Since it is summer, it
is time to start posting some reviews of the books I’ve been reading. Reading
is the easy part; finding time to transform my thoughts into something
useful—summer or not—is an entirely different proposition. But I’ll try. First
up is
Beer School,
the story of the
founding of Brooklyn Brewery. It is a story told by Steve Hindy and Tom Potter,
Brooklyn’s two founders, with each taking their turn in the individual chapters
of the book. There is a clear difference between the two voices in regards to
tone and direction, but they do end up playing off each other well. As Tom puts
it, “an even surface tone beats enthusiasm every time” (57). While he is
discussing the construction of a business plan here, in many ways this is an
apt description of the two partners, with Tom the “even surface tone” and Steve
the voice of enthusiasm. Steve’s previous career as a correspondent serves him
in good stead when telling Brooklyn’s story, but at times the hyperbole is,
well, a bit much: “If you are going to start a business, you must be prepared
for lonely moments of entrepreneurial terror, for stress and anxiety. There is
little consolation in those moments. I haven’t slept soundly since I became an
entrepreneur. But Tom and I have shared some experiences that only an
entrepreneur can appreciate, and I know we both treasure the experience” (278).
Oh
my. This also comes at the end of a chapter Tom spends debunking the mythic
image of the entrepreneur in the public imagination; thus, while Steve’s
observations have merit, they nonetheless smack of solipsism. Still, Steve has
his moments, like when talking about his interest in beer: “Money people make
money. Money is different from art and beer. Art and beer can enrich your life;
they can arouse your senses; they can inspire and liberate. Money is not by
itself enjoyable” (154). It is observations like these that give Steve depth
beyond his role as the public face of Brooklyn Brewery and save him from
falling into the role of corporate cheerleader. Tom’s even business-speak does
start a bit dry, but it open up as he warms to the topic; coupled with Steve’s
flair, the two present the difficulties and disagreements with more candor than
a single narrative voice could.
The practical elements
of starting a business stood out more than I expected. They initially dub
themselves Mr. Inside—Steve—and Mr. Outside—Tom—to help identify their
respective roles in the fledgling operation, and document some of their
miscommunications in this regard as well, providing insight into the importance
of open communication
when working together. We also get a good amount of information concerning the
importance of constructing and implementing a business plan. Thus, “What might
appear to be a mundane 40-page report is really the dramatic result of months
of imagining the world anew. It’s the founders’ distilled brainstorm of
strategy, structure, management, and motivation” (44). They also emphasize the
value of research coupled with the practical knowledge necessary to implement their
business plan in a successful manner. And one other solid piece of advice that,
while simple even to me, bears repeating: “Get It On Paper.” Or, put more
succinctly, “with a partnership agreement, if the relationship dissolves,
there’s a mechanism in place to make it amicable and fair” (15). Offhand, I can
think of one no-longer functioning Ohio brewery that might have benefitted from
this advice.
I do like that
Beer School details some of the personal
history that most people never tend to discover. For example, everyone knows
that Garrett Oliver is the brewmaster at Brooklyn.
Yes, everyone. Even that guy you know who doesn’t like beer. And
rightfully so—he’s a media darling, and
TheBrewmaster’s Table and
The Oxford Companion to Beer have only solidified that reputation. He’s witty and
personable, and as Steve tells it, is fond of using a quote from the
Blues Brothers to identify his role in
the world of craft beer: “I’m on a mission from God” (220). Thus, we get the
story of when Steve initially met Oliver in December 1987 at a meeting of the
New York City Homebrewers Guild, and later, as Steve recounts, “In the early
1990s, as we began planning to finally build our brewery in Brooklyn, I began
to talk to Garrett about coming to work for us” (31). Oliver was hired in 1994,
the new brewery in Williamsburg opened on May 18, 1996, and the rest is history
and, well, the rest of the book. But I liked hearing about Bill Moeller, their
first brewmaster, who was a “fourth-generation German-American brewer whose
grandfather had brewed beer in Brooklyn at the turn of the
 |
Bill Moeller with Michael
Jackson; from here |
last century” (27).
He had worked for 35 years at C. Schmidt and Sons in Philadelphia; the job at
Brooklyn was “the first time in my career that an owner has ever told me to
make the best damn beer I can make” (28). The original recipe for Brooklyn
Lager was put together by Bill, Steve, and Tom using “the notebooks of Bill’s
grandfather” (28). And it was Bill that initially helped open doors for Steve
and Tom: “Bill had contacts everywhere. We were delighted to take advantage of
them. For his part, he was delighted to be working on a project for a really
premium beer” (51). Bill simultaneous status in the beer industry and
involvement in the burgeoning craft movement was an important part of the early
transition from macro- to microbrewing in the United States—exactly the type of
history I’d like to learn more about.
Other points worth
noting include Brooklyn Brewery’s “great detour” (77) into distribution, as
well as their foray into the dot-com revolution with TotalBeer.com. While the
distribution branch of the business started as a means to deliver their own
beer, it ultimately included both imports and other craft beers, like Sierra
Nevada. Thus, when
Wine Enthusiast
released a list of the 100 best beers in the world in October 1994,
Steve and
Tom “discovered that we distributed a strong majority of them” (95). We also
learn about the industry, and the potential pitfalls of financing when moving
from a regional to a national brand: “Pyramid Brewing was doing very well in
the mid-1990s, enjoyed excellent organic growth, and was guided by a talented
management team. When it raised $34 million in late 1995 on the promise of
going national, it quickly spent most of its money in the futile attempt and
saw its reputation erode from regional success to national failure. Pyramid’s
shares went public at $19, and over the next 10 years they lost nearly 90
percent of their value. Pyramid has lately regained some positive momentum and
still makes good beer, but the whole episode is a painful reminder that the
business strategy needs to direct the financing and not the other way around”
(142). While previously I was puzzled by Pyramid’s transformation, being that I
was in mid-twenties during the time, I just abandoned Pyramid for one of the
many other craft beers springing up in the Northwest. This explanation makes a
lot of sense, though. After all, Red Hook’s “deal-with-the-devil” to achieve
national distribution with Anheuser-Busch InBev
fared only marginally better in
regards to maintaining their reputation. Finally, Steve and Tom discuss some of
the early New York microbrewers that came before them, like Matthew Reich,
founder of New Amsterdam Brewery, who “pioneered the idea of
contract brewing—contracting with an
existing brewery to produce a beer for you” (212). They point out that one
price of success is that others will “go to school on your business” (213), as
they and others—like Jim Koch of Samuel Adams—did with Reich. Hence, as you’ve
probably now gathered, the name of the book. While Reich wasn’t always
gracious—in one interview he says of Brooklyn “I hope they fall flat on their
faces. They have stolen every idea I ever had” (213)—others like Bill Newman of
Albany Amber Beer, Jeff Ware of Dock Street Brewing, and Nat Collins of
Woodstock Brewing exemplified the community spirit that still exists in craft
brewing today.
So there’s a small
snapshot of the book. There’s a whole lot more, and despite some of my earlier
comments, it is both well-written and a good read. While the business language is
at times a bit generic, the book offers a fascinating window into the early
days of microbrewing on the East Coast, one I hope to learn more about soon.
(7/19/2013)
flavor expresses itself in a beer, something like, oh, say, a saison. Shocking, right? It is a bit heavier on overall protein (16%, as compared to 11-13% for most other malted grains), but has high enzymatic power. As described on the Best Malz website, “Spelt is a distant genetic relative of wheat, and imparts a dry, tart, and earthy character and aroma. Spelt is good for Belgian Saison and wheat styles.” That’s good enough reason for me! Plus, since I just scored some new ECY08 Saison Brasserie yeast, everything’s coming up Milhouse! 
initial bottles, the underlying beer was good, the spice additions got in the way. Here, things have mellowed, and the Styrian Goldings are able to come through, as well as some of the ephemeral herbal dandelion components that were equally lost under the haze of floral citrus spiciness from the coriander, cumin, and grains of paradise. The beer pours a slightly hazy straw with lots of tiny streaming white bubbles, producing a creamy white head that laces the glass nicely. There is faint pepper and hay in the nose, with hints of citrus and mintiness amidst the floral esters—the delicate aromas are able to express themselves in ways they couldn’t when this was initially bottled. Flavors start with bread dough and candy sweetness, along with bread crust; the middle gives way to hay and a light mineral and 
minty herbal bitterness. The citrus appears in the turn to the finish, and does more bread crust and a slight nuttiness, with a bit of a harsher bitterness lingering on the back of the throat—the Cluster addition for bittering comes across as more aggressive than the other subtler components of the beer; it is something to rethink in homing in on this beer. While the beer is dry on the palate, there is also rounded creaminess via the rolled oatmeal and barley; the bright, sharp carbonation contributes to dryness, and yet the spelt and white wheat also give this 
beer some gummy/doughy mouthfeel, even in conjunction with the attenuation. I’ll be interested to compare this with the more recent version of this beer (162. Saison w/ Spelt), which cuts the spice and dandelion additions as well as the rolled oatmeal and barley, and trades the white wheat for acidulated malt, but maintains the same MFB Pilsen and Best Malz Spelt ratio and hop additions. Oh, and there is a new yeast to consider. But this current beer does confirm that Styrian Goldings are a keeper in regards to late hop additions. And the four months this sat in the bottle has dramatically improve this beer—it has brought the outlier components into a more even harmony that harkens to better things. I’m still betting I’ll be missing the dandelion in the new version, though.
