Roll Out the Barrel

By Mimi Sheraton

To judge by many of the offerings on supermarket shelves, dependable mediocrity and the illusion of choice might well be the twin goals of American mass production. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the beer section, where most national brands stack up with dull similarity. Typically, they are bland, with thin sour-sweet aftertastes. One yearns for the winy, copper-etched malt aroma and the complex flavors of the best beers of Germany, Denmark and Holland.

Enter the microbreweries -- small local producers who generally turn out no more than 15,000 bbl. a year (in contrast to Anheuser-Busch's 72.3 million- bbl. ocean sold last year) and whose brews are primarily intended for regional consumption. For lovers of the yeasty, golden suds, this is good news. It | means that beer can be fresh and natural, made with only the essentials: water, malted barley, hops and yeast. And because of their limited distribution, microbrewers can turn out distinctive flavors. Before Prohibition, hundreds of breweries existed in the U.S. But after the repeal only large producers could rebuild, so that now a handful of breweries controls more than 90% of the market.

Today, whether it is New Amsterdam in New York City, Catamount Amber in Vermont, Abita in Louisiana, Lair Dog at the Tap & Growler in Chicago, Reinheitsgebot in Plano, Texas, or one of the 20 regional brews on tap at Cooper's Ale House in Seattle, the appeal of locally brewed beer is akin to that of regional cheeses, breads and homegrown vegetables. "It's the fascination with something unique and handcrafted," says Shelby Meyer, who writes a newsletter for a home-brewers' club.

So far, the appeal of these fresh beers is more to yuppies than to connoisseurs. According to Matthew Reich, founder of the New Amsterdam Brewery, his typical customer is college educated, between 25 and 45, and earns at least $30,000 a year. Prices are upscale too, with microbrews selling in supermarkets for as much as $11.94 for six, as compared with $3.99 for light beer and $6.49 for imports. Many of the microbreweries have pubs attached, and much of the fun comes from gathering there, usually in view of copper brewing vats, and nibbling on such sturdy fare as chili, nachos and chicken wings.

Microbrews accounted for only .03% of the 180 million bbl. of beer made in America last year, but sales are frothing. No one is more surprised than Fritz Maytag, scion of the washing-machine family, who in 1965 bought the Anchor Steam Beer Brewing Co. of San Francisco and went on to earn the title "the father of microbrewing." Says Maytag: "I'm just bamboozled. It's astonishing to see the number of breweries and brands that we started." That number increased from twelve microbreweries and brew pubs in North America in 1983 to 96 this year. In Boston last September for the Seventh Annual National Microbrewers Conference, Charlie Papazian, director of the Boulder-based Association of Brewers, conjectured that the U.S. might have 150 microbreweries and brew pubs by the end of 1988 and perhaps 500 breweries within the next decade. Papazian notes that the rapid growth poses no threat to the big producers, but rather may cut into the 4.5% market share enjoyed by imports. "Large brewers realize that the microphenomenon is bringing a tremendous vitality to the brewing industry, and if they feel that they need to change their recipes a bit, they will." Some already are doing so. Coors' Winterfest, a heavier holiday beer, was such a success last year in Colorado that it will be introduced nationally this month.

Young though it is, the microbrew industry already has its rivalries. The highest status is claimed by the smallest producers. Uli Bennewitz, co-owner of the Weeping Radish Bavarian Restaurant & Brewery on Roanoke Island, N.C., prides himself on his Hopfen beer, which is so fresh it never enters a keg. "We brew it in one room and pipe it right into the next," he says. That might seem much too limited to Jim Koch, whose Boston Beer Co. sold 24,000 bbl. of Samuel Adams lager last year. Purists may look askance at Samuel Adams because it is a "contract" brand, actually brewed by Koch in Pittsburgh.

Given the good intentions of microbrewers, one might expect all of their products to be delicious. But a tasting of 13 varieties purchased in the New York City area proved this is not quite the case. Among the most disappointing -- because they lacked flavor or because of unpleasantly sharp and metallic aftertastes -- were Manhattan Brewing Co.'s bottled Gold lager and its draught Oktoberfest and Amber beers. In bottles, Anchor's Porter, Liberty Ale and Wheat Beer, Boulder's Porter and Extra Pale Ale lacked authority, as did Minnesota's August Schell's Pilsner and Cold Spring Export "water-made." The best by far was the sophisticated, convincingly German-style Samuel Adams lager, followed by the clear, refreshing Dock Street Amber from Philadelphia and the tangy, cider-like New Amsterdam Amber. The heady, all malt Eau Claire lager from Wisconsin was perhaps the most interesting of all, with a seductive, cocoa scent and savor that makes bracing between-meal sipping. Bottoms up!

CHART: TEXT NOT AVAILABLE

CREDIT: Time Chart by Joe Lertola

CAPTION: Beer Glossary

DESCRIPTION: Definitions of lager, Pilsner, ale, porter and stout. Color illustration: Glass of beer.

With reporting by Charles Pelton/San Francisco and William Sonzski/Boston