This week’s work of art is by the English artist, John Henry Henshall, who painted The Public Bar, occasionally known as In The Pub, in 1883.
It’s a little unusual for the time, in that it shows the view from behind the bar, looking out at a cross-section of patrons. Also, notice the Bass sign hanging on the wall at the left.
You can read Henshall’s biography at Wikipedia, though it’s only a stub. You can also a few more of Henshall’s paintings at
Art Renewal Center and Painting Here.
We’ve had the Big Three — Bud, Miller and Coors — for so long now that it would probably take me a few years to stop using the term. In the UK, once upon a time it was the Big Six; and they included Allied Breweries, Bass Charrington, Courage Imperial, Scottish & Newcastle, Watneys, and Whitbread. Until yesterday, only S&N remained. With the announcement earlier today of Carlsberg and Heineken’s buyout of Scottish & Newcastle, the last vestige of a bygone era will soon disappear, as well. England’s esteemed Financial Times today has a somewhat sad commentary on this entitled Few Crying into Beers at Decline of Big Six Breweries. As they observe, the change in the beer market and the mergers that began around 1989 have now come to a final solution, and with no one left to mourn them.
Here’s a few statistics. Since the turn of the century, imported beer to the UK has increased by 50%. During that same time, the number of large breweries fell by two-thirds. Today, a mere six remain, with 34 more considered regional breweries. Since the 1980s, the number of breweries has actually tripled, but that’s because of the UK’s own microbrewery revolution, which today includes over 500 small breweries whose total production accounts for only 2% of the nation’s beer market. Before today’s buyout, Heineken enjoyed only 1% of the total British market, but after the deal is approved they will have something in the neighborhood of 30%, making them Great Britain’s biggest beer company.
Maybe none of this matters. After all, as the FT’s editorial makes clear, British pub-goers, publicans and pub operators, and even CAMRA’s real ale aficionados will all be dishearteningly unmoved by today’s news. I can’t help but think that’s a mistake. So much of our early microbreweries owe such a great debt to the heritage and history of English ales that it seems a shame to let this dismal milestone pass so cavalierly. Perhaps I’ve romanticized these old breweries too much, but I don’t feel the same loathing for their products or their business practices that I usually do for our Big Three. That may simply be the 1,000-mile expanse of ocean separating me from everyday contact, who knows? But even though the British beer industry is nowhere near deceased, this is just one more wound that will again forever alter its landscape. I, for one, in the words of the immortal Edgar Allen Poe, “am drinking ale today.”
It looks like the brewing brouhaha involving several large multi-national beer companies that I wrote about last week is going to be resolved more quickly then anybody had anticipated. The Carlsberg Group and Heineken today agreed to a $15.3 billion buyout of Scottish & Newcastle. The deal is structured such that Carlsberg will get sole ownership of BBH (Baltic Beverages Holding), giving them access to the lucrative Russian beer market, and will also receive S&N’s markets in China, France and Greece. Heineken will gain control of S&N’s markets in Great Britain, India, the United States and a few others. Business experts don’t seem to think there will a problem in getting the deal approved or with any counter-offers.
Note: Portfolio’s online website has a good overview of this story, too.
London’s famous Pearl Restaurant, located a stone’s throw from the Holborn tube station, is situated in a grand old bank building, the former Pearl Assurance Company’s headquarters. Inside there’s granite everywhere, opulent chandeliers and modern decor. Their food seems to be reviewed favorably by just about everybody and executive chef Jun Tanaka has one of the best reputations in the London restaurant scene, having worked at at least seven Michelin-rated places over the past decade before his own oyster opened to reveal the Pearl. He’s now “worked with beer gourmand Gustavo Bertolucci to find the best beers to match his dishes.”
While I don’t know if a schwarzbier will be on the actual beer list, it was the closest style to swine I could find. What hints that are given, in a story in Wine & Spirit Magazine, sound quite tasty.
Combinations include Kasteel Cru from Alsace to match salmon in filo with pomegranate, cauliflower and walnut salad and Innis & Gunn Oak Aged Ale with spiced loin of venison. Greenwich’s Meantime brewery’s Chocolate Stout is also being recommended as a partner to desserts.
It’s certainly nice to see more and more high end restaurants finally embracing beer as a part of the fine dining experience.
I hope my British friends and colleagues will forgive me for not noticing this before, because it’s been apparently going on for years now, but the folks at Shepherd Neame have been advertising their Spitfire Ale with a humorous campaign making fun of Wold War 2. Since the beer was named after the famous British military fighter plane, it does make sense. And if you think war isn’t something to be made fun of, all I can do is point you to Hogan’s Heroes and Roberto Benigi’s Life is Beautiful. Anyway, I thought they were humorous enough to share. Here’s a few of my favorites below, but there are many, many more at the Spitfire website.
Harriet Easton, age 19, appears to be one ambitious and entrepreneurially-minded young lass. She’s determined to fill the void created by a continuing drop in UK pub beer sales. “Figures released last month showed beer sales in pubs at their lowest level for 70 years. Seven million fewer pints per day are now being sold, with sales down 49 per cent since they peaked in 1979.” One obvious market being neglected is the female segment. So Easton, a politics student at Newcastle University, spent a year and a half — and £35,000 — on R&D to create a beer especially for women. It’s a “light ale with extract of orange and a modest 4.2 per cent alcohol.” Easton teamed up with a local brewery, Hanby Ales of Wem in Shropshire, to create the curiously named Harry’s Beer, which will be marketed to women beginning Monday at the Salopian Bar in Shrewsbury. On hand will be, Paula Waters, chairman of CAMRA. “Waters said: ‘I applaud the inventive way Harriet has brought this product to market. She’s a sassy and savvy young woman who has recognised there are others just like her who want to drink real ale and retain their femininity.'”
But as far as I can tell, this is not her first attempt. In August of this year there was at least one story about Harriet Easton in the Shropshire Star called These Girls Are For Real. At that time, they reported Easton debuting another beer, this one called Rushing Dolls beer for girls. In that article, Rushing Dolls was described as having “a zest of lime—it’s very light and hoppy.” There Easton was quoted as having created her beer because others were — I just love this expression — too blokey. Hop Talk even did a post about it in September. The lime version was “thought to be the first ever beer for girls” and now the new orange version is being similarly touted, this time by the Publican, who say it’s the “first real ale aimed specifically at women.” This time around, Easton says:
“Real ale has typically and consistently been marketed towards men with names full of cheesy puns and innuendo, and images of buxom wenches serving up frothy jugs,” said the politics student at Newcastle university. “They can keep all that — there’s no need to move on, lads — just move over”.
Still, I can’t help but think of Virginia Slims or pink trains for girls. It seems to me either a woman will develop a taste for beer or she won’t. I know plenty of women who already love craft beer, including my wife, and it didn’t take a specially designed beer for them to like beer. Trying to make one specifically for the ladies seems like a gimmick at best. But if it brings more women into the fold, I suppose that can’t be all bad.
Maybe it’s just my peculiar sense of humor but anytime I hear the phrase “spot the … anything” I think of Monty Python, as in “Spot the Looney.” So that was my first thought when I heard that Britain’s Home Office had issued very specific guidelines to members of the police on “How to Spot a Drunk.”
| A few days ago the UK’s Home Office launched a new campaign against — and here’s the part I don’t get — being drunk in a bar. It’s called the “Responsible Sales of Alcohol Campaign” and British and Welsh police have apparently identified 1,500 pubs that they will be visiting every weekend between now and Christmas Eve to make sure that no bartender “knowingly” sells any alcohol to someone who is drunk. To me, that’s already a weird law (more on that below) but it’s been on the books for awhile now, though up until now there’s been no shortage of confusion about exactly what it means, legally at least, to be drunk. Anyone found selling to a drunk person will be levied “an £80 fixed-penalty fine.” But now the Home Office has issued more specific guidelines trying to define drunkenness. They have no legal standing, of course, but they are asking the police to use them to “identify potential drunken customers” and then “gather evidence of drunkenness, witness a sale and deal accordingly”. So even though it’s claimed that they do not have actual legal standing, if the police are using the guidelines, as they’ve been asked to, then they de facto do have standing. |
Here’s the part I don’t get, though. If you can’t be drunk in a pub, where exactly are you allowed to be drunk? Since when is it the business of the police to decide how pissed anyone wants to get on any given evening? I think in many states here a bartender’s not supposed to serve a person if they’re excessively drunk — equally difficult to gauge and define. But this law makes it sound like you are permitted to go to a pub, order a beer, drink it, perhaps have another, but the moment you’re drunk you have to stop drinking immediately or the pub owner will face a hefty fine. That doesn’t make any sense to me. Assuming I’m not bothering anyone else and as long as I’m walking, taking a taxi or otherwise not endangering anyone but myself how the f@#k is that anyone’s business but mine? I should be able to drink until I can’t stand up straight if I want to. I’m not saying that’s a good idea or that anyone should want to drink that much, but the point is simply that it should not be the government’s business to protect me from myself. That’s what friends and loved ones are for. That’s paternalism at it’s worst.
So here are the guidelines:
A Noticeable Change in Behaviour
A Lack of Judgment
Clumsiness & Loss of Coordination
Decreased Alertness
Appearance
I think you’ll agree after perusing his list that many of the items here are obvious and self-evident. Defining being drunk is a bit like pornography: it may be hard to define but we all think we know it when we see it. But others make almost no sense at all, especially by themselves. This story originally appeared in the British trade publication, The Publican, and many of the pub owners they interviewed agreed, to wit:
Licensees have slammed the guidelines. David Wine, licensee at the Six Bells in Felsham, Suffolk, said: “This is an absolute nonsense. So what if someone is dishevelled? Does that mean Bob Geldof will not be able to get served in pubs?”
Steve Andrews, licensee at the Seven Stars in Devon agreed the campaign was “absolutely ludicrous”. “I have a lot of farmers and builders come in here and they’re dishevelled.”
“I would also question why police should be paid to sit around in pubs on a Friday and Saturday night.”
Yeah, that disheveled one does stand out. It’s as if you’ll have to dress up to go to your local if you want to be served. Since when does good grooming and a fashion sense equate with soberness? The “bumping into furniture” and “spilling drinks” would give my wife some trouble, as she tends to be quite clumsy without the slightest amount of alcohol in her bloodstream. Even if any of these aren’t dispositive, they will undoubtedly get you noticed by the bar Bobby as someone who bears closer watching. And that hardly seems fair: targeting the butterfingered and slovenly for special attention. Don’t they already have enough to worry about?
Overall, looney does seem the right word to describe this scheme to keep barkeeps from overserving to enforce a law that seems quite odd in the first place. Can this really be the most important thing Britain’s police force has to contend with right now? Surely there must be some more serious threats to the peace.
I happened upon this item from across the pond at Zythophile, who appears to be a soul mate when it comes to disliking neo-prohibitionists and their attendant propaganda. The UK’s Times Online made a rather startling, if not altogether surprising, revelation that the Department of Health in Great Britain, in defining what it means to be a “hazardous drinker” in 1987 did so by essentially just making it up and pulling the numbers out of thin air. I’ll let that sink in. As the Times’ article puts it, the “guidelines have no basis in science. Rather, in the words of a member of the committee that drew them up, they were simply ‘plucked out of the air’.” The twenty year-old standards by the Royal College of Physicians set “safe limits” at 21 units of alcohol a week for a man and 14 for a woman, apparently without regard to weight so far as I can tell. Britain defines one unit of alcohol as “8 grams of pure ethanol.”
In the article, a doctor involved in creating the standard, reminisces:
Richard Smith, the former editor of the British Medical Journal and a member of the college’s working party on alcohol, told The Times yesterday that the figures were not based on any clear evidence. He remembers “rather vividly” what happened when the discussion came round to whether the group should recommend safe limits for men and women.
“David Barker was the epidemiologist on the committee and his line was that ‘We don’t really have any decent data whatsoever. It’s impossible to say what’s safe and what isn’t’.
“And other people said, ‘Well, that’s not much use. If somebody comes to see you and says ‘What can I safely drink?’, you can’t say ‘Well, we’ve no evidence. Come back in 20 years and we’ll let you know’. So the feeling was that we ought to come up with something. So those limits were really plucked out of the air. They weren’t really based on any firm evidence at all. It was a sort of intelligent guess by a committee.”
Well how scientific. And I’d think all well and good if it were just a guideline, some advice to tell a patient. But, of course, that’s not how the government used these numbers. They instead not only endorsed the numbers — and indeed why shouldn’t they having come from a supposedly reputable health organization — they essentially set them in stone, terrorizing citizens with them the same way America’s health bureaucracy does likewise by defining binge drinking at a ridiculous “five or more drinks in a row.”
Not only that, but they continued to cling to the numbers as gospel, despite numerous subsequent studies that contradicted those numbers. For example, here are the results of a 2000 study by the World Health Organization:
The WHO’s International Guide for Monitoring Alcohol Consumption and Related Harm set out drinking ranges that qualified people as being at low, medium or high-risk of chronic alcohol-related harm. For men, less than 35 weekly units was low-risk, 36-52.5 was medium-risk and above 53 was high-risk. Women were low-risk below 17.5 units, medium between 18 and 35 and high above 36.
Government bureaucracy has a habit of becoming entrenched even in the face of contrary evidence. At least one blogger I respect sees this as no big deal, that everyone simply knew the numbers were made up. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so bothered by that if I didn’t strongly believe my own government, in collusion with Big Pharma and much of the guilt-ridden medical community, has been lying — and continues to lie — to my face about my own son Porter’s autism. I think it’s a mistake to take lying so cavalierly, especially when it comes from an area of society that we’re conditioned to place great trust in: the medical community. The Hippocratic Oath was undoubtedly a good start, but the more I learn about the way doctors, their protectionist professional groups, along with medical insurers, pharmaceutical companies, hospital administrators and the like manipulate patients and society at large for their own purposes, the more that oath seems hypocritical and largely an anachronism in our modern world that medical science seems quick to ignore whenever it doesn’t suit them.
I think it’s precisely because people tend to trust doctors and so-called medical science that they often can’t conceive of it being used as propaganda or to support an extreme agenda. And that’s why I find this sort of lying so dangerous. We may take for granted that our government will lie to us or that people trying to persuade us of something might do likewise, but I don’t see how that makes it acceptable or something we shouldn’t get worked up about. Have we really all been lied to so much that we no longer recognize it? That it becomes acceptable if it’s for our own good? I can see how telling a fib to a child to keep him or her safe as a temporary solution has some merit, but if we don’t fess up when they get older, that’s an entirely different matter. Though personally, I think nowadays we overprotect children and go too far in trying to keep them from experiencing any adversity. As a result, they are incapable of dealing with even the smallest slight as young adults. This also makes it easier for our own government to continue becoming more and more paternalistic as each successive generation becomes increasingly comfortable with being told what to think and within what narrow range is acceptable. We’re all adults and yet more and more governments treat their citizens like children to be taken care of instead of allowing everyone to have a real say in decisions made on our behalf. That’s a classic example of a slippery slope. If you accept one lie because you believe it’s for your own good, then it becomes easier for you to accept the next one, and the next one after that, etcetera. I find this whole subject fascinating, and if you want to read more about it, I recommend Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life, by Sissela Bok, and The Liar’s Tale, A History of Falsehood, by Jeremy Campbell.
As usual, I’ve veered off on a tangent, so let’s hear from another British doctor who also conveniently believes that the specific limits are superfluous.
Christopher Record, a liver-disease specialist at Newcastle University, suggested that “it doesn’t really matter what the limits are”. “What we do know is, the more you drink, the greater the risk. The trouble is that we all have different genes. Some people can drink considerably more than [the limits] and they won’t get into any trouble.”
Well that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter. That means using a standard that doesn’t work is useless and counter-productive for predicting how a person will react to a given amount of alcohol. And if government continually uses false statistics to manage its population, it does them great harm, both psychologically and possibly physically. It would be one thing if for the last twenty years health officials told people that drinking too much had dire consequences and advocated that people take care in that regard. That would be quite sensible and without question in the public interest. But that’s not what the health agencies did. Instead, they made up a number and told people not to drink more than this amount or there would be dire health consequences, knowing full well that the the levels they set had no basis in science whatsoever.
I’m confident that our own definition of binge drinking had a similarly unscientific genesis and I know how that definition has been used to skew statistics toward a specific agenda by neo-prohibitionists. I would be shocked to learn that our British cousins never did likewise. When you officially and purposely set what it means to be a heavy drinker at a level you know to be too low, you can claim with a straight face that there are many more alcoholics plaguing society than there really are. Armed with these false statistics, committed anti-alcohol organizations can do a lot of harm to society.
I’m not entirely sure why governments tend to embrace neo-prohibitionist agendas, but Zythophile’s hypothesis bears examining.
My personal guess is that too many politicians — and members of public health committees — are in the game because they want to control others, and they associate drinking with loss of control, and therefore want to stop it: except they know, after the failure of prohibition in the United States, that stopping people drinking is impossible, and so they try to make us feel as guilty as possible about one of life’s best pleasures.
But whether they meant well or were being maliciously manipulative, this sort of lying by those entrusted with the public health is pretty hard to swallow.
This month’s Session, hosted by Rick Lyke at Lyke2Drink, is another clever one. The theme is the Brew Zoo, meaning beers with animal names or labels, of which the beer world is replete with examples. Today was my son Porter’s birthday party (his actual day is Monday) and so I wasn’t able to blog yesterday because there was just too much to do to get ready for the party. So instead I decided to have something furry today.
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In honor of Porter’s birthday, I decided on an English Porter I picked up somewhere during my recent travels. It’s from Nethergate Brewery, which is in Suffolk, England. It’s called Old Growler and is, of course, a porter. I tried it with my friend Sean Paxton, The Homebrew Chef, who was at the party to help celebrate Porter’s birthday with his wife and new baby girl, Olivia. The beer had a beautiful color, black with reddish purple streaks, a very appropriate color which I’ll explain later. It also had a thick tan head with great lace and silky rich aromas of milk chocolate and dry powdered cocoa. Silky smooth and rich, thick with milk chocolate flavor and just a touch of vanilla and hazelnut. The hops are nicely restrained. They’re like finding a black hole, we can’t really perceive them but know they’re there by the obvious balance. The finish is very dry. There’s a lot going on in this complex porter and it would make a wonderful dessert beer. Here’s how the brewery describes the beer:
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But back to the story of the reddish purple color.
| Before my son Porter was born, my wife and I came up with a list of five boys’ names and girls’ names that we both liked. We had to do both since we didn’t know whether we were having a boy or girl. As perhaps the most anal-retentive couple on the planet we went through months of perusing baby name books and compiling lists, which we would then compare and knock each other’s out until at long last we came up with ones we could each live with to name our child. The idea was that armed with a few names we both liked, we’d see which one best fit after he or she was born. At one point, I even tried to get Bullwinkle on the list, but that didn’t last long. Brewer also made the short list, and I still like the sound of it for a name. Porter, of course, was on the final list, but I honestly didn’t expect it to be the winner. But then my son was born. At our Lamaze classes and in my reading, somehow I missed the information that there’s a point in the birth where the baby isn’t getting any oxygen before it takes its first breath. |
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So I was quite alarmed when my new son was a dull purple when he first made his entry into the world. As the doctor carted him off for his initial testing, I didn’t even know if he was breathing and was very nearly panicking. My first thought naturally was “is he okay?” After being assured that this was normal and that he was just fine, I began to calm down and drink in the sight of my first born child: the wiggling fingers and toes, the bleating cries and gasps of first breaths, and odd purple discoloration on reddish pink skin. My second thought then was “wow, he’s the color of a nice robust porter.” Later, after we were moved into a room, I was recounting these thoughts to my wife. She just looked at me, smiling, and said “well … I guess we know what his name is.” And that’s how my blond-haired, blue-eyed boy became a Porter.
Porter at his 6th birthday party, in the midst of his own zoo.
NOTE: An updated version of this post, and one which I’ll continue to update with new information, photos and links, can be found at my new tribute page: Michael Jackson 1942-2007.
I just got word from a friend and colleague that Michael Jackson passed away early this morning in his London home. He got the news from Roger Protz, a beer writer in England, that he had been found in his tub. It now appears that the cause of death is a heart attack. This is very sad day for the beer world. Michael was larger than life and his influence cannot be overestimated. To say he will be missed seems a grand understatement.
After getting the news early this morning, I’ve just spent the last eight hours flying home from Yakima, Washington, where I’d been attending Hop School. In that time, a little more information has come to light and some memorials have already been created. Here are a few from around the beer world:
News Reports:
Memorials & Remembrances:
Photos:
Video:
Stan Hieronymus has now set up a special blog as a memorial entitled Michael Jackson The Beer Hunter In Memoriam
Here are some of my own memories:
I first became aware of Michael Jackson at about the same time I discovered different, more flavorful beers while stationed in New York City in the late 1970s. I was in a U.S. Army Band at the time, stationed under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge on Fort Hamilton, which is on Staten Island. My bandmates and I went into Manhattan whenever we could and spent a lot of our time in the many jazz clubs in the Village and other parts of the city. Beers like Bass Ale, Guinness and Pilsner Urquell were often served in these clubs and they were vastly different from the local pilsners I grew up drinking in southeastern Pennsylvania. I was smitten with them at once, and wanting to learn more about them, chanced upon Michael’s World Guide to Beer at a bookstore and devoured it whole.
Fast forward around 13 years later and I’d just published The Bars of Santa Clara: A Beer Drinker’s Guide to Silicon Valley and treated myself to my first trip to the Great American Beer Festival. This was 1991 or 92. Michael was signing books at a table and I was thrilled to finally meet someone who had been such an inspiration. I told him about my book and explained how grateful I was for his books and how helpful they were to me in writing a summary of beer history and styles for my guidebook’s appendices. He gave me his card and asked me to send him a copy, which I happily did.
My next encounter with Michael was at the Great Divide Brewery in Denver during a later GABF. At this point I was the beer buyer at Beverages & more and had been invited to one of the first of Great Divide’s annual Thursday morning open houses because I had recently started selling Great Divide in our California stores. I asked Michael if he had received my book, fully expecting him to have no recollection of it given that several years had passed. He told me he remembered it and particularly liked my appendix with historical events, birthdays etc. for every day of the year, a lifelong passion of mine that you can still see in the upper left-hand corner of the Bulletin every day.
A few years later I joined the Celebrator Beer News and saw Michael more and more at events around the country. I loved hearing him talk about beer, of course, but I figured out early on that it wasn’t the only thing he loved. As a result we started discussing literature, politics, music — especially jazz — and topics decidedly non-beery whenever we saw one another. He recommended many books and authors to me over the years, including ones I now cherish such A.J. Liebling. I think Michael liked being able to relax and not have to talk about beer constantly and I just enjoyed his company, he was insightful and a great storyteller.
But I think my favorite Michael memory took place at the Craft Brewers Conference when it was in San Diego in 2004. One night everyone was around the central pool area enjoying the many San Diego beers there. I was feeling hungry and thinking about getting dinner even though it was later in the evening. About that same time, Michael declared he was hungry and it turned out we were the only peckish ones in our group standing around chatting. I volunteered to take Michael to dinner so his people could stay at the party. We walked slowly over to the closest restaurant in Town & Country, the self-contained resort where CBC was being held, talking amiably about nothing and everything. But we arrived too late and a rude maitre’d would not seat us and suggested we try the last remaining open restaurant in the complex, though he wouldn’t guarantee it was open either. Outside the restaurant, I persuaded a Town & Country employee to take us to the other restaurant, Kelly’s Steakhouse, in his electric golf-cart because Michael was visibly tired. Kelly’s Steakhouse was open and we sat at a corner table, before spying Vinnie and Natalie Cilurzo out to dinner with some friends. They had just sat down, too, and invited us to join them and we all re-situated ourselves at a larger table. It was a great night of wine, beer and conversation. And there are a few funny stories I can’t tell here.
The outpouring of memories and reminiscences in the last 24-hours are a living testament to the influence Michael had throughout his thirty-plus-years writing about beer and spirits. It’s hard to imagine a single soul who did more for an industry. It’s a remarkable achievement that reminds me of one of my favorite stories, Jean Giono’s The Man Who Planted Trees. It’s a French tale about a solitary man living alone in the hills of a desolate part of rural France as a sheepherder. Every night he hand picks fifty acorns and the following day he plants them. He does this for years and then decades, totally changing the landscape. The trees flourish which brings back birds, animals, plants and water, which in turn brings life back to an entire region, including countless people who begin moving back into the area. It was made into a wonderful animated film several years ago which won an Academy Award for short animated feature (you can watch the video on Google Video). The story is about how the dedication and perseverance of one man — which could be you or me — can really make a difference. So often we feel like nothing we do can or will make much of a difference, but people like Elzéard Bouffier (the fictional tree man) and Michael Jackson prove that it is possible for an exceptional person to have a profound effect on peoples’ lives. It’s almost impossible to imagine what the American craft beer industry would be like today without Michael Jackson. He wrote with such passion and enthusiasm — and so beautifully — that he inspired countless brewers and beer enthusiasts. Without his voice, where would be today? He was a giant among men. Try as we might, none of us writing today are in his league. A few are very good — you know who you are — but there is no one as clearly gifted. Of course, through his work Michael will live on and continue to inspire us, as well as future generations of beer lovers.
Michael and Carolyn Smagalski at a recent Pilsner Urquell event. (Thanks for the photo Carolyn.)