BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Why is Goose Island Bourbon County Brand Stout on tap at Pints&union?

Last night my pal Blake asked a perfectly legitimate question, which I'll paraphrase to suit this family-oriented publication.

How can the guy who always spoke so persuasively and brilliantly against the robber baron brewing conglomerate AB-InBev and its craft brewery acquisitions -- particularly Goose "Trojan Goose" Island -- now be pouring Goose Island Bourbon County Brand Stout at the pub where he programs beer?

It's a very good question, and I'm surprised it took a whole week for someone to ask it.

This fact alone hints at part of the answer: It's true that my career in beer goes back a very long way, but when Pints&union debuted in August, 2018, one book closed and another opened. A new beer narrative began, in which I no longer was Reggie Jackson's "straw that stirs the drink," but rather the guy playing rhythm guitar in someone else's band. 

And this, my friends, is genuinely relevant in the context of reinventing oneself. Logically speaking, a reinvention without change isn't a reinvention at all.

In the space below you will find the longer explanation of how diplomatic relations were restored between the Beer Socialist (that's me) and the firm of LC Nadorff and Son, purveyor of AB-InBev wares in Floyd County. Since the Rhinegeist keg purchase in April documented below, Pints&union has added Bud Light, Michelob Ultra and Boddington's -- all from Nadorff's book.

I'm not a fan of these beers. Our customers are. Nothing more needs to be said.

When Nadorff's Jason Mott asked me if we'd like to have the only 1/6 barrel of Bourbon County Brand Stout that his wholesale house was allocated, I thought about it long and hard before immediately agreeing to purchase it.

By doing so I was happily patronizing a locally-owned business with deep roots in New Albany. The beer itself always was fine, and so far our customers have approved in spite of a necessarily dear price tag. Do I like where the profits go? No. Do I plan to make it a habit? Beats me; probably not.

But if Nixon went to China, I can be a cussed contrarian without losing sleep.

Ultimately it all has to do with the sole aspect of our lives that stays the same, namely change. I kept one ball in the air for 25 years, then it was finished and I departed, hoping to find some way for an old dog to learn new tricks. Now I'm liberated, if only temporarily. There'll be new orthodoxies, because there always are. The dialectic never ends.

However, my fundamental belief systems remain intact, although maybe ... just maybe ... I'm learning that 85% internal compliance is perfectly impeccable. A guy has to relax every now and then, and play against type.

At least I possess fundamental belief systems, something quite a few Christian fans of Donald Trump might do well to consider while gazing into their mirrors.

I appreciate Blake's question and I hope this has been an adequate answer. Here's the April post mentioned previously.

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BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Fruited sour dark ale from the Bud Light handlers, or how my acquaintance with LC Nadorff and Son was renewed.

America's three-tier distribution system for beverage alcohol has eroded at the edges in recent years, but it remains largely intact.

The post-Prohibition regulatory model was designed to separate producers (brewers, distillers, vintners) from direct involvement in retail sales by inserting a wholesaler middleman into the transaction.

Nowadays the most obvious exceptions to the three-tier norm are small brewers and winemakers, who are allowed to sell directly to the public from their tap rooms and tasting areas.

In 35 states (including Indiana) some form of self-distribution is allowed. For instance, so far at Pints&union I've purchased directly from the Donum Dei brewery, which is perfectly legal because we're all situated in Indiana. Conversely, to buy from a Louisville brewery would require the beer to be handled by a licensed wholesaler in Indiana.

All this is prelude to today being a momentous and perhaps even an historic occasion, because for the first time since 2002 (or thereabouts) I'll be accepting delivery of a keg of beer for resale at Pints&union via the beer wholesaler known as LC Nadorff and Son.

Therein lies a brief story about the way that one's point of view evolves over time. To begin, I subscribe to the Pour Fool theory of a beer drinker's (and beer vendor's) life.

The Pour Fool rules: "FUCK Budweiser: Your Basic Early Morning, Fed-Up Rant."

Why sugarcoat it? Everyone knows my feelings about the matter, and historically, Nadorff as a wholesaler has been what we would call a "Bud House," with a measure of territorial exclusivity for the distribution of Anheuser-Busch brands (and later the merged AB-InBev range).

Start with decades of personal antipathy toward Budweiser, and add into the mix a long tenure at NABC's Pizzeria & Public House devoted to purging mainstream beers from the premises, it's easy to see why there came a point in time roughly two decades ago when there was little interaction between Roger and LC Nadorff.

It wasn't that I ever had anything against Nadorff, because they've always been pleasant people. However, as befits the position of any beer wholesaler in America, Nadorff always occupied the very middle of the chain between a multinational brewing conglomerate and a publican who despised the conglomerate.

When NABC began brewing its own beer, we made the decision to eliminate mass-market beers from the building. As such, Nadorff was taken out of the loop. 

But here's the thing.

I might well be included on AB-InBev's "enemies" list, but I'm also a strident supporter of independent local businesses, and while Nadorff's bread and butter always has been the AB-InBev portfolio, it remains a family-owned firm with deep roots in New Albany -- so much so that 120 years ago there was a Nadorff family brewery in town.

Six or seven years ago when NABC did a beer tasting event on behalf of the Carnegie Center museum we were positioned adjacent to Nadorff's table. I began chatting with Jason Mott, a youthful member of the founding family. This was prior to AB-InBev's various "craft" brewery acquisitions, but we had a good conversation and I finally began considering Nadorff in the context of localism.

At this juncture I was full-tilt with trying to sell NABC-brewed beers, and subsequently there was my departure from the company, followed by years in the wilderness contemplating next steps. Resurfacing as Joe's beer director at Pints&union, I was at the pub one morning earlier this year when in walked Jason, accompanied by the area sales rep for Cincinnati's Rhinegeist.

There'd have been a time when Nadorff's contract with AB-InBev might have excluded the presence of an American "craft" brewer like Rhinegeist, but times have changed, and we had yet another delightful talk. These days Nadorff carries beer from a few small Indiana brewers and imported brands as well as Rhinegeist and the AB-InBev acquisitions (Goose Island, Elysian, et al).

I expressed interest in occasional draft visitations with Rhinegeist's brands, which brings me full circle to this afternoon, when Nadorff will drop off a sixth-barrel of Rhinegeist Ruby Paradox, a "fruited sour dark ale."

That's right, fruited sour dark ale from the Bud Light handlers, but the Bud Light handlers are the local New Albany guys, and at this point in my life it's a distinction that matters to me. Whatever the merits and demerits of the three-tier system, the fact remains that at least in Indiana, there aren't many wholesalers like Nadorff still standing.

While it's probably impossible to be a true "underdog" conveying AB-InBev products, in wholesaler terms Nadorff is scrambling like all the rest to find their place in the crazy quilt of the Post-Craft Beer Era.

Owing to the nature of the beer program we're trying to build at Pint&union -- traditionalist, with occasional flights of fancy -- I can't predict how often we'll be pouring Nadorff's portfolio, and yet it's invigorating to renew a local connection.

We need more of that, not less, so cheers to a renewed acquaintance.

SHANE'S EXCELLENT NEW WORDS: Classist versus classicist, in beer and at other places.

Classism versus classicism? The words have very different meanings.

classism
[klas-iz-uh m]
noun
a biased or discriminatory attitude based on distinctions made between social or economic classes.

1. the viewing of society as being composed of distinct classes.

There was a time when I was knowingly and even joyfully classist pertaining to beer. In fact, it was the basis for my career in beer. In the sense of social classes, my viewpoint held that mass-market beer drinkers were the willfully ignorant lower class, suitable for abuse by those who had grasped higher "better beer" truth.

Recall the Miller Lite advertising tag in the early 1990s: "It's IT and that's THAT."

My rejoinder: "It's SHIT and that's THAT," and the FOSSILS homebrewing club had buttons made as a form of provocation.

It seems a bit silly now, and in my defense the cascading abuse was accompanied by unrelenting efforts to educate about beer for anyone inclined to pay attention.

Then a funny thing happened, because we "won" and the beer world changed, kinda sorta. However, I awoke one morning to find the world hadn't changed quite to my liking; now everyone knew about good beer for so long as the libation in question referred to itself as an IPA. Other styles and traditions had been completely forgotten by the attention-deficit-impelled New Wave.

Being contrarian by nature as well as long practice, this implied a rethink, and I became a proud beer classicist.

classicism
[klas-uh-siz-uh m]
noun

1. the principles or styles characteristic of the literature and art of ancient Greece and Rome.
2. adherence to such principles.
3. the classical style in literature and art, or adherence to its principles (contrasted with romanticism).
4. a Greek or Latin idiom or form, especially one used in some other language.
5. classical scholarship or learning.

Toward this end and for my present purposes, "classicism" suggests a preponderance of the fifth definition, "classical scholarship or learning." In short, back to beer basics and familiarity with all the styles, not just two or three. Everything I'm trying to do with the beer program at Pints&union is centered on a classicist approach to beer, emphasizing long-held values while not excluding the new, but contextualizing the past 30-odd years within the framework of classicism.

And yes, Pints&union has mass-market beer, too. On that front, it was a case of me getting over myself, and I've succeeded ... most of the time. I've highlighted the closing sentences of this coda.

Many enjoy classical concerts, and for many different reasons. For veteran subscribers, those reasons will often be a combination of social and professional, as well as inspirational. But it is the rarity of the occasion of classical events that give us the feelings of ease, elegance, thoughtful study, even moral purpose and clarity. People dress up, are especially civil, and expect to experience some of humanity’s highest artistic achievements. Some enjoy that we can all feel classy together; enjoying a lifestyle we can’t afford. Symphony Hall and the Opera House will do that, but this has more to do with a classicism that says everyone deserves beauty, and must not be mistaken for classism that says only the cogniscenti deserve beauty. The former can unite us all, while the class warfare of the latter divides us.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Don't get around much anymore, but don't take it the wrong way. I like drinking beer in my own joint.

It will come as no surprise to anyone that I'm a natural born contrarian.

When everyone else is on board with something, I'm filled with suspicion. If the conventional wisdom is being espoused, then it seems to me there must be an obtuse angle willfully neglected by the prevailing herd mentality. "Common" sense? It's another way of enforcing uniformity.

These days there's a fashionable default template for selling beer according to the logic of attention deficit's promiscuous kaleidoscope -- embracing an ever-changing, rapid-fire, tilt-a-whirl dizziness.

It's no longer the approach I favor. It doesn't work for me professionally, and the same applies to my own beer drinking. In the here and now, I'd much rather savor two or three servings of one great (and usually lower gravity) beer, and get to know it better.

Before you ask, it doesn't matter at all that once upon a time, I was among the risk-taking pioneers of this disorienting tap shuffle. Seeing as these days most places embrace a scattershot, constantly rotating "system" of pouring whichever draft beer is new, while neglecting the possibilities inherent to an intelligent bottle and can list, you can count me out of the ensuing rat race.

The past is gone, and my head isn't there any longer.

My solution as beer programmer at Pints&union has been to return to school -- the old school. We emphasize comfort beers, teach neglected styles and offer the greatest beer hits of the 1300s through the 1900s, as placed alongside a few contemporary selections destined to become classics. Some of these come and go, but most stay put.

I'm very proud of what we've achieved with beer in less than a year by undertaking to narrow and solidify options, although the wonderful thing about doing business in our ever-evolving downtown New Albany is that if the old school isn't your bag, other establishments nearby offer plenty of new-wave beers. Generally speaking, downtown New Albany's eateries and watering holes are just a few minutes apart from each other.

Your mandate is clear: Walk about and check them out. At any given time, there surely are more than one hundred different beers available for consumption in downtown New Albany. Many of them won't be pouring during your next visit, while most of the ones at Pints&union will.

So be it, and I like it this way. That's because it may have occurred to you that a corollary of my mission at Pints&union, which is to assemble a classic selection of old-school beers, is my personal preference for precisely the same classic selection of old-school beers.

It follows that the bulk of my own beer drinking takes place at the very bar where I work, although I try not to abuse my privileges, and I don't indulge every night of the week. Rather, I pick my spots. I enjoy drinking the same beers I've chosen and stocked. Obviously this home field advantage also provides an opportunity to shoot the breeze with friends and customers, as well as educating visitors and staff alike.

The down side to Pints&union being my favorite place to drink beer is that I drink beer less often than before at other places, especially since my old stomping grounds at Bank Street Brewhouse have gone away. Part of the reason for my scarcity is a high-mileage liver.

Another is a tight household budget, and besides, there are are numerous other licensees in downtown New Albany (and Jeffersonville, and Louisville). While I try my best to support local businesses, acting as an honest broker of information who sincerely wants everyone to succeed, I can't patronize them all. 

None of this should be construed to imply personal disdain toward other establishments and their beer programs. Their choices aren't bad, just different; different beers for different peers. Diversity? It's good.

The ideal outcome in a district like downtown New Albany is for as many food and drink establishments as the free market proves are viable to co-exist with each other, refining their own offerings and being good at what they choose to do -- and with there being as many differing ideas about how to run a bar, cook food and build a beer selection as there are physical pieces of property to set up shop, the specific possibilities are endless.

I'm very fortunate to be able to purpose-build a beer program capable of pleasing customers and me, all at once. Because of this, Pints&union is my favorite place to drink beer, but for those among you with a tad more vim and vigor than I'm feeling lately, get out there and add to your Untappd totals.

You're just as likely to find me at Pints&union, curled up with a Pilsner Urquell or Fuller's London Porter. Nothing against anyone else; it's just that I really enjoy being a regular at the pub on top of working there.

---

A few pub-related links:

What does it mean to be a pub regular, anyway?

In the Age of Seamless, Is the ‘Regular’ a Dying Breed? by Helene Stapinski (New York Times)

For years, they came out night after night. Born of a time before internet and smartphones — or at least before Seamless — the regular is as old as the bar stool, and possibly poised for extinction.

But is the tradition really endangered?

We posed the question to our readers: What makes a regular? And are you one?

More than 500 responded to the callout, and they were as varied a group as you could imagine. The regulars come from every ethnic group and occupation, making certain restaurants and bars their living rooms and dining rooms, where they discover community, nourishment, sometimes even love. They tend to be over 40, though the tradition also seems appealing to millennials.

But no matter the establishment — cafe, trattoria, dive bar, coffeehouse, doughnut shop, pharmacy, even — those who make themselves permanent fixtures almost all say the same thing about what makes a regular. When they walk in, the people behind the counter know who they are.

Regular or not, there used to be a measure of gender discrimination in places like Edinburgh, Scotland.

Bennets Bar (Atlas Obscura)

Edinburgh locals have been drinking at the building that houses Bennets Bar since 1839. Refitted with a new interior in 1906, the bar maintains many of its historic fixtures, including stained glass windows, beautiful tiles depicting cherubs, and a wooden bar. There is even a brass water tap for topping off one’s whisky. Perhaps the most unusual feature, however, is what locals refer to as a “jug” or “snug.”

As a closing bit of serendipity, regulars spent decades drinking in this Wisconsin bar without knowing what was behind a nearby wall.

Huge 19th Century Circus Poster Found in Walls of Wisconsin Bar, by Brigit Katz (Smithsonian)

It advertised an 1885 performance by the Great Anglo-American Circus

Since the 1970s, the family-owned Corral Bar has been serving drinks and hearty meals to diners in the small town of Durand, Wisconsin. But the property has a much longer history: it sits on land that was first surveyed in 1857 and has been home to a succession of stores, barber shops and saloons. As Eric Lindquist reports for the Eau Claire Leader-Telegram that one of the bar’s current owners, Ron Berger, recently revealed a vibrant relic of the Corral’s rich past: a nine-foot-high, 55-foot-long circus poster, long hidden behind the bar’s walls.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Fruited sour dark ale from the Bud Light handlers, or how my acquaintance with LC Nadorff and Son was renewed.

America's three-tier distribution system for beverage alcohol has eroded at the edges in recent years, but it remains largely intact.

The post-Prohibition regulatory model was designed to separate producers (brewers, distillers, vintners) from direct involvement in retail sales by inserting a wholesaler middleman into the transaction.

Nowadays the most obvious exceptions to the three-tier norm are small brewers and winemakers, who are allowed to sell directly to the public from their tap rooms and tasting areas.

In 35 states (including Indiana) some form of self-distribution is allowed. For instance, so far at Pints&union I've purchased directly from the Donum Dei brewery, which is perfectly legal because we're all situated in Indiana. Conversely, to buy from a Louisville brewery would require the beer to be handled by a licensed wholesaler in Indiana.

All this is prelude to today being a momentous and perhaps even an historic occasion, because for the first time since 2002 (or thereabouts) I'll be accepting delivery of a keg of beer for resale at Pints&union via the beer wholesaler known as LC Nadorff and Son.

Therein lies a brief story about the way that one's point of view evolves over time. To begin, I subscribe to the Pour Fool theory of a beer drinker's (and beer vendor's) life.

The Pour Fool rules: "FUCK Budweiser: Your Basic Early Morning, Fed-Up Rant."

Why sugarcoat it? Everyone knows my feelings about the matter, and historically, Nadorff as a wholesaler has been what we would call a "Bud House," with a measure of territorial exclusivity for the distribution of Anheuser-Busch brands (and later the merged AB-InBev range).

Start with decades of personal antipathy toward Budweiser, and add into the mix a long tenure at NABC's Pizzeria & Public House devoted to purging mainstream beers from the premises, it's easy to see why there came a point in time roughly two decades ago when there was little interaction between Roger and LC Nadorff.

It wasn't that I ever had anything against Nadorff, because they've always been pleasant people. However, as befits the position of any beer wholesaler in America, Nadorff always occupied the very middle of the chain between a multinational brewing conglomerate and a publican who despised the conglomerate.

When NABC began brewing its own beer, we made the decision to eliminate mass-market beers from the building. As such, Nadorff was taken out of the loop. 

But here's the thing.

I might well be included on AB-InBev's "enemies" list, but I'm also a strident supporter of independent local businesses, and while Nadorff's bread and butter always has been the AB-InBev portfolio, it remains a family-owned firm with deep roots in New Albany -- so much so that 120 years ago there was a Nadorff family brewery in town.

Six or seven years ago when NABC did a beer tasting event on behalf of the Carnegie Center museum we were positioned adjacent to Nadorff's table. I began chatting with Jason Mott, a youthful member of the founding family. This was prior to AB-InBev's various "craft" brewery acquisitions, but we had a good conversation and I finally began considering Nadorff in the context of localism.

At this juncture I was full-tilt with trying to sell NABC-brewed beers, and subsequently there was my departure from the company, followed by years in the wilderness contemplating next steps. Resurfacing as Joe's beer director at Pints&union, I was at the pub one morning earlier this year when in walked Jason, accompanied by the area sales rep for Cincinnati's Rhinegeist.

There'd have been a time when Nadorff's contract with AB-InBev might have excluded the presence of an American "craft" brewer like Rhinegeist, but times have changed, and we had yet another delightful talk. These days Nadorff carries beer from a few small Indiana brewers and imported brands as well as Rhinegeist and the AB-InBev acquisitions (Goose Island, Elysian, et al).

I expressed interest in occasional draft visitations with Rhinegeist's brands, which brings me full circle to this afternoon, when Nadorff will drop off a sixth-barrel of Rhinegeist Ruby Paradox, a "fruited sour dark ale."

That's right, fruited sour dark ale from the Bud Light handlers, but the Bud Light handlers are the local New Albany guys, and at this point in my life it's a distinction that matters to me. Whatever the merits and demerits of the three-tier system, the fact remains that at least in Indiana, there aren't many wholesalers like Nadorff still standing.

While it's probably impossible to be a true "underdog" conveying AB-InBev products, in wholesaler terms Nadorff is scrambling like all the rest to find their place in the crazy quilt of the Post-Craft Beer Era.

Owing to the nature of the beer program we're trying to build at Pint&union -- traditionalist, with occasional flights of fancy -- I can't predict how often we'll be pouring Nadorff's portfolio, and yet it's invigorating to renew a local connection.

We need more of that, not less, so cheers to a renewed acquaintance.

Bavarian Christmas Interlude 2018, Monday: 39 up, 39 down. What's next?

Diana and I visited Bavaria (Munich and Bamberg) just before Christmas. Prior to departure, there was a series entitled Munich Tales 2018. This is the last of seven installments summarizing what we did, saw, ate and drank. They're being back-dated to the day we were there.

Previously: Cool Paulaner and some delicious döner kebap.

---

A few random thoughts to close this series ...

On Monday morning we rose, gathered our belongings and made the short walk to the Hauptbahnhof, where the automated machine disgorged two tickets for the S-Bahn to the airport. Departure rituals are hard, and I always feel conflicting emotions when it comes time to leave Europe and return home.

Our short trip to Munich in December was the 39th visit to Europe for me, with the first one occurring in 1985. That's easily north of $150,000 invested on a return of absolutely nothing  -- apart from memories and experience, which are priceless. I have no regrets whatever.

Being in Munich for the first time in 1985 had lots more to do with drinking, as opposed to thinking. In those days most of what we assumed about planetary beer culture revolved around a dead certainty that America had been Bavaria at one time in terms of beer & bratwurst, then somehow lost its mojo after Prohibition amid a sea of lightweight swill and fast food chains.

Of course, the 33 years of my life elapsing since then have been devoted to finally grasping that we always had been guilty of oversimplification. Germans and other immigrants came to America and kept some of their traditions intact, but in a metaphysical sense they were no longer German (or Vietnamese, or Indian). They were American, and being American was something different.

Returning to Munich in 2018 was a chance to see how those beer traditions were holding up there -- not in America. The most honest answer is they are, except when they're not. There'll probably come a time when I'll step into a Munich beer hall and (a) see televised sports, (b) order an India Pale Ale, and (c) eat Buffalo wings. I hope not, but it's likely.

And when it happens, I'll probably cry. They won't be tears of joy.

Happily we're not there yet, and ultimately I don't know what any of it means. I'm grateful that we had the chance to go to Munich, especially during the Christmas season, because it seems less commercialized than the way we do it -- outdoor markets notwithstanding, and anyway, those markets are about drinking and socializing as much as anything else.

Our sole evening in Bamberg served to reinforce a truth of which I've been aware for quite some time: If either of us ever won the lottery, or inherited vast wealth, there'd be a cloud of dust from which we'd emerge in Bamberg to stay.

Although Diana might want to go to the United Kingdom, and that's fine; naturally Belgium and Netherlands would be marvelous, and there's always Copenhagen. But it's surely too late for me to be an expatriate, and I'm not sure what I think of this.

The lead-in selfie was taken at the Murphy's theme pub inside Schiphol (Amsterdam), where we changed for the flight home to Detroit. Come to think of it, Ireland would be good for this expatriate-minded Nawbanian, too.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: "Millennials haven't killed pubs – pubs just haven't kept up."

St. Radegund Free House, back then.

So here we are at Pints&union in li'l 'ol Nawbany, trying to emulate (if not copy outright) the soulfulness of the institution of the British pub, even as the British pub is the subject of incessant existential debate -- and in fact, has been for decades.

Are pubs doomed?

Theirs is a different culture; more specifically, it is a different licensing and taxation regimen. As can be gleaned from the following, there also are the cultural markers; prices are one thing, and potentially adjustable, but all is lost if coming generations decide to refrain from drink entirely for health reasons. 

What of cask-conditioned ale, that most glorious of beers when done correctly? It's almost exclusively British, and always fragile in modern economies of ease and scale.

The author's conclusion no doubt is true. There's be something new and different arising from the ashes of what came before. But when it comes to pub culture, it's a dialectic I'll be seeking to circumvent, even if I'm not British.

Millennials haven't killed pubs – pubs just haven't kept up, Devarshi Lodhia (The Guardian)

Rising prices and social diversification have scuppered the institution, making the boozer less of a priority for the young

From mayonnaise and diamonds to cinemas and golf, it seems no industry is safe from being killed off by millennials. Now pubs look to be suffering the same fate, closing at an alarming rate with net numbers down by almost 700 this year alone – and piling yet more misery on the Great British high street.

The most obvious reason behind the sharp decline in pub numbers seems to be the cost of going out. The average pint in London costs upwards of £5, while the national average of £3.60 is 60p more than most people think is reasonable ... and it’s not just financial reasons that are putting people off, the reality is that fewer young people drink, with research showing that 25% of people aged 16-24 described themselves as “non-drinkers” while between 2005 and 2015, the percentage drinking above the recommended limits had dropped by 15%. Often this has very little to do with cost, with most of my friends who don’t drink choosing to do so for their physical and mental wellbeing.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: And the honor goes to Fuller's London Pride.

At approximately 9:30 p.m. on Thursday, August 2, 2018 the first keg to be emptied at Pints&union was Fuller's London Pride, with Guinness queuing close behind it.

This pleases me for a number of reasons.

From the start, we've been inspired by the classic British pub experience, while not going quite so far as to imitate it in the fashion of a puerile Disney facsimile. The fact that customers are drawn to Fuller's bears the stamp of vindication.

I've been to London and always enjoyed pints of Fuller's at the company's tied houses. In Louisville, the Irish Rover has had Fuller's ESB on tap for many years, and it's my go-to with fish and chips (oddly, the ESB is unavailable in Indiana).

In the following article, Alworth is wonderfully spot on. If you've been to the UK and found yourself absorbed in classic pub culture, enjoying cask-conditioned "real" ale and the occasional nibble, it sticks with you forever. At the same time, it's far easier to stock a reasonably authentic Belgian beer cafe or Bavarian biergarten in America than a British-style pub.

There'll be many kegs to come, but I'll always remember the first. Thank you very much.

FULLER’S LONDON PRIDE: A HARMONY IN FIVE PARTS, by Jeff Alworth (All About Beer Magazine)

Good luck finding a proper English bitter in the United States. You can more easily locate gose—an obscure, recently extinct beer made in only a couple of breweries in its native Germany—than the national ale of Britain. The same Britain, to underscore this irony, that served as the model for American microbreweries 40 years ago. Yanks still make pale ales by the legion, and our IPAs were at least inspired by the English predecessor. But a 3.8% bitter, with native yeast esters, local hops and bready malts blossoming under the effect of cask conditioning? You have to go to the source.

For reasons no one can untangle, Americans never took to cask ale. Maybe it’s because too few of us have managed to visit Britain, found ourselves in a cozy, wood-paneled pub, with hands encircling a third pint. Because for those of us who have, the experience has lingered and developed a patina in our memories. My first such experience is still the most indelible: the Jack Horner, in Bloomsbury, London, after a long flight from the West Coast. A Fuller’s pub, with meat pies and tall glasses of London Pride. If your dalliances happened with Timothy Taylor Landlord or Harveys Sussex Best or Adnams Southwold, I’m not going to argue. There are quite a number of excellent bitters in England—and even more lovely pubs in which to fall in love with them.

But even stripped of the nostalgia, my vote goes to Pride. It has that lovely woody color that confuses Americans and a palate that, to IPA drinkers, is anything but “bitter.” “Balance” would be a more apt name. In London Pride’s case, all the hallmarks of English brewing are in attendance: an orangy, marmalade nose of fruity ale esters, a touch of the toffee malts and a hint of delicately floral hops. Your attention can be drawn to any of them, or you can take in the way they form such a beautiful chorus. Also: the soft mouthfeel that can only come from the lower levels of natural carbonation, contrasted by the water’s minerality and stiffness. Yeast, malt, hop, water and cask-conditioning—a harmony in five parts ...

THE BEER BEAT: We always cook with beer. Sometimes, we even add it to the food.

MilkWood/NABC, 2014.

As regards drink, I can only say that in Dublin during the Depression when I was growing up, drunkenness was not regarded as a social disgrace. To get enough to eat was regarded as an achievement. To get drunk was a victory.
-- Brendan Behan

Welcome to this evening’s standout beer dinner here at Ye Olde Tollbridge Inn, featuring four courses by Chef Fill-in-the-Blank and some great beers from Anonymous Brewing and its superlative brewmaster, Chilly Haze.

My name is Roger, and I’ll be your guide for the evening. Some of you may remember me as the co-owner and beer guy at New Albanian Brewing Company, where I worked for more than 25 years.

It was great fun, and I’m proud of the role we played in the metro Louisville beer revolution. On widely scattered occasions, I even received a paycheck.

But what have I done for you lately?

Admittedly not much, although I’d suggest that for a contrarian like me, whenever the revolution’s been won, it’s time to get to work on the next insurrection. After all, there’s always a bit of tweaking to do.

These days I’ve happily picked up where I left off so long ago, as an ordinary guy who enjoys eating, drinking, conversing and enjoying life with folks who feel the same, preferably in a watering hole or an eatery that got the damn memo and does it right.

That’s because pubs are my preferred natural habitat. They’re the only places outside of my own home where I’ve ever truly felt comfortable. Much of what I know, I’ve learned at a bar --  or behind it.

At the Irish Rover, Louisville’s finest Irish pub, it’s always been said that the pub is a poor man’s university, and I couldn’t agree more. Pubs are about more than just beefsteak and porter. They’re about camaraderie and communion, too.

There’s something to the idea of lower-case communion: sharing, fellowship and rapport. Upper case "Communion" used to play its role, too; it’s no accident that brewers of old referred to yeast as “Godisgood,” or that prayers were said in the vicinity of the brewhouse. After all, we always were expected to say grace before eating, and if beer is liquid bread, it’s just as much a spiritual matter as lamb chops.

Perhaps it’s easier for an atheist like me to say these irreverent things, although in all seriousness, spirituality need not rest on a religious foundation. Any way you approach it, the feeling engendered by communion isn't quantifiable.

Neither a photo can summarize it, nor the words I’m saying to you now. It’s the feeling of satisfaction and connectivity that comes from glimpsing a slice of what’s lasting and eternal, if only for the moment.

Consequently, what I’ve been doing lately is getting comfortable with my older, battle-tested self. The end looms closer than the beginning, and I’m learning that essences, intimacies and old friends matter more than glitter, profligacy and murder by lists.

Aristotle, noted among the agora’s habitués for his discerning wine consumption, once observed: “With regard to excellence, it is not enough to know, but we must try to have and use it," and ultimately, beer is of little use unless we’re able to drink it.

How very true – and at the same time, oddly challenging. We’re in danger of being buried alive by a cornucopia of beer ... blinded by the kaleidoscope ... paralyzed at the tsunami's approach. Choices are a blessing, as well as a curse.

Back in 1990 when I started working at Sportstime Pizza, before Rich O’s Public House even existed, there were 284 breweries in the whole of the United States. Today there are more than 6,000.

Combined with those breweries outside America from which so many beers are imported, there might be as many as 50,000 different beers available at any given time throughout the nation, whether packaged or pouring from taps.

If I started now and drank six different beers per day until I’ve tried them all, it would take roughly 22 years – assuming the selection stayed the same, and conceding that by the year 2040 or so, some of them wouldn’t be very fresh, including me.

I’d be 80 by then, and my liver?

About 145.

It is said that another of the Greek philosophers, Diogenes, walked the streets in broad daylight carrying a lamp, hoping to find an honest man. 2,300 years later, a British beer hunter named Michael Jackson suggested that the search for the perfect pint should last a lifetime.

For me, being a beer lover in our current age is equal parts homage to Diogenes and Jackson. It is a search for truth in a time of staggering plenty (pun intended), when so very many choices are available that almost nothing of lasting value occurs as a result of the experience.

Three decades ago when I first started hanging out with homebrewers, the ultimate destination was far less complicated. Options in the marketplace were limited, and often non-existent, so we thought in terms of the everyday: could we make a nice dry stout, or a pale ale that tasted like Bass? If so, we’d be perfectly happy.

It sounds laughable now, but who’s to say the perfect pint couldn’t be an ale tracing its descent to Burton-on-Trent, consumed on the ideal night in a clean and well lighted place with your best friends and curry – maybe goulash, BBQ ribs or a Po Boy sandwich?

Which brings me back to your meal and beers tonight.

What you’ll be experiencing tonight is something exceedingly rare in the current time, so oddly offbeat as to be a counter-revolutionary act. Your meal tonight and those drinks accompanying it are not being crowd-sourced. Ratings have not been consulted, polls have not been taken, and not a single selfie was harmed in the preparation of this feast.

Rather, the bill of fare was selected because in the experience and intuition of Chef Fill-in-the-Blank and Anonymous Brewing, it was felt these dishes and beers belong alongside each other.

In short, your choice in this is rather limited. You’ve agreed to be a student, and to allow us to explain a bit about what you’re eating and drinking, and why we think it matters.

Tonight, if only for two hours, the wheel stops spinning. The range shrinks, as instead of tagging them all, we'll contemplate just a few. There’ll be no test, and yet we’d dearly love for you to leave here tonight sated, pleased, and having learned something you didn’t previously know.

Moreover, we hope the courses and their chosen beers tasted good to you. Notice I didn’t use the words “paired well.” This is a conscious choice, because my New Year’s resolution for 2018 is to refrain from pretentiousness whenever possible.

Throughout the evening, I’ll be briefly interrupting the communion – I mean the beer dinner – to share a few thoughts about what you’re eating and drinking.

Finally, know that expertise isn’t required of you. You don’t have to be a star to be in this show, because hungry and thirsty is enough for us all. You needn’t identify as a geek, aficionado, snob, connoisseur or enthusiast – just someone who likes beer, and enjoys trying something different every now and then.

Maybe you appreciate a bit of history and geography thrown into the chat for good measure, and if so, I’ll be doing some of that.

All are welcome, and welcome to all.

Enjoy your meal -- and keep searching for that perfect pint.