Good Beer Hunting

Today we’re going to talk about origin beers. There’s increasing discussion amongst niche beer circles about the accuracy of some of our beer vernacular. What constitutes farmhouse ales, for example, when most leading farmhouse beer producers don’t operate a farm at all, rather they hold close to some of the prevailing traditions of those styles largely lost to history. And increasingly, farmhouse producers are located in urban environments, pulling extremely far away from their inspiration, but perhaps staying connected to methodology, or year profiles that give them a way to talk about a different approach to brewing regardless of the disassociation. but today we’re going to talk to someone who’s working hard to take another part of beer making back to an extreme niche tradition — and that’s Mad Fritz Brewing in Napa Valley. Owned and operated by Nile Zacherele, a professional vintner at David Arthur Vineyards on Pritchard Hill, Mad Fritz is an attempt to take the ingredients of beer back to an origin status, not like winemaking where the location, the soil, the cultivation of the ingredients is both present, and local to the production of the beverage. To that end, Nile has convinced some locals farmers to grow barley for him, which he intends to floor malt himself. He even sources water from local wells and reservoirs. He also barely ages or barely ferments all his beers, many of them on the paler side, which means they pick up wood character quickly. I first learned of Nile’s beers when he sent a care-package some months back and I tasted through them with some good friends and colleagues here at the studio. We were curious, sometimes perplexed by what was happening in the bottle. These were very unusual beers in both concept and execution. And the details where were we found ourselves becoming engaged — a shift in water profile, a lingering grain quality, wood character that skewed our expectations. So when I had the chance to visit recently on a short trip around the North Bay, I wasted little time in asking Nile a hundred different questions. Then we went up the hill to the vineyard to taste the grapes, the fermenting juice, and the finished wines that have serviced as a sort of inspiration point for brewing origin beers. And I’m happy to say that I’m still curious and perplexed.

This week's episode features one of Chicagoland's newest production breweries—Miskatonic in Darien, Illinois. My first memory of these guys was sitting at Owen & Engine, an English-inspired bar on Western Avenue that routinely puts together a great list. Scanning down through it, I noticed a name I'd didn't recognize, and next to it, a simple, refreshing style designator—"Mild." Now, I fully admit that, as someone who drinks for a living, I'm in a bit of a bubble at times. But I was thrilled to see that word. You may recall from way back in episode 4, Mark Spence and I complained that there were no English Milds being made in Chicago. And making a beer like that close to home is critical—it's not going to export across the Atlantic all that well. So when I saw a start-up in Chicago brewing a Mild out of the gate, I was all over it. And it was great. Delicate, slightly toasty, a tad bitter, balanced by a malt character that finished dry. It's a perfect beer. A perfect style, really. But that Mild, as memorable as it was for me, was less about a style that Miskatonic was keen on, and more of an approach to every style they brew. Subtle, balance, delicacy—this is what I've come to know them as. And this past year, GBH was lucky enough to work with them as well, helping them get their story straight and their message ready for market as they entered with cans for the first time, introducing themselves to thousands of new customers. So here we are, two months into packaged product on the shelves. It's a perfect time to ask them how it's going—and how they got here.

This week’s episode features one of Chicagoland’s newest production breweries called Miskatonic from Darien, Illinois. My first memory of these guys was sitting at Owen & Engine, an English-inspired bar in Western Avenue who routinely puts together a great list. Scanning down I noticed a name I’d didn’t recognize, and next to it, a simple style designator — “mild” Now, I fully admit that as someone who drinks for a living that I’m in a bit of a bubble at times — but I was thrilled to see that word. You may recall from waaaay back in episode 4 with Mark Spence, a home brewer, that we were openly complaining that there were no English Milds being made locally in Chicago. And making a beer like that close to home is critical — it’s not going to export across the Atlantic all that well. So yeah, when I saw a start-up in Chicago brewing a Mild out of the gate, I was all over it. And it was great. Delicate, slightly toasty, a tad bitter, balanced by a malt character that finished dry. It’s a perfect beer. A perfect style, really. But that Mild, as memorable as it was for me, was less about a style that Miskatonic was keen on — and more of an approach to every style they brew. Subtle, balance, delicacy. This is what I’ve come to know them as. And this past year, GBH was lucky enough to work with them as well, helping them get their story straight and their message ready for market as they entered with cans for the first time, and introduced themselves to thousands of new customers. So here we are, two months in to packaged product on the shelves, and it’s a perfect time to ask them how it’s going. And how they got here.

A while back, when we were shooting Grit & Grain in the Goose Island barrel warehouse, there were a series of barrels set aside for a special project lead by Innovation Manager, Mike Siegel. All I knew at the time was that it was a Brett Pale Ale of sorts. Other details were kept close. Today, I got to taste the final results of that experimental beer. But more importantly, I got the back story on the collaboration between Goose Island and beer historian Ron Pattinson—who, over the years, has worked with a number of breweries to re-create ancient recipes down to the tiniest of details. Ron is a prolific writer. He's got a number of books and magazine articles under his belt, and a website that's about as old as ours is going on 10 years now. Mike Siegel, who you may recall from episode 28 of the GBH podcast, leads innovation at Goose Island's Fulton Street brewery in Chicago. Between them, I got a couple of words in. But mostly, I tried to clear the way for some of their deeper insight into the challenges—and the fun—of bringing a recipe like English Stock Yard Ale to life.

Awhile back, when we were shooting Grit & Grain in the Goose Island barrel warehouse, there were a series of barrels set aside for a special project lead by Innovation Manager, Mike Seigel. All I knew at the time was that it was a brett pale ale of sorts. Other details were kept close. Well today, I got to taste the final results of that experimental beer, but more importantly, I got the backstory on the collaboration between Goose Island and beer historian Ron Pattinson, who over the years has worked with a number of breweries to re-create ancient recipes down to the tiniest of details. Ron is a prolific writer - with a number of books and magazine articles under his belt, and a website that’s about as old as ours is going on 10 years now. Mike Seigel, who yo may recall from episode 28 of the GBH podcast, leads innovation at Goose ISland’s Fulton street brewery in Chicago. Between them, I got a couple of words in. But largely tries to clear the way for some of their deeper insight into the challenges, and the fun, of bringing a recipe like a English Stock Yard Ale to life.

Longtime GBH readers may recall the article I wrote about Hill Farmstead back in January 2014. For GBH, and myself as a beer writer, it was a bit of a turning point. That article remains our most-read brewery profile ever. And now that it has two years running on it, I doubt that'll ever change. The reach it's created for GBH opened a lot of doors for me and the team, and it was shortly after that that I first began bringing other writers into the fold. The entire reason many of those writers sought me out was because of that article. It changed something for them. It gave them a reason to think about beer writing very differently—and that was their words, not mine. But I can attest that even for me, it changed things. I've written about many many breweries over the years—almost a decade now. And most breweries have a sense of place and personality. But until that visit to Hill Farmstead, no brewery I'd visited had that sense of place. Or that kind of personality. Indeed, it took me almost a year to gather my feelings on the subject, and to share that story with my readers. It's a bit ironic for me that so much of my thesis was focused on the story beyond the hype for Hill Farmstead at the time. Don't get me wrong, Shaun Hill's reputation was warranted, and the beautiful setting of the place certainly told an accurate story. But it was ironic because my experience actually made me value Hill Farmstead even more, but for very different reasons. I was attracted to Shaun's focus, the simple-but-expressive beers being made at a time when there was no real vocabulary for a mixed fermentation Saison in our typical craft parlance. The beers harkened back to my first and enduring loves, like Saison Dupont, for which I'd not found anything comparable in the states. And something about the place reminded me so much of the upbringing I had in rural Pennsylvania. The terrain, the isolation, the struggle to produce something valuable so far away from where those things are typically valued. After reading the article himself, Shaun admitted to not remembering my visit much that day. In fact, he reluctantly gave me about 10 minutes of his time and went back to work. And most of the piece came not from the things that Shaun said, but the things that he did. I witnessed not just the beauty and rare quality of it, but the work, frustration, and anxiety of it all—and it stuck with me. It was mostly a portrait built on observation, and a bit of self-reflection for my own life experience. That article tied Shaun and I together. Years later, and we've become friends of a sort. I've gone back to visit a couple times a year, like many of you have. And I've been lucky enough to steal away some time on each of those trips to listen and learn from his experiences up on that hill in Greensboro, Vermont. Some of it has been trying and frustrating. And some of it has been revelatory and edifying. That's just a way of living in that part of the world. The weekend we recorded this episode, he was in town for our friend Ryan Burk's wedding in Chicago. Ryan is the cider maker at Angry Orchard's Walden project. You may have listened to his episode a few weeks back. You'll find a lot of parallels here in my conversation with Shaun. The three of us learn a lot from each other these days, but of course, so much of it will be unique to his experience as the creator of Hill Farmstead—which, to my mind, is still one of the most singular things in the world.

For long-time readers of the GBH site, you may recall the article I wrote about Hill Farmstead back in January 2014. For GBH, and myself as a beer writer, it was a bit of a turning point. That article remains our most-read brewery profile ever - and now that it has two years running on it, I doubt that will ever change. The reach it’s created for GBH opened a lot of doors for me and the team, as it was shortly after that the I first began brining other writers into the fold under the banner of GBH. And the entire reason many of those writers sought me out, was because of that article. It changed something for them. It gave them a reason to think about beer writing very very differently — their words not mine. But I can attest that even for me, it changed things. I’ve written about many many breweries over the years, almost a decade now. And most breweries have a sense of place and personality. But until that visit to Hill Farmstead, no brewery I’d visited had THAT sense of place. Or THAT kind of personality. Indeed, it took me almost a year to gather my feelings on the subject, and share that story with my readers. It’s a bit ironic for me that so much of my thesis was focused on the story beyond the hype for Hill Farmstead at the time. Don’t get me wrong, his reputation was warranted and the beautiful setting of the place certainly told an accurate story. But it was ironic because my experience actually made me value Hill Farmstead even more, but for very different reasons. I was attracted to the focus of Shaun Hill, the simple but expressive beers being made at a time when there was no real vocabulary for a mixed ferm saison in our typical craft parlance. The beers harkened back to my first and enduring loves, like Saison Dupont, for which I’d not found anything comparable in the states. And something about the place reminded me so much of upbringing I had in rural Pennsylvania. The terrain, the isolation, the struggle to produce something valuable so far away from where those things are typically valued. After reading the article himself, Shaun admitted to not remembering my visit much that day. In fact, he reluctantly gave me about ten minutes of his time and went back to work. And most of the piece came not from the things that Shaun said, but the things that he did. I witnessed not just the beauty and rare quality of it, but the work, frustration, and anxiety of it all — and it stuck with me. It was mostly a portrait built on observation, and a bit of self-reflection for my own life experience. That article tied Shaun and I together. Years later, and we’ve become friend of a sort. I’ve gone back to visit a couple times a year, like many of you have. And I’ve been lucky enough to steal away some time on each of those trips to listen and learn from his experiences up on that hill in Greensboro, Vermont. Some of it has been trying, and frustrating. And some of it has been revelatory and edifying. That’s just a way of living in that part of the world. This weekend, he was in town for our friend Ryan Burk’s wedding in Chicago. Ryan is the cider maker at Angry Orchard’s Walden project. You may have listened to his interview two weeks ago. You’ll find a lot of parallels here in my conversation with Shaun, the three of us learn a lot from each other these days, but of course, so much of it will be unique to his experience as the creator of Hill Farmstead — which to my mind is still one of the most singular things in the world.

Today's guest is perhaps someone who could be described as the "hardest working person in London's beer industry." As well as heading up Marketing, Events & Comms for The Five Points Brewing Company in Hackney, East London, Doreen Joy Barber also co-runs the quarterly London Brewers Market, is an active member of all-female beer group, the Crafty Beer Girls and even finds the time to pull a few shifts behind the bar at The Chesham Arms, also in East London. What's surprising is that back when she lived in her native Florida, apart from a little bar work, Doreen wasn't an active part of the beer scene, even though it feels like she's been working in beer all of her life. After taking a chance on applying to study a master's in anthropology here in London, Doreen moved overseas, even writing her dissertation on CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale. I asked Doreen to come on the podcast in part because of the way she kinda just "fell into beer" and became such an integral part of it. But also because of how some people describe the brewery she works for as, how Doreen puts it: "normcore" for concentrating on a tight core offering, instead of just throwing out an increasingly myriad selection of specials, like so many of their peers. If you're ever in London, it's very difficult not to bump into Doreen if you visit one of her many favourite pubs, of which there are just too many to mention. And in her own words, if there's a drink in her hand, then she's working.

Today’s guest is perhaps someone who could be described as the “hardest working person in London’s beer industry.” As well as heading up Marketing, Events & Comms for The Five Points Brewing Company in Hackney, East London, Doreen Joy Barber also co-runs the quarterly London Brewers Market, is an active member of all-female beer group, the Crafty Beer Girls and even finds the time to pull a few shifts behind the bar at The Chesham Arms, also in East London. What’s surprising is that back when she lived in her native Florida, apart from a little bar work, Doreen wasn’t an active part of the beer scene, even though it feels like she’s been working in beer all of her life. After taking a chance on applying to study a master’s in anthropology here in London, Doreen moved overseas, even writing her dissertation on CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale. I asked Doreen to come on the podcast in part because of the way she kinda just “fell into beer” and became such an integral part of it. But also because of how some people describe the brewery she works for as, how Doreen puts it: “normcore” for concentrating on a tight core offering, instead of just throwing out an increasingly myriad selection of specials, like so many of their peers. If you’re ever in London, it’s very difficult not to bump into Doreen if you visit one of her many favourite pubs, of which there are just too many to mention. And in her own words, if there’s a drink in her hand, then she’s working.

My guess is you didn't see this one coming. Neither did I, honestly. Today we talk with Charles Adler, co-founder of Kickstarter and, most recently, the founder of Lost Arts in Chicago. I'm going to let him tell you all about that. But first, I wanted to explain the connective thread I see between Charles and the beer world. First, both are incredibly entrepreneurial. And in many ways, entrepreneurialism has come to define what craft beer is. The things that Charles has created, and what craft beer values, are things like transparency, innovation, and community connections. But in my conversation with him, I think you'll also hear some other familiar things. A heads-down approach to building something. A desire to grow, but also remain steadfast in your values and goals. The need to be a generalist, but also value specialization. It's the constant need to balance a hundred different things that are all in tension with each other, in order to get from point A to point B. There are also a lot of parallels between my personal background and Charles' that make for some pretty quick and interesting learning—even insights into what GBH is at its core, and how it came to be. I'm thankful for that. I hope you take away as many insights as I did about how you can think about your own business differently. Charles has that affect on people. Oh, and we talk about how a brewery might just be relevant to his new project, too.