name of protecting children only grows worse. MADD and the neo-prohibitionists seem never to be satisfied.

So around that same time signs started appearing on retail counters by the cash register that said something like “If You Look 25, You Will Be Carded” or words to that effect. I was around 25 at the time and while it was a little annoying and inconvenient, the novelty of being able to prove my status as an adult hadn’t fully worn off yet. Also, I knew that at 25 many people look young enough to actually be underage, so I could at least understand the rationale for it under the heightened scrutiny the MADD-era had ushered in. But then a curious thing happened. A few years later the sign read “If You Look 30” and then a little later “If You Look 35,” loosely keeping pace with my own aging. It became increasing irritating on those few occasions that I left my wallet at home and looked nothing like a 21-year old. It’s oddly Orwellian to me that I have to have my “papers” on me at all times, constantly having to prove my identity or my status as an adult. At law, we’re presumed innocent but at alcohol we’re presumed underage unless we can prove otherwise.

Now that I’m well into my forties, I’m still routinely carded at some places even though my hair is graying, thinning and I have a goatee that is almost entirely gray and white. I’ve had people tell me that I should be flattered to appear so young but that really has nothing to do with it any longer. Even when I did look younger I felt it was a very weak argument. What’s flattering about constantly having to prove I’m not a child? Most establishments card everybody today not because they can’t tell who’s young and who’s not, but because they’re rightly scared of governmental regulators and what might happen to their bottom line should a minor accidentally slip through their net and get some alcohol. I’ve been old enough to drink more than half of my life now and look almost nothing like the gawky, awkward kid I was 27 years ago. The idea that I still have to prove that I am 21 because MADD and the neo-prohibitionists convinced the state that stopping kids from drinking was more important that my being treated like an adult, and they in turn made the penalty for sellers of alcohol so out of proportion that they have no choice but to overdo enforcement, pisses me off more than I can tell you.

  

As an aside, something I never noticed before is that we are the only nation in the world where you have to be 21 to drink legally. In every single other country, the age is below 21, the vast majority of countries set the age quite sensibly at 18. In two countries it’s 20 (Iceland and Japan) and in South Korea it’s 19. In many European countries the minimum drinking age is 16 (including Belgum, France, Germany, Italy and the Netherlands). Ten sovereign states, including China and Portugal, have no minimum at all. I knew as a society we were ridiculously conservative and puritanical, but I didn’t realize that the moral bullys had saddled us with the highest age in the entire world at which we confer full adulthood on our citizens. I think I just assumed we were among the most backward nations, not the out and out leader of looneyville when it comes to the minimum age for alcohol (setting aside, of course, those countries that don’t allow alcohol for any of their citizens). Sheesh, how embarrassing.

But now the state of Tennessee is poised to make it mandatory that every single person in the state must “show the proper I.D.” (a phrase that fairly begs to be said in a thick, German accent) with no exception. One foot in the grave? Too bad, prove you’re an adult. Grey-haired Grandpa out with his grandbabies in tow? Too bad, you just might be wearing old man makeup. U.S. Senator, a position you can’t hold unless you’re at least 30 years old? Too bad, no exceptions. It’s called the “The Tennessee Responsible Vendor Act” and it goes into effect on July 1. As is typical with these neo-prohibitionist programs, it claims to be designed to combat underage drinking. That is, of course, a completely deceptive lie insofar as it will do nothing of the kind. Making a 90-year old person so obviously over 21 that only a person with an I.Q. below 50 (such as someone with a moderate mental disability or a neo-prohibitionist) will not stop one underage person from obtaining alcohol. What it will do is make it more difficult and annoying for everyone, instead of just the people “lucky” enough to look younger.

In their press release of “Success Stories,” the neo-prohibitionist group Underage Drinking Enforcement Training Center celebrates their victory in getting this law passed and characterizes the law as “an innovative and strong step in the fight against underage drinking. The mandatory ID provision of this law is the first of its’ kind in the country and establishes Tennessee as a national leader on the initiative to stop underage drinking.” Yet they fail, as does every single other account of this law, to say exactly how or why requiring “anyone purchasing beer for off-premise consumption to present identification” will in any way reduce underage drinking. I think there’s a good reason no one is discussing why this law will reduce underage drinking. It’s because it doesn’t stand up to any logic or scrutiny, so it’s best to just use meaningless platitudes.

The continual raising of the age at which you have to prove that you’re an adult does absolutely nothing to alter the daily millions of individual exchanges between customer and retailer, apart from the ones involving legal adults who are far removed from the threshold age. Kids will always find a way to get alcohol. It’s their very resourcefulness that insures they’ll be successful adults, too. They can still get a fake I.D., of course, and getting an adult to buy beer for a minor isn’t going to stop. Then there’s stealing from parents, neighbors and the like. Kids in my day always found a way, and today’s generations are no different. Making me show my I.D. does nothing to keep the 19-year old behind me in line from using his fake I.D. It’s like all the increased security at airports. It gives only the illusion of actually doing anything to stop terrorism and makes life difficult for everybody in the process.

That Tennessee will be the first state to enact a law making it mandatory that every person wishing to legally purchase alcohol must definitively prove their status as an adult every single time they want to do so is as dubious a distinction as being the first state to … let’s see, how about sue a teacher for teaching evolution. It’s really difficult to not make comparisons to the Scopes trial, because it points out such backward thinking, in my opinion. I have some good friends from Tennessee, so I know it’s not everybody there.

But everything I’ve written about so far isn’t even the worst part. So strap in as I reveal the next part of this law. I don’t want to be responsible for any injuries when you fall out of your chair. Ready? Here goes. The Tennessee Responsible Vendor Act does NOT apply to wine or spirits, just Beer! Yup, that’s not a typo. Grandpa can buy a fifth of Jack Daniels or a bottle of Old Thunderbird without being carded. But throw a six-pack of barley pop up on the counter and it’s a whole new ballgame. The law covers just off-premises consumption, meaning retailers. Restaurants and bars (known as on-premises) are also exempt, so essentially the law targets just people buying beer to drink at home or otherwise in some private or public setting (like a picnic in a park).

According to the Knoxville News Sentinel, some retailers have already begun carding everybody, such as Roadrunner Markets, and they seem publicly on board.

John Kelly, chief operating officer for Roadrunner Markets, implemented the policy last year. Carding everyone makes it less likely that a clerk mistakenly sell beer to someone who is underage, he said, and regular customers quickly got used to having to show an ID. Most now arrive at the counter with their identification in hand.

“The universal carding law means that all retailers are on the same page,” said Kelly. “There will be consistent training of clerks. Customers can expect to have their ID checked at any store in Tennessee that sells beer.”

Of course, they really have no choice so kowtowing makes the most sense, since they want to remain in the good graces of state agencies that have the power to regulate them. That’s the same reason these laws get passed in the first place. No politician who wants to be reelected would dare oppose new laws that claim their purpose is to curb underage drinking.

The idea that beer is singled out like this is infuriating, to say the least, and shows in stark relief the bias against beer that exists in our society. And as the comment above about “regular customers quickly [getting] used to having to show an ID” shows, most people will just passively comply regardless of their personal feelings, not that they have much choice. How do you make your objections known in any meaningful way?

Unfortunately, it’s difficult to oppose these laws simply because they’re sold using protecting children as the carrot, bait no one can afford not to take. Truth and logic count for nothing against the emotions of keeping kids safe. That’s why neo-prohibitionists use this tactic, because they know it’s effective and is difficult to counter. That it’s dishonest doesn’t seem to matter one wit, a fact I find particularly onerous given that so many neo-prohibitionists are also very religious. I guess the goal of another prohibition has its own morality in which the ends justify the means, the slipperiest slope of all.

The ray of hope is that the law expires after one year so that lawmakers have an opportunity to “review its impact.” Perhaps it will enough of a fiasco that it will not be renewed and likewise will not inspire other states to follow Tennessee’s lead.