Julia Herz is the publisher of CraftBeer.com and the craft beer program director for the Brewers Association.

By Julia Herz

All beer lovers have their story. Mine began in an unlikely way, but looking back now it all makes sense. When I was young, my brother, Billy, had a beer can collection. I remember following him on my banana-seat bike (sans tassels ’cause that’s how I rolled) as he’d score collectibles in shopping mall parking lots, diving into dumpsters, trading with his friends and having a blast every minute and in every dumpster. This all to me was fascinating.

I also remember going to a place when I was young and not even double digits in age. We had to walk downstairs into what seemed like the cave of a brick castle. There was usually a line to get in, and it was always darker than other restaurants, yet the place was warm, inviting and full of cheer. It was the Brickskeller in Washington, D.C., and my parents would take me and Billy there every few months with the goal of a family outing over food (and beer for the adults), and to help stock his growing can collection. Mom and Dad would order all the beers my brother wanted just for the package it was in. Amazing. They’d drink some, too, but mostly ended up giving the extra liquid to the tables nearby so he could still have the can with the bottom punched out (breweriana style) and top still intact. It all amazed me, without even tasting a brew. I liked the packaging, its variety, the people I connected with and what a good mood my parents would be in on these outings. The beer seed was planted in my mind.

In college I drank my share of mass-produced adjunct lager but was always turned off by the advertising for beer. Much of it seemed demeaning toward women and geared toward males in their 20s, which did not include me. I looked for something more. I spent the first few years after college in the television news business, but soon became disheartened by the corporate world and decided to take a risk and travel the good ol’ U.S. of A. By now, beer had become part of my DNA. Along with my friend, Christie, I hit the road for nine months in my Volkswagen, affectionately dubbed the Gypsy Jetta, in search of what we called the “great three”: great outdoors, great music and great beer.

After long stretches camping in the backwoods, we would head to the nearest town and seek out people we most saw eye to eye with. The brewpubs were the places we always felt most welcome. Here is where I found I liked the way the beer tasted and how it was marketed. I loved the variety and how beer paired with food, and I loved the people.

That trip changed my life, renewed my hope in a very organic and evolving definition of the word “community” and opened my eyes to craft-brewed beer from small and independent producers, and all that surrounds the pursuit of it. From this trip I remember visiting Anchor Steam Brewery—my first brewery tour—and thinking that I could have a life in beer. Soon after, I decided to homebrew, and at a beer festival a short time later, I entered a contest for an American Homebrewers Association membership. I won after a man named Charlie Papazian picked my name out of a hat. It was fate. The beer life was literally calling my name.

Often I think of what Ken Wells, author of Travels With Barley: a Journey through Beer Culture in America, wrote in this very column some years ago. “It was our first, tiny taste of optimism.” To me that fine statement sums up beer. Any day I am enjoying a beer is a better day than when I’m not. Frankly speaking, I’m inspired by the beverage and especially by what’s going on with craft beer in the United States. Its taste, its packaging, its producers, its variety, how it pairs with food, the people I connect with every time I enjoy one, and yes, the way it makes me feel. I say I’m maybe 100 pounds in a wet towel, so every sip counts. Thus I’ve learned to savor the flavor in low quantities, but with pride, not shame. I savor frequently, daily. Now, with each sip, my tiny taste of optimism expands even more, each and every day.

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It follows, then, that Portland must be the brewing capital of the world. Yes, you did read that right. Our fair city, with 583,776 of us, is the largest such in this state. We have no fewer than 169 craft breweries operating across our Oregon. Fifty-two of them are inside Portland city limits. According to Brian Butenschoen, director of the Oregon Brewers Guild, if one travels 25 miles out of Portland, there will be another 17 breweries to sip at. This includes our close neighbor, and suburb, just north of here: Vancouver, WA. We call ourselves Beervana with good reason.

It’s true, the Bamberg area of Northern Bavaria may have up to 150 breweries, but Bamberg itself is a small city of 70,000 population, with only nine or 10 breweries.

As far as I am concerned, it’s time to tell the world: “Portland is the greatest.” What about the beer? you ask. Is our beer the greatest, too? But, of course! Well, not all of our beer is the greatest, but plenty of it is very good, and we have some beers that really are great. More important, there is a wonderful array of truly fine brews produced in this city, some 300 labels, by my guess. We have everything from altbier to doppelbock, from porter to double stout, from Scottish pale to ESB to IPA—all those and rye beer, too. Besides that, we have raspberry-weizen, lemon lager and far more than our share of yellow, red and icy dry industrial beer, too.

I am frequently asked, “Why Portland?” Why do our craft brewers do so well? How did Portland get to be No. 1? One reason might be that Oregon (and Washington, too) has a cooler, wetter climate than many other places. Both states drink a greater proportion of their beer (18 percent) on draft from on-premise locations. Our city water is among the best on our planet.

Our climate is similar to that found in England, Belgium and Germany, where the drinkers also consume much of their beer in public houses of one sort or another.

It helps to have a good law. Oregon has what may be the best brewpub law in the country. It went into effect in June of 1985 and is very well-written. A new craft brewer may choose to have a pub, or she may choose to distribute her own beer. That’s very brewer-friendly.

Most of our pubs are interesting and well-managed, and serve a large selection of beer accompanied by good food. They are more likely to be beer and wine bars, and less likely to serve hard liquor. (The latter is changing, because we are also enlarging our distilled beverage base in this area.) Oregon has a small advantage over Washington, in that Oregon taverns and pubs are required to serve food, which makes for a better atmosphere than if only snacks are available.

Oregon and Washington pioneered wide distribution of multiple-tap bars back in the early ’80s. It is almost impossible to find a tavern in Portland or Seattle that does not have at least eight to 10 tap or draft beers. This also means that even small-town bars will offer at least a craft beer or two on tap. The popularity of good beer is spreading ever more widely around the Northwest.

This multiple-tap situation means that small craft breweries and brewpubs can expect success merely by producing draft beer. They can succeed in the market without having to install expensive
bottling systems.

Another reason for the success of Northwest craft beers is that we have beer columnists writing in local newspapers—notably in Portland and Seattle. People here are better educated about beer.

This education has led to an appreciation of beers with rich and distinctive tastes. The taste profile of even the most innocuous of our local brews is far and away more interesting than any of the nation’s industrial beer (which also sells well here). In all, our Northwest citizens have the inclination, education and opportunity to enjoy the best of this new wave.

Speaking of education, did I mention the world-famous Oregon Brewers Festival, held annually, on Portland’s downtown Willamette River Waterfront Park, at the end of July, (24-28)? Any reader of All About Beer would enjoy a vacation in Portland. It’s not an expensive city to visit.

Compare some of America’s best micros with the Northwest’s best and draw your own conclusions. Perhaps you’ll agree with me when I say, in my most provincial tone: “Our Northwest ales are among the best in the world.” I urge you, go for the dark side and forget the mellow yellow—live it up!

I grew up in Ohio on Stroh’s. I went to Penn State (IC Light pumpers!), so probably the first good beer I had was Leinenkugel’s, courtesy of my brother-in-law from Wisconsin. My dad grew up on a farm drinking dandelion wine, so I didn’t get it from him. He did drink scotch, though. In his later years, I tried to interest him in dark craft beers, but he never caught the bug.

My maternal grandmother emigrated from Bohemia, an orphan at 15. Even after 70 years in the United States, everything was “too cold,” “too sweet” and “the beer too thin.” I now know what she meant, though I didn’t like my first oatmeal stout, bowling at the student union in Madison. I eventually developed a taste for the heartier beers, and my wife, from Pittsburgh, now drinks stouts and porters exclusively.

I may have simply stumbled upon my initial brewpub experience, a place in Grayling, MI, one night driving north on I-75. Or did I stop along U.S. 2, traveling to a Duluth Dukes baseball game? The history is muddled, but all memoir is fiction. I started collecting brewpubs.

My first bout of collecting began with espresso bars in the mid-90s. I was traveling throughout Minnesota for work, and always looking for (and rarely finding) good espresso. I had a precocious, then-10-year-old, programmer son. We purchased the domain name espressobars.net, and he set up a database of places in Minnesota claiming to brew espresso. My goal became to test espresso and write reviews for the site. Sometimes I received free shots as the site gained traction.

My other current collection is baseball stadiums: I have, thus far, been to 19 major league stadiums (some now retired) and seven minor league parks.

So, was my first brewpub in Grayling, or Twin Ports Brewing in Allouez (Superior) Wisconsin, back when it was in the Choo Choo bar? Or was it South Shore in Ashland, before The Depot burned down and they moved? Whichever the christening, soon following came Town Hall, Rock Bottom and Great Waters in the Twin Cities. I still visit Great Waters—the chains, not so much, although the Rock Bottom on Grand, in Chicago, is a wonderful exception.

In 2004, my travel increased dramatically and I found myself with enough airline miles to sit up front, and in enough cities to start truly evaluating the various craft beer cultures. In 2006, I purchased the business I worked for, in part to fine-tune my travel to hit more brewpubs. Before every trip, I search for at least one new outlet to explore for porters and good food. And find them I have: in 27 states and 80 cities, in towns with fewer than 2,000 people, and in places like Chicago, St. Louis, Houston and Seattle.

I find them in old hotels and rail stations, in strip malls and gas stations, even a former church. Steel sheds, movie theaters and old department stores, too. On three coasts and in the desert, in suburbs and on Liberty Avenue. I find them on ratebeer.com and beer100.com, and in The Brewing News and All About Beer, or through Google and by word of mouth. I have been back to more than 40 and only walked out of one. I even drove 900 miles in one day to get back to one of the best (Beaver Street Brewing in Flagstaff, AZ).

Brewpubs are the complete package: beer, food, people who like beer and people who talk about beer! Traveling is not fun, but I have spent a couple of afternoons in Missoula that more than make up for canceled flights and airline food.

Twin Ports is now Thirsty Pagan. Allendale’s is on its third or fourth name, and several places have closed for good. Some are now just restaurants. Brewpubs seem to fare worse in college towns; most kids won’t pay $4 for a beer, but KBC, West Virginia Brewing (now Morgantown) and Gentle Ben’s are happy exceptions.

I favor porters, but also enjoy the occasional wheat or rye and a range of IPAs, and I almost always have dinner (OK, sometimes lunch) with my beer. I have padded the list with a few tasting rooms—I couldn’t leave off Big Sky on a technicality!

I have had great beer and bad beer and sour beer, and, at a waitress’s suggestion in Minneapolis, tasteless beer (as in, “you have to try the porter; it is utterly tasteless”). The food is often good, the chains consistent, and the best places independent and in surprising locales such as Winston-Salem, Rapid City and Louisville, or the old Falstaff plant in St. Louis.

Back home in Duluth, MN, looking out at Lake Superior and sipping a Big Boat Stout, or a Scanlon IPA or a Coal Car (uh, sorry, “Burntwood Black” these days) Ale, I get a hankering for a wheat or a blonde IPA. I go to Delta.com and think, “I am sure I need to go to Kansas City.” Sounds like the start of a great trip.

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Tyson Arp of Nebraska Brewing Co.

Tyson Arp has been with the brewpub since it first opened just over five years ago. Originally a carpenter, he studied brewing at the Siebel Institute. His lucky break came when he won Best in Show at his first homebrewing competition. One of the judges, Paul Kavulak, was poised to open Nebraska Brewing Co., and hired Arp as assistant brewer.

AAB: Nebraska Brewing Co. seems to have a two-pronged business model. There’s a fairly traditional brewpub with a casual American menu and beer in standard craft styles, and then you have this edgy experimental line.

TA: That’s a good way to look at it. From the production side, it is almost two separate streams of beer. That’s partly a reflection of the atmosphere here in Omaha when we started, and things we had to do to define markets, but also do the beers we wanted to do and find people who wanted to drink them.

Are you almost dealing with two different markets?

To some extent. The Reserve Series and the barrel-aged beers, we drive a lot of that to our out-of-state markets. Locally we do a lot more of our session beers. We have really great distributers who move our Reserve Series as well, but the Omaha market is still an emerging beer scene.

Would one of your brewpub regulars who comes in each week for dinner and a beer be startled if you poured them Melange a Trois?

Not any more. Our locals are all about that stuff, too. It’s been fun to see how the Omaha market has grown in the five years we’ve been around. When we opened, we had other people on the beer scene telling us “Oh, you can’t sell an IPA in this market.” We said, “Well, those are the beers we like, so we’re going to make them anyway.” Maybe we struggled a bit in the first two years, but it’s been interesting to see in the pub how the tastes of our regulars and our restaurant crowd have changed over time. We see the hoppier beers starting to outsell the maltier, lower IBU beers.

How long did that take?

It took three years before they embraced our pale ale, and now there’s kind of a cult following for it locally. People freak out when we don’t have it available.