Beer-piphanies

 By Tony Forder

These days, with some kind of craft beer available in virtually every bar in the country, it’s hard to realize that 30 years ago you really had to seek out full-flavored brew. First generation craft beer fans in the US consistently seem to remember their time of transition, when they discovered craft beer, when they realized beer came in more than one flavor. It was a question we often asked at beer festivals, and almost without fail fans could remember when it was, at least the year, and many times the actual beer that turned on the light.

 My epiphany was a little different. Growing up in England I hadn’t suffered the Dark Night of American Beer, when blandness walked the land. We kind of took our cask conditioned ale for granted, although traditional British ale was also not immune from the threat of homogenization:

I had grown accustomed to beer, and most of the time it was cask-conditioned ale, because that was the freshest. And it was what my Dad didn’t drink. His generation tended to look down on the local beer, preferring the national brands. Well, it was the 70s and mainstream consumerism was still in full swing. I liked the beer, but I was not yet a follower, not a Bodhisattva of Beer, a Sadhu of Suds. That was soon to change.

I was in London visiting my good friend Simon. We already acted like seasoned beer drinkers – well, we had been at it for three or four years. It seemed like a good idea to go to the Great British Beer Festival, being held at Alexandria Palace – lunchtime session.

The festival was only in its second or third year, a lot smaller than it is now. And its organizer, the Campaign for Real Ale was a fairly neonatal outfit. Still, enough casks were lined up to satisfy our thirst, and our curiosity.

Try as we might we never quite reached the end of the list; there was always another one to try, each one more delicious than the previous. We beamed at each other, toasting our good fortune to be in this place at this time.

And in the confines of Ally Pally, the world seemed golden, the contentment of real ale in our bellies, with chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls, smiles and cheers everywhere, extra exuberance causing small puddles of beer splashes here and there.

It came time to leave, whether by choice or closure, I’m not certain. Staggering out into the street I was struck by a bolt of bright sunshine – and branded it seemed as a Real Ale drinker, follower and man with a mission.

I began brewing my own beer soon after ….