Beer Is Good For You

I apologize because this is a bit of blogspam, but I wanted to pass it on to anyone who might occasionally read this.

Back in 1980 during an archaeological expedition in Sudan, a Nubian mummy was dug up that had traces of tetracycline in its bones. Tetracycline, if you aren’t aware, is an antibiotic. At the time the researchers theorized the chemical got there due to it latching onto the calcium within the bones. It was basically brushed off as a side affect of the long term processes of time.

Well turns out it may have been put there through beer consumption. The ancient Nubians, rivals to the great Egyptians in their day, were known to be master brewers. It is possible the Nubians were able to create beer using a grain contaminated with an antibiotic producing bacteria.

Scientific American has a podcast on this recent study. Mercury News has an in-depth article on the revelations this gives to us about antiquity. To put it simply, this changes what we thought we knew about the history of medicine. If the Nubians indeed brewed a medicinal beer, then humankind’s knowledge of antibiotics goes back further than we realized. Though the Nubians lacked the ability to identify the specific, chemical compounds and bacteria that caused the healing affects of antibiotics, they did seem to have figured out that using a specific kind of grain, and fermenting it through their brewing process, produced medicinal effects.

To note I doubt you’ll see any craft brewers trying to replicate ancient, Egyptian and Nubian recipes. This ancient beer lacked any hops, meaning the beer was sour and malty (Though you might a sour beer fan so that might be such a bad thing), but it also had the consistency of watery oatmeal. That last part probably won’t get it stewing in the tanks of an Oregonian brewery any time soon.

 

Drinking Whiskey and Rye

Rye whiskey is perhaps best known to most Americans through Don McClean’s reference to it in the chorus of “American Pie.” That aside is one of the few blips on the national radar that rye made for many, many years, until homebrewing and craft brewing took off. Since then rye whiskey has slowly started to creep back. It is a unique, American whiskey style, one of the three whiskey styles America introduced (The others being Bourbon and Tennessee).

Like much of America’s drinking history, one must look at two eras, Pre-Prohibition and Post-Prohibition, to understand rye whiskey’s former glory. There was once a lot more rye whiskey before 1919 because of the age old basics of supply and demand. Pre-Prohibition grains like rye were more prevalent, and there weren’t massive corn subsidies being given to farmers. Additionally when the British would act up and put tariffs, embargoes and shortages on other spirits, like rum for example, colonials figured out a way to make booze in the New World on their own. Many different species of rye, like Sunnyside and Pennsylvania, developed unique, regional varieties of rye whiskey. This flourished after the Revolution and continued right up until the ugly, dark cloud of the 18th Amendment. Then a lot of distillers went under or tried to adapt to other kinds of manufacturing, similar to American beer brewers of that time.

After Prohibition was a different day with a different kind of country. Farm subsidies had begun and corn was king. Thus corn overtook rye in whiskey production. Alcohol production exploded, but some kinds of spirits, most especially rye whiskey, took a back seat (Hard cider suffered a similar setback as American pale lagers became the go-to beverage for most Americans).

Rye dwindled to but a handful of distillers, notably Old Overholt. The recent decade saw its slow, gradual return to consciousness. Wild Turkey and Jim Beam offer rye varieties, for example. What makes it rye whiskey? Quite simply, this (From Title 27 of Federal Regs):

(1)(i) ``Bourbon whisky'', ``rye whisky'', ``wheat whisky'', ``malt
whisky'', or ``rye malt whisky'' is whisky produced at not exceeding
160[deg] proof from a fermented mash of not less than 51 percent corn,
rye, wheat, malted barley, or malted rye grain, respectively, and stored
at not more than 125[deg] proof in charred new oak containers; and also
includes mixtures of such whiskies of the same type.

The flavor of rye whiskey is spicier and more bitter than corn whiskey. Like all whiskey whether you take it neat or on the rocks is up to you. Many people of course like to shoot it and pretend to be cowboys. Rye whiskey makes a good mixer though. Here are some examples:

Admiral – vermouth, lemon and rye

Birth Control – gin + rye

Dr. Pecker – cola, cranberry-raspberry juice and rye

Ghetto Blaster – Kahlua, Metaxa, tequila and rye

Horse Piss – 7-Up, sweet and sour and rye

Maybe you’re a whiskey drinker, you like the burn, but you want more spice? A little more kick? Then rye just might be what the doctor ordered? Perhaps you’d like to taste some American history? Again, try some rye. It’s no where near what it once was in our national liquor cabinet, but rye whiskey is back there, just waiting for you to break it out.

For more info, check these Rye Whiskey Links:

http://www.imbibemagazine.com/The-Comeback-Kid-Rye-Whiskey

http://frwebgate.access.gpo.gov/cgi-bin/get-cfr.cgi?TITLE=27&PART=5&SECTION=22&TYPE=TEXT

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rye_whiskey

http://cocktails.about.com/od/spirits/a/about_whiskey.htm

http://www.barnonedrinks.com/drinks/by_ingredient/r/rye-whiskey-779.html

 

Beerstory: Drink of the Gods

Brewing is a practice so old, it is woven into some of the world’s oldest myths. 6,000 years ago back in a place we now call Iraq, lived a society called Sumeria. The Sumerians figured out that if you took a kind of honey bread, added some water and let the bread ferment a few weeks, it tasted different but basically got you drunk. Then another group of Sumerian buddies decided to skip on making the bread, and just mix the ingredients in with water and ferment it all in a jar. This concoction may be the world’s first beer. It used ingredients most of us Westerners aren’t used to, such as dates and honey (They were adapting it from the sweetbread recipe, after all), making the beer fruity and sweet instead of hearty and bitter.

As life in antiquity was intertwined with religious practices, where the gods decided the fate of everything, brewing naturally got its own story. In this case the ancient deity Enlil, god of the winds and weather, was fighting an epic battle, as gods are wont to do. His wife bore him children to heal him, and one of them was Ninkasi. She invented beer to heal her father, and then gave the practice of brewing to humankind.

Of course Ninkasi may or may not have been the first brewing deity, but she was not the last. Silenus, drinking buddy of Dionysus, was the Greek god of beer and brewing. The Egyptians had Osiris as their god of brewing, while the Romans adapted Dionysus (Calling him Bacchus) as their alcy-god. Going out to Eastern Europe, the pagan Czechs praised Radegast as their brewing god, while in the Baltics they had Raugutiene and his companion Raugupatis.  The Zulus had an interesting take on brewing. To them it was the gift from Mbaba Mwana Waresa, the goddess of the rainbow and rain. She was always on the search for true love.

No matter the culture, the common themes of brewing are its associations with hospitality, fertility, love, companionship, lust and of course drunkenness. Sometimes the practice is associated with a male, and other times female, meaning that of the numerous attributes associated with gods, brewing was probably one of the most flexible. Often attributes like the sun, war, reason, music, art, kingship, and power were attached to gods, while goddesses were usually linked with fertility, harvest, marriage, childrearing, and virginity (Though this isn’t 100% the case with every pantheon of every culture). Brewing was one of those that could be either/or, and sometimes both male and female in nature. Indeed as ancient societies often had a clear division of labor, brewing is one of those that seems almost egalitarian. It’s conceivable to see the brewing being done at home by the women for the family, and by men for their friends, family and superiors. Beer was also commonly safer to drink than water, it kept well in long voyages, and could have been seen as a ration as much as a relaxing beverage. No wonder then it was seen as supernatural in origin and associated with deities.

The pagans of course weren’t the last to meld brewing into their sacred rites; Jews favored wine and beer, as long as it was kosher. Christians transferred the polytheistic aura around brewing to their beliefs, leading to several different patron saints of brewing. Islam stands out as the only Abrahamic faith which explicitly and nearly universally condemns alcohol – though rumor has it teetotaling isn’t always privately maintained by every Muslim.

In contemporary times, the craft brewing movement has made Ninkasi everything from the name of a brewery to a mascot. Anchor Steam brewed a recipe claimed to be based upon old Sumerian recipes and named it after the goddess. The ancient roots of brewing are celebrated, as is the link to the spiritual which for ancient life was intertwined and the contextual basis behind social customs. Today of course we have secularlism, and the religions of old have faded, leaving the old gods to serve as mascots and cartoons, and reminders of what brewing meant to people long ago.

 

Beerstory: International Brewers Day

Yesterday marked the 3rd celebration of International Brewers Day, a holiday to celebrate brewing of all kinds, everywhere. It was established in 2008 by Jay Brooks, a freelance writer who maintains the blog Brookston Beer Bulletin. It occurs with the feast of St. Arnulf of Metz, a Frankish monk from the Middle Ages whom patronized brewing. He is not to be confused with St. Arnold of Soisson, another clergyman who became a patron saint of brewing (Arnulf is anglicized as Arnold). St. Arnulf was chosen due to his feast day occurring mid-summer, the height of the growing and production season.

Celebrating Brewers Day is as easy as going out to your nearest craft brewer and having a drink, but it celebrates all brewing, so domestics, imports, megabrews, craft brews and any other brewed product applies. Brooks recommends beer bloggers posting a profile about a brewer to help celebrate also. I’m a day late (I hadn’t checked email, Twitter, etc. much yesterday and didn’t know about this holiday til this morning, honestly.), but I can throw up something brief and which I hope does this ritual justice:

Tyson Arp is a brewer at Nebraska Brewing Company. I’ve met him on one occasion and found him polite, courteous and responsive to the numerous questions I pelted him with. He is very devoted to craft brewing and outspoken about his opinions about it. Tyson’s efforts have resulted in NBC winning gold, silver and bronze medals at multiple brewing competitions and the continued evolution of NBC’s beer inventory. Take it from the brewpub itself:

Tyson has what some call a brewing affliction. He drove his hobby so hard that it went from kitchen stovetop to brewhouse in zero to 60 fashion. Incrediby detailed, he possesses an invaluable knack for solving the most difficult brewing problems.

I guess if he wants me to, I’ll hug him when I see him next.

More information:

http://brewersday.org/why-july-18/

http://www.beerchurch.com/Default.aspx?tabid=1888

http://brewersday.org/graphics/

http://brewersday.org/the-plan/

 

Beerstory: Falstaff Beer

There are many interesting things to learn about the history of brewing in America, especially the pre-Prohibition era brewers, for they are much more localized and entwined with regional culture. Among them was a giant, and it was brought down hard by tragedy, pinned to the earth by the temperance movement, only to briefly rise again and flourish before the birth of mega-brewers. The world lost true Falstaff beer long, long ago, but it’s story never loses fascination with those who grew up in the Lemp brewery’s shadow, or those who chase the allure of crafting and recapturing the flavors of old style, American beers.

Back in the 19th century German immigrants settled across the American midwest, bringing with them hardy work ethic and like all immigrants, a desire to prosper in a new land. Johann Adam Lemp of Gruningen came to the US in 1836, reaching St. Louis, MO in 1838. He began public life as a grocer, and brewed beer on the side. St. Louis in those days was known for two things: its Indian mounds (It was nicknamed “Mound City” in that era) and as a hub for settlers headed west. It would soon be known for beer, for Lemp along with the Anheuser-Busch collaboration and many others would take the German lager and pilsner recipes they’d learned in the Old World to use here, and Adam Lemp in particular was keen on using St. Louis’ many caves as the optimal cellar to age his beer. By 1840 Western Brewing Co. was established by Lemp and made him a brewing tycoon. The flourishing German population would soon join him in the city’s upper echelon, many of them brewers as well. By 1850 Lemp had a 100 barrel per year capacity.

Following in his father’s footsteps was William Lemp, a short, stout man who served in the Civil War as a Civil Guard, who took over for Adam. He built the classic Lemp Brewery by Cherokee street in 1864, which stands to this day. It could produce 12,000 bottles of beer a day using the caves beneath it and ice chopped from the Mississippi River to age the beer. By 1870 Lemp brewery was one of the top 30 largest brewers in the country. Lemp had a large mansion constructed near the brewery, with a tunnel going straight to it. In 1868 he installed the first refrigeration machine in an American brewery, and even expanded that idea to refrigerated railway cars, allowing Lemp beer to sell across the country. The Lemp family became involved and Western Brewing transformed into William J. Lemp Brewing Co. The Falstaff brand appeared in 1899 and by 1903 Lemp Brewing trademarked the Falstaff name and brand. Sir John Falstaff from Henry V was the brand’s inspiration, playing a comic relief  in the somber tragedy.

William the elder enjoyed the help of his son William Jr., a fellow St. Louis Univ. Brewing major like his dad, but William Sr. had a special fondness for his youngest son Frederick. Frederick though was a sickly boy and died in 1901. This tragedy was the first to befall the Lemp family, and it led to the slippery slope that ended with the original Lemp company’s demise. After Frederick’s death William Sr. fell into deep depression. In 1904 he shot himself in the head inside the mansion. William Jr. took over but his ill-fated marriage to Lillian “The Lavender Lady” Handlan ended in bitter divorce, and William’s move to a house out in Meramec River country, where he neglected the brewery.  Lemp was the 4th largest brewery in the country by that time, expanding into airborne delivery and manufacturing the near beer Cerva on the advent of Prohibition. In 1918 though it all came to a screeching halt. The Lemp family was torn asunder by scandal, the Temperance Union and Prohibition Amendment were eminent, sales dwindled and William Jr.’s lack of interest left the company without direction. With little warning the original Lemp Brewing Co. shut its doors and ceased production. More bloody tragedy followed, as William Sr.’s daughter Elsa, troubled by marriage problems and depression, shot herself in 1920. William Jr. sold the Falstaff brand to “Papa Joe” Griesedeck, a rival brewer, and the plant itself was sold to International Shoe Company.

The sale of the brewery, deaths of his brother, sister and father, divorce and demise of the family dream was too much for poor William Lemp Jr. In 1922 he shot himself right in his own office, where still hanging is a painting of his ex-wife. Brother Charles, the last of William Sr.’s children, killed himself also in 1949. The Lemp brand was bought from the surviving family members in 1945.

Falstaff on the other hand lived on via the Griesedeck family’s company, the Falstaff Corporation. In the dry spell of Prohibition, Falstaff made it by selling near beers like Hek, sodas and believe it or not, cured ham. Falstaff was even traded on the New York Stock Exchange, one of the few breweries to do so in that period. 1933 would be the year the dams burst, for Prohibition was ended and brewers could go back to selling their traditional product. Falstaff went on a buying spree, scooping up Omaha’s Krug, New Orleans’ National Brewery, Berghoff from Ft. Wayne, Galveston-Houston from Galveston, and El Paso’s Mitchell brewing. Falstaff’s first year post-Prohibition saw 150,000 barrels and tireless work by the brewery’s crew. In 1939 Papa Joe died and his son Alvin took over. Major league baseball team the St. Louis Browns carried Falstaff in their park, and announcer Dizzy Dean plugged the beer on his baseball broadcasts. The 1940s saw rapid expansion with mergers, plant construction and rising demand. By the 1950s Falstaff’s production was over 2.2 million barrels annually. By 1953 Falstaff was the 5th largest American brewer. Falstaff started sponsoring bowling teams and country music singers that time also.

The 1960s saw Falstaff reach its peak production limit: 4.9 million barrels a year, making it the 3rd largest brewery at that time. The Chicago Cardinals move to St. Louis, and it awas sponsored by Falstaff. Joseph Griesedeck took over the company after Alvin died in 1961, and the company entertained a merger with fellow giant Miller Brewing, but it never came to pass. It does, however, foreshadow what’s to come. In 1963 it introduced a pony keg called the Tapper, but its production costs outstripped sales and marked it as a failure. Undeterred the company also imported Amstel and opened the world’s first brewing museum, based in St. Louis. In 1966 Falstaff sales peaked at over 7 million barrels. Its sales beat St. Louis rival Budweiser by 50% on average. This was the mountaintop. Which means there’s only one place left to go.

Though Falstaff expanded into Pennsylvania by 1970, sales were down to 6+ million barrels, which with a loss of 1 million barrels, was quite a hit. It appointed black executives to lead its distributor in Louisiana, but racist backlash by white customers lead them to start drinking Schlitz and Dixie instead. Haray Carey become a Falstaff spokesman at this point, and the beer was sold at Chicago White Sox games. 1972 saw the company expand again, by purchasing historic Burgermeister and P. Ballantine, but its annual sales slid to 2.2 million barrels, an astonishing decline from its peak. Joe Griesedeck was voted out of the company’s leadership, ending the Griesedeck’s family’s control of the company, in 1972. In 1973 the San Jose plant relocated to San Francisco, and Falstaff dropped to the #8 spot of top brewers. Another product, Griesedeck Malt Liquor, failed to generate more profit. The San Fran plant would go away in 74, sold to General Brewing (S&P), which also scored a brewing contract with Falstaff to continue making the beer on the West Coast. Then Ballantine closed down. Signs of decline were clear by this juncture. Falstaff’s corporate structure had been up-heaved and it needed money. Paul Kalmanovitz, a Polish immigrant and head of General Brewing (aka S&P), started buying up Falstaff stock, and by 1975 owned the controlling share.

Under “Mr. Paul’s” direction, the rest of the corporate executives were dismissed, after payroll under the old guard had bounced at the bank, the St. Louis offices closed up, the museum shut up and advertising dwindled to a pittance. Falstaff was taken off the NYSE. Kalmanovitz’ actions incurred the wrath of Falstaff’s other shareholders, who led by Marvin Margolies sued Mr. Paul in 1976, accusing him of engineering a covert takeover by S&P and intentionally causing Falstaff’s value to plunge. Kalmanovitz’ next move, a bicentennial logo, contributed to a 20% sales drop. In 1977 the remaining St. Louis facilities closed down for good, leaving Anheuser-Busch the only game in town. The SEC dropped the hammer on Kalmanovitz in 1977, charging him with using his controlling shareholder position to mislead other investors. More lawsuits ensued, some against Kalmanovitz and General Brewing, some against Falstaff, and some from Kalmanovitz himself.

The 1980s saw Falstaff’s business and public image not associated with good beer and strong sales, but of lackluster plant production, job losses, slashed budgets, lawsuits left and right, and hardcore brewing consolidation. Kalmanovitz launched a campaign to buy out Pabst, but was blocked by another corporate shark, Irwin Jacobs, and he lost out to Russell Cleary of G. Heileman. Plants in Texas, Rhode Island and Omaha shut down, equipment was sent to China, and sales were only just hitting about $7 million per year. In 1985 Kalmanovitz finally bought Pabst (Along with it came Old Style, Lone Star, Schlitz and others), and put an emphasis on downsizing, instead of beer sales, to maximize shareholder value. The Ft. Wayne, Indiana plant hummed along, but it was known to be the least efficient (yet cheapest to run) of Falstaff’s breweries.  Kalmanovitz died in 1987, and a war over his estate followed. By this stage Falstaff was all but gone, its production dropped to a shell of its former self, and the end was all too clear.

1990 saw the end of the Ft. Wayne plant, effectively ending Falstaff beer. It would decline to #10 of American brewers, but very quickly fell well below that. S&P Brewing would steadfastly dismantle its US brewing facilities, ship them to China, and gradually became a brewer-in-name only. Today S&P brands like Pabst, Old Style, Lonestar, Schlitz, and the rest are largely contract brewed, though some like Pabst have regained popularity with the 18-34 demographic, and have even won medals at beer tasting competitions. By 2005 Falstaff production, which only averaged 1,468 barrels a year by that time, ceased altogether.

Want to know more? Try these links (Several used as sources for this article):

Wiki – Falstaff Brewing Co.

Falstaff Brewing History

Wiki - The Lemp Mansion

Wiki - Lemp Brewery

Official Lemp Mansion

 

Beerstory: St. Arnold of Soissons

A common misquote of Benjamin Franklin is the saying, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” It’s not true he actually said that (He did say something like that about wine), but beer wasn’t always the bane of temperance movements and other killjoys. Centuries ago it was some of the most sanitary stuff you could drink, and it was the clergy who helped develop its brewing.

With that, and the fact that most people couldn’t read a long time ago, trades like brewing fell unto the clergy to learn, practice and teach. In particular are the monastic cultures of Belgium, and among them the patron saint of hops pickers and Belgian brewers, St. Arnold of Soissons. Thus going back to St. Arnold’s time and up through today, brewing is still a godly practice, done by monks such as the Trappists. Trappist ales are considered some of the strongest, most flavorful beers in the world. They honed techniques like double and triple fermentation to produce extra sugars, frothy golden pigments and fruity undertones in their beers. Some of the finest, most expensive and strongest beer on Earth comes right out of Belgian monasteries. The figurehead for such artistry in brewing is St. Arnold.

For such an honorific title, St. Arnold was, as best as history can recount, a very humble and shy man. He began public life as a hermit before reluctantly accepting a position as abbot at the Benedictine St. Medard’s Abbey in Soissons, France. He later rose to bishop and when his see came into conflict with another bishop, so pacifist was he that he voluntarily retired.

He went to the abbey of Oudenberg, and this is where is brewing is supposed to have started. He is known for improving the brewing process, by inventing filters to help separate impurities and better transfer wort into finished beer. St. Arnold also has his own miracle legend ascribed to him, depicted as thus:

Following the collapse of the roof of an abbey brewery in Flanders, the good Saint Arnold of Soissons asked God to multiply the stores of beer which were left for the monk’s consumption. When Arnold’s prayer was answered in abundance, the monks and townspeople were prepared to canonize him on the spot. (From Beer History’s “Patron Saints of Beer”)

Today St. Arnold is a regular mascot for modern microbrews, like St Arnold down in Texas. He is usually depicted with a mashing rake and wheat. I’m not sure what the armor is about in the painting over there, but I guess maybe he had to fight dragons at times too. Or he just liked to LARP. Anyway that is one of several patron saints of brewing, and an example of how making alcohol is in many cases a religiously-sanctioned practice. Suck it, teetotalers.