When did you realize you were a beer snob?
An awesome example of the kind of snob I'm not talking about.
If you’re reading this, you’re probably a beer snob. I mean no offense by that. I am one too. But you’re reading this. And unless you’re my mom or dad or something, you’re reading this because you’re a beer snob. That’s ok. When I say beer snob, I don’t mean hoity-toity, pinkie in the air, scoffing at those around you sort of snob. If you do that… well, I’m not here to judge.
No, by beer snob, I mean you differentiate the product from the art. You go out of your way, both with time and money, to seek out a better beer. You’ve spent time reading, drinking, and talking good beer. You have an opinion, influenced more by your palette than by Mad Men-esque marketing.
Cheers. Me too.
And granted “snob” might not be the appropriate term here. “Geek” might fit better. But hey, let’s go with it.
So when did that happen? Unless your dad is Jim Koch or , you probably weren’t raised with phrases like IBU or Imperial as household terms. Like most others, your first few experiences with beer probably came in a 30-pack, or a big shiny round keg.
I’m not exactly sure when the switch was turned on for me. I’m going to tell you as concisely as I can my path toward great beer. Beer has always been and continues to be a cultural experience for me. I choose to surround myself with people who will challenge me to do more and better things every day, and understanding and enjoying craft beer is one of those things we have started to explore pretty deeply. I am by no means an expert on this topic, but I do like beer, and know a thing or two.
Before moving to Colorado, I spent most of my weekends teaching skiing in Vermont. If you haven’t heard, Vermont is a good place for beer. Of course, being a bit younger than the rules allowed at the time, I never actually tried any beer. I just watched others enjoy it. Because that would have been wrong. Moving on.
There are a lot of amazing breweries in Vermont, like Long Trail, Magic Hat, Otter Creek, etc. (Yes, Rock Art too, but this is 10 years ago. They were just firing up the brewhouse.)
One of my first introductions to craft beer was a Magic Hat Fat Angel. I remember loving it at first sip (though being mightily confused by that much flavor). I also loved the bottle caps with snarky sayings printed underneath. And the overall branding. It was a big leap from a can of Bud Heavy.
After a exploring the Vermont craft industry a little, I went to college in Colorado. No, I didn’t choose that state because because of the beer. Not consciously at least. I chose it because of the snow, but that’s a story for a different blog.
Obviously, college was full of different beer-related experiences. And not all were craft beer. College being a time for experimentation, we started trying different styles and breweries. We began to narrow our tastes. I distinctly recall when my friend Iain and I shared a Flying Dog sampler pack. By that time, I’d already fallen in love with Fat Tire, and gotten over it. 1554 was a favorite at the time. Then we discovered Bristol – a brewery down the street – and their 9 medal winning Laughing Lab. My first Laughing Lab was like drinking the proverbial kool-aid. There was no turning back. The Flying Dog sampler was further proof that I was on the right path. This craft beer thing was a good thing.
My senior year of college, two of my best friends – both chemistry majors – started home brewing. I held a siphon tube once. Then I bought a carboy. Then.. well.. my personal blog is about starting a brewery. There’s a post about how much gear I own now. Some might say I get into the things I find interesting.
At the time, we were brewing very basic kits. Nothing special, but we were brewing. Over the next two years, we brewed dozens, if not hundreds of batches. We’d taste a good beer and immediately search for a clone recipe. We would plan a party a month out, and brew a pilsner for some beirut action. We knew hot tub season was approaching, so we’d make some porters and stouts. There was no turning back.
After college, I spent some time in Vail. I still explored the craft beer industry, but I was broke (more so than now, even), and PBR Tall Boys were $2 at the bar next door on Wednesdays. What can I say. Call that the calm before the storm.
Denver beer fans in line for GABF
And then came Denver. I’ve lived here for a little over 18 months now, and am absolutely loving it. As a homebrewer, this place is a mecca. We have 5 homebrew shops in the greatre Denver area, and 11 between Colorado Springs (hour south) and Fort Collins (hour north). As a craft beer lover, this place is also a mecca. Breweries, beer bars, brew pubs, festivals, events.. the list goes on. I think I go to Great Divide about 3 times a week these days. Have you heard of the Great American Beer Festival? Ya, that’s here too. I plan to write many posts about beer in Denver, so stay tuned for that.
So where in this rambling story did I become a beer snob? I’m not exactly sure. Today, after a beer and cheese pairing with Dr. Bill at Stone Brewing, when I stopped at an airport restaurant for a snack before my flight back to Denver, I ordered water because I didn’t like anything on the beer list. So somewhere between laughing at the phrase “How much for the goat” on the bottom of my Magic Hat Fat Angel cap 10 years ago, and the Trappist Rochefort 10 paired with Maredsous Abbey Cheese this afternoon, something wonderful clicked for me.
When did it happen for you?
4 Comments to “When did you realize you were a beer snob?”
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The first time I visited Monk’s in Philadelphia…I stepped out of that establishment a different person (for the better)
My becoming a beer snob was predicted many months in advance of it actually happening. Once I knew I would be going to college in Vermont, a guy I worked with at a local ski shop predicted, “Once you get up there, you’ll never drink domestic garbage again…it’ll be nothing but good beers – Long Trail, Magic Hat, etc.”
Aside from the occasional beer pong game that required cheap beer, he was spot-on!
Holy Ostrich Mother, Each Beer Really Enters Well/ earns /ebbs.
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I’d say I pretty much became a beer geek the first time I tasted one of my roommate’s homebrews. I had watched him brew the batch- I unenthusiastically noted his movements around the kitchen with the same mild disinterest that my dog has when we clean the living room after a party. And I scoffed at the idea of spending 10 hours slaving over a pot of boiling grossness just to make something you could buy at any liquor store or 7-Eleven (not to mention I’m sure we already had plenty of beer in the fridge, perhaps leftover from the last party). But alas, my roommate was fairly engrossed and committed to whatever it was that he was doing, and from time to time following a piece of dust floating around in ray of sunshine became boring, so I poked my head it and asked him a question or two. Of course the answers came in long strings of nonsensical garbled-geek gobbledygook, but my roommate was a master of his craft, and I soon became his apprentice. [More later]
I used to home brew but wasn’t very successful. I worked it out relatively recently, as soon as someone offered me a glass of trappist strong ale. I realised that I had been seeking out good beer for quite a while, but wasn’t looking outside my own country’s borders and that was very limiting. I understood at that point that there was so much more.