BigLeaf Maple Autumn Red was inspired by a native California tree, its incredible leaves, its delicious syrup, and the colors of fall. The tree, known as Bigleaf maple, thrives along the banks of California’s mountain streams. Native Californians once made rope and baskets from its bark. Today, artisans handcraft its wood and burl into custom guitars.. Bigleaf maple sugaring in California dates to the 1800s; yet this tree’s unusually flavorful syrup remains the product of a small group of hobbyists. A hint of maple—including bigleaf maple—syrup in every brew perfectly complements the malty complexity, balanced hoppiness, and rich fall hue of BigLeaf Maple Autumn Red, a red ale like no other.

“When presented with the challenge of developing a new seasonal beer, all of our brewers collaborated to think fall and came up with this red ale,” said Mark Carpenter, brewmaster at Anchor Brewing.  “We are very happy with the finished product, especially since we don’t do test batches here at Anchor. It requires us to be on top of our game when crafting new beers and BigLeaf Maple is a beer we’re all proud to share.”

BigLeaf Maple Autumn Red (6% ABV) is a quaffable, well-balanced red ale with character.  Its malty complexity and coppery color come from a combination of two caramel malts, pale malt, and a hint of maple syrup. To complement these flavors, Anchor Brewing uses three additions of Nelson Sauvin hops in the brewkettle and a unique blend of Nelson Sauvin, Citra, and Cascade for dry hopping. The result is a distinctive fall seasonal with extraordinary depth and intriguing aroma.

Since the 1970’s, Anchor Brewing has worked with renowned local Artist Jim Stitt to create our beer labels.  A distinct, handmade beer deserves a distinct, handmade label and BigLeaf Maple is no exception.  In autumn, the bigleaf maple’s huge leaves, up to a foot across, can display a full range of color as they slowly turn from green to gold to red.  Capturing this symbolic transition from summer to fall, a watercolor of bigleaf maple’s magnificent leaf is featured on our label and signed by Jim Stitt.

BigLeaf Maple Autumn Red will be available from August 5th through October in 6-packs, 22-oz bottles and on draught in select bars and restaurants, as well as, at the Anchor Brewing taproom in San Francisco

Learn more about Anchor Brewing at www.anchorbrewing.com.

About Anchor Brewing Company

Anchor Brewing Company’s roots date back to the California gold rush making it one of America’s oldest breweries. Its Anchor Steam® Beer is San Francisco’s original since 1896. In 1965, Fritz Maytag acquired and revived the struggling brewery at a time when mass production of beer dominated and seemed unstoppable. Maytag started a revolution in beer that originated today’s craft beer movement. An undisputed icon, Anchor is America’s first craft brewery where beers are handmade in our traditional copper brewhouse from an all-malt mash. At Anchor, we practice the time-honored art of classical brewing, employing state-of-the-art methods to ensure that our beers are always pure and fresh. We know of no brewery in the world that matches our efforts to combine traditional, natural brewing with such carefully applied, modern methods of sanitation, finishing, packaging and transporting.  See what we are brewing today at www.anchorbrewing.com.

SAN FRANCISCO—Today, Anchor Brewing Company announces that Anchor California Lager®, California’s first genuine lager reborn, will be available in select US markets. Anchor California Lager was the first beer in our Zymaster® Series, originally released as a limited draught beer in early 2012.

“Our first release of this historical brew was immensely popular with the public and also with our Anchor employees,” said Keith Greggor, CEO of Anchor Brewing Company.  “From day one, Anchor California Lager resonated with us not only because of its distinctive flavor, but also because of the rich brewing history that it celebrates.”

In February 2013, Anchor California Lager was bottled for distribution in California only. “Anchor California Lager has been selling beyond our expectations since its launch,” said Keith Greggor, CEO of Anchor Brewing Company.  “We are very excited to offer it in several more markets so that beer-lovers can enjoy this uniquely Californian creation.”

Anchor Steam’s® roots go back to the Gold Rush, long before icehouses and modern refrigeration made traditional lagers a viable option. In 1876—thanks to an ice pond in the mountains and a belief that anything is possible in the Golden State—a little brewery named Boca created California’s first genuine lager. Anchor California Lager is our re-creation of this historic beer.

Made in San Francisco with two-row California barley, Cluster hops (the premier hop in 19th-century California), and our own lager yeast, Anchor California Lager is kräusened and lagered in our cellars. This all-malt brew is a delicious celebration of California’s unique brewing heritage.

The California grizzly bear on our Anchor California Lager label is from a woodcut by Durbin Van Vleck (1833–1898), courtesy of The Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley. First published in 1856 in San Francisco, it is a superbly crafted rendering of an original illustration by Charles Christian Nahl (1818–1878), who had painted both eastbound and westbound versions of this bear. Nearly a century later, Nahl’s bear served as inspiration for the design of the bear on California’s modern state flag. Although that bear is heading west, our bear—like the bear on Boca Brewing’s historic lager label—is heading east.

Anchor California Lager (4.9% ABV) is unique. Crisp, clean, and refreshing, its rich golden color, distinctive aroma, lingering creamy head, balanced depth of flavor, and incredibly smooth finish are like no other lager today.

Anchor California Lager is now available year-round in 6-packs, 12-packs, 22-ounce bottles, as well as on draught at select bars, restaurants, and retailers.

From June through September 2013, Anchor California Lager will begin its distribution in the following US markets: Nevada, Colorado, Nebraska, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Illinois, Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio, Georgia, North Carolina, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York and Massachusetts.

About Anchor Brewing Company

Anchor Brewing Company’s roots date back to the California Gold Rush making it one of America’s oldest breweries. Its Anchor Steam® Beer is San Francisco’s original since 1896. In 1965, Fritz Maytag acquired and revived the struggling brewery at a time when mass production of beer dominated and seemed unstoppable. Maytag started a revolution in beer that originated today’s craft beer movement. An undisputed icon, Anchor is America’s first craft brewery where beers are handmade in our traditional copper brewhouse from an all-malt mash. At Anchor, we practice the time-honored art of classical brewing, employing state-of-the-art methods to ensure that our beers are always pure and fresh. We know of no brewery in the world that matches our efforts to combine traditional, natural brewing with such carefully applied, modern methods of sanitation, finishing, packaging and transporting.  See what we are brewing today at www.anchorbrewing.com.

About Anchor Brewing Zymaster ® Series

Zymaster® is a new word coined by Anchor Brewing to describe a brewmaster with hands-on experience throughout the a-to-z process of creating a new beer, from the research and selection of the raw materials and development of a recipe to brewing, fermentation, cellaring, and finishing.  Our Zymaster Series is a unique series of beers from Anchor Brewing, rooted in its exceptional respect for the ancient art and noble traditions of brewing, featuring extraordinary ingredients, innovative techniques, and unusual flavors.

Author Tom Acitelli (Photo by Peter Lettre)

In his new book, The Audacity of Hops: The History of America’s Craft Beer Revolution, author Tom Acitelli takes readers back to the early days of craft beer and beautifully explains the humble beginnings of pioneers like Anchor Brewing Co. and Sierra Nevada Brewing Co. The result, as our reviewer put it, is “a first-rate piece of front-line history.”

An adaptation of the book appears in the July issue of All About Beer, which is now available on newsstands.

Acitelli answered questions by email about his motivation for writing and tracking down the historical figures of American craft beer.

All About Beer: When did you know you wanted to tell this story, and why did you feel it was important to tell?

Tom Acitelli: First, I had been a business reporter in North Carolina and then New York for several years, and had wrote at varying lengths about different industries and events, but nothing at book-length. I was hunting around for a project that would allow me to tell an interesting business story—if there was a larger social or political context in that story, all the better.

Second, my wife and I traveled for a vacation to Belgium in 2010, when I was already noodling with the idea of writing the history of American craft beer. We flew into Brussels; rented a car; and visited all six of the Trappist breweries in Belgium, even staying a couple of nights at Achel on the Dutch border (it was the only one of the monasteries that allowed women in its guest quarters). This led me to read up quite a bit on Belgian beer, including works by Tim Webb, Stan Hieronymus and Michael Jackson.

Finally, like everybody, I lived through the Great Recession. I was luckier than many, but the terrible economic news day in and day out got me to thinking: If I was going to tell a business story with a lot of history, I wanted it to be a triumphant one, one that would be affirming toward an American industry, particularly an American manufacturing industry, which craft beer basically is when you get down to it.

Shortly after I got back from Belgium, I realized I had it all in the American craft beer movement: an interesting business story (with a larger social context); a lot of American history; and a triumphant narrative full of tension and personality.

[The craft beer movement] is one of the great American business and social stories of the last 50 years.

AAB: Nothing better than a trip to Belgium to spark some beer inspiration. As for these personalities, I imagine it must have been great fun chatting with these pioneers about those early days of craft beer. Was that the case? And was it a struggle to track down some of those folks?

TA: It was indeed the case. As Paul Philippon, the founder of Duck Rabbit Brewery in eastern North Carolina, so aptly put it at a Great American Beer Festival luncheon I was at, the American craft beer movement is “asshole-free.” Everyone I reached, beginning with Steve Hindy at the Brooklyn Brewery way back when, was to a large degree happy to talk and, in some cases, to snail-mail me reams of information from their days in the movement, including correspondence, news clippings and photographs. I got bulging envelopes and packages from Matthew Reich, Tom de Bakker, Jack McAuliffe, Bill Owens, Daniel Bradford (All About Beer’s publisher) and others, and am very grateful for that. Tony Magee and Ken Grossman even shared early copies of their memoirs.

Now, reaching people! I was lucky in that regard, too. Writers who had tread this path before were very generous with their time and contacts as well as expertise. Just a couple of examples: Maureen Ogle, the author of Ambitious Brew, put me in touch with Jack McAuliffe and ran questions by Fritz Maytag for me; and Stan Hieronymus, author of For the Love of Hops, schooled me in hops.

I should give a shout-out, too, to every Internet pioneer, heralded and unknown. Digital record-keeping and archiving proved a tremendous help to this book. For instance, being able to quickly search the incorporation records of all 50 states from the ease of a home computer was a godsend. I don’t know how people wrote books before the digital age.

AAB: Even with the help of digital record-keeping, do you think it will be difficult to document the next 20-30 years of growth? Especially considering that there are now more than 2,300 craft breweries and the market doesn’t show signs of slowing down.

TA: On the one hand, no, it won’t be difficult, simply because of that digitization and, more importantly perhaps, the recognition that the craft beer movement is, indeed, a culinary phenomenon here to stay and not merely a passing fad (as it seemed at times in the 1980s and 1990s). People inside and outside the movement, in other words, are more likely to take specific note of what’s happening and when; that was not always the case.

On the other hand, yes, it will be difficult. The digitization, especially the Internet and the Web (two distinct things that have had distinct impacts on the craft beer movement, people forget), has afforded everybody an opinion. I don’t mean that in a snobby, elitist way; I think the more impassioned the opinion, the better—so long as there are facts to bolster it. The Web, especially, affords everyone a platform for whatever they want to say about themselves, their favorite things, their least favorite things, etc. Oftentimes, and usually unintentionally, these strongly held opinions are presented as fact—and are sometimes later taken as such. Plus, they then live forever online. It can, in short, become difficult to separate kernels of fact from bushels of opinion.

I think there are three ways to combat this. One, people could settle down a bit, and realize that their strongly held beliefs about craft beer are just that: strongly held beliefs worth debating. Two, brewers should be stone-cold direct when documenting their own histories (many are already); the “About Us” verticals on their websites, for instance, should have timelines or specific dates, really own their respective histories. And, third, there is such a robust media now covering craft beer in the U.S. that a little deference is in order to scrupulous reporting; there are places (like All About Beer) to find accurate information—seek them out.

Opinion, including criticism, has its place, yes; but that place should be second to facts—or at least that’s my opinion.

AAB: Cheers to that. Speaking of facts, what was the most surprising thing you uncovered during the process of writing the book?

TA: I was actually quite surprised by both the tenor and the growth of the industry in the 1990s.

By growth, I mean just that: The craft beer movement, in terms of numbers of brewing companies, grew by double-digit percentages annually in the 1990s; it was truly torrid growth, the likes of which few manufacturing industries ever see. I knew, obviously, that the movement had grown; but, if you look at the fitful growth of the 1970s and 1980s, you would never have expected what happened in the 1990s, especially given the recession of 1991-92.

By tenor, I mean the often hyper-competitive, sometimes downright nasty nature of the industry in the 1990s. Today, we see craft beer as this folksy phenomenon, of a rising tide lifting all boats and everyone in it together to raise consumer awareness. Not so in the 1990s: Craft brewers were often at each other’s throats over things like contract brewing, awards, beer quality and distribution. People would get maligned in the press, even booed at industry conclaves like the Craft Brewers Conference.

Eventually, however, it became clear to most craft brewers (or so my research leads me to believe) that the bigger multinational brewers were the true existential threat, not individual craft brewers, however large. Anheuser-Busch’s “100 percent share of mind” campaign, which pressured distributors to carry only A-B products, and the Dateline expose on contract brewing, in October 1996, basically ensured a solidarity among craft brewers that, for the most part, holds to this day.

AAB: I think most recent converts to craft beer would be surprised by those stories. Switching gears now, what’s your favorite style of beer? And did writing this book make you look any different at your favorite beers?

TA: I used to fancy myself a hophead, but now I much rather prefer the milder pale, red, session and brown ales out there. To be sure, I do like the occasional “extreme beer,” just not as much any longer. (I add quotation marks as I am very well aware—as I chronicle in the book—that some people fervently believe no such style category exists.)

This switch in preference came as a result, too, of a greater realization of the wonderful geographic diversity of American beer. … My favorite beers now come from the breweries nearest my home base of Greater Boston, including from those in and around Portland, Maine, and New York City.

It kind of irks me when people return from Belgium or Germany (or even tiny Luxembourg!) and rave about the geographic diversity of brewing in these countries. As if that’s not just as pronounced—or more so—in the United States! I would venture to say that there is more diversity of beer style in Massachusetts alone, for instance, than there is in all of Germany.

AAB: Sounds like you might have just come up with another book project. Or do you already have something else in mind?

TA: I am actually shopping a novel about four guys affected by the Great Recession who move to Upstate New York and open… you guessed it… a beer bar. And, nonfiction-wise, I just finished the first couple of chapters of a history of wine and beer criticism—and how that helped American beer and wine ascend to tops in the world stylistically. I can’t wait to interview Robert Parker. He’s sort of the Michael Jackson of wine critics.

Last May, none other than homebrew guru and Brewers Association president Charlie Papazian led a retreat in Maine for a small but fervent group of beer nuts to learn more about the beverage we love and, well, get even nuttier. This year, he returned to his getaway off the coast of Maine, which he calls “Beer Island,” and went beyond the inaugural beercation’s four-day bonanza wherein he poured 88 beers of commercial creation and his own homebrew.

This led me to ask our beloved “CP” where else a devoted beer pilgrim can visit to soak up not just suds, but true beer culture. Among his recommendations were McSorley’s Old Ale House and the August Schell Brewing Co. for its 150th anniversary. Schell’s is celebrating this milestone all year long, but the real sesquicentennial festivities will be September 17th to the 18th, which, Papazian points out, is “unfortunately the same weekend as the Great American Beer Festival” in Denver. And since he is a co-founder of the GABF, it’s easy to predict which festival he’ll be at.

Going back to McSorley’s Old Ale House (15 East 7th St., New York, NY), it’s as fine a place as any to sit, drink and think about the storied history of ale in this great land. Founded by Irishman John McSorley in 1854, it is old without being among, say, the 10 oldest bars in the U.S. But McSorley’s Old Ale House is a throwback all the same. They boast that, “from Abe Lincoln to John Lennon [has] passed through McSorley’s swinging doors.” Pass through them yourself and the bartender will ask you, “Light or dark?” He’s not asking your general preference should your tastes lie above or below 20 on the 40-point Standard Reference Method (SRM) chart of beer coloration so as to steer you toward their selection of pale ales or porters. You literally have two choices, the light or the dark ale.

I shared a few glasses (they only serve mugs, not pints) with beer writer Peter LaFrance who had invited me to join him for a few rounds. The fact that he started writing about craft beer in 1984, some 20 years before me, is a testament to this gathering spot, with sawdust on the floor and dust cascading steadfastly from the bric-a-brac adorning the walls. Sure, there are beer bars more 20th or 21st century, but only cocky folks think they’re too good for the fundamentals.

And fundamentals are precisely why Papazian’s other recommendation, August Schell’s, is still in business. The August Schell Brewing Co. (1860 Schell Road, New Ulm, MN) is situated about 100 miles southwest of the Twin Cities. It is the second oldest family-run brewery after D.G. Yuengling & Son Brewing Co. (5th and Mahantongo Sts., Pottsville, PA, established in 1829). August’s great-great-grandson, Ted Marti (August’s daughter married George Marti) runs the show with help from his three sons.

I have made the pilgrimage to the brewery, where a muster of peacocks purportedly descended from the ones that August kept strut around the grounds; the same goes for the penned deer in the gardens. If you can’t make it to the 150th Anniversary this September, plan on going in February when the extremely Germanic town of New Ulm celebrates Fasching (German Mardi Gras) and Schell’s puts on its annual Bock Fest where they’ll stick a red-hot iron in your mug of bock to caramelize the sugars and keep you toasty.

There’s also the August Schell Museum of Brewing, but for a full-blown one, visit the National Brewery Museum (209 S. Main St., Potosi, WI). And what better location than in an actual former brewery? Naturally, expect the repurposed Potosi Brewery to house artifacts from its former brand, but the museum and research library aims to be a resource for historians, fans and avid collectors of breweriana―anything and everything to do with brewery collectibles from signs and trays to promotional fishing poles and neon lights.

The most enduring example of breweriana is the beer can itself. This year marks the 75th birthday of the vaunted vessel―the Gottfried Krueger Brewing Co. in New Jersey test-marketed the idea on Richmond, VA, shelves in 1935. As it begins its resurgence among craft brewers such as Oskar Blues and Surly, it is organizations such as the Brewery Collectibles Club of America (BCCA), American Breweriana Association (ABA) and the National Association of Breweriana Advertising (NABA) that are commemorating the lofty can’s diamond anniversary.

There’s more than one person who has turned his basement or old family room into a semi-public beer can museum, but only one who stores them on the outside. The Beer Can House (222 Malone St., Houston, TX) is where homeowner John Milkovisch adorned his house with over 50,000 cans starting in 1968.Today it is preserved by the Orange Show Center for Visionary Art. Tours are offered on weekends only.

It’s a sentimental place for us. It was one of the first cities we explored after we got married. No matter how many times we visit, there’s still a long list of things to do, or see, on top of the things to do one more time. When the Giants built a new ballpark, another trip became a must. Long-time readers should be familiar with our love of baseball and our quest to visit every ballpark in the nation.

So put on your Beer Traveling shoes, we have a lot of ground to cover. Luckily, the Bay Area has excellent, affordable public transportation. Let’s begin at the 21st Amendment Brewery (563 2nd St.), located less than three blocks from the AT&T Park, where the Giants play. It’s the perfect place to enjoy a couple of beers before and after a game. We found both the brewery and the large, adjacent patio overflowing with fans.

The 21st Amendment’s clean and modern interior fits perfectly into the surrounding industrial area that’s undergoing revitalization. Just beyond the entrance is a horseshoe-shaped bar, followed by a large dining area. Make yourself comfortable and order from their full range of beers and extensive menu.

This establishment has joined the growing list of breweries now also canning their brew. In fact, before games their patio sells cans exclusively—both from “21A” and several other breweries. The chalkboard is one of the most interesting we’ve ever seen. It not only lists the canned selections, but also displays the cans themselves.

High Times in the Haight

Not far from the Moscone Center, and within walking distance of the cable car turnaround off Market Street, you’ll find the Thirsty Bear Brewing Co. (661 Howard St.). Located in a historic building, it too has a modern feel—high brick walls contrasted with blonde wood tables and metal chairs. It’s certified organic and also claims to be the first brewery restaurant to serve a Spanish menu.

A rich aroma of malts greets you at the door. You’ll find the beer menu displayed on framed chalkboards hanging on the back bar, and the brewing equipment is visible from the dining room. There are normally nine beers on tap, two of which are seasonal. Thirsty Bear also taps a cask every Tuesday. We ordered a Meyer E.S.B. and Kozlov Stout, both on nitro, and thoroughly enjoyed each.

People of a certain age still associate the Haight-Ashbury district with the‘ counterculture movement of the ‘60s. We even overheard a lady from Texas asking people waiting at a bus stop on Market Street: “How can I get to the ‘hippie district’?” Yikes! We were tempted to say, “Set your watch back about 40 years.”

Haight is home to one of the best beer bars in America, Toronado (547 Haight St.) Hold your fire, please! We didn’t include Toronado in the last issue about beer bars because we knew we’d talk about it now. The draft list is absolutely amazing. We couldn’t even count all the tap handles because some were located inside a walk-in cooler. Suffice it to say, there are more than 40. This establishment has quite a following, so you should go in the afternoon when it’s less crowded. Besides, their happy hour is one of the most generous you’ll find anywhere.

Toronado’s beer list is on a chalkboard that hangs from the ceiling, about half way through the main bar area. From that list, we picked out a Deschutes Green Lakes Organic Ale, Kern River Just Outstanding IPA, Bear Republic Red Rye on cask, and Napa Smith Porter. At happy hour prices, they set us back just $3 a piece. Can your local match that? If it can, let us know; you have a treasure that the rest of us should know about.

We’ve seen reviews in various online sites that accuse Toronado’s staff of being—well—gruff. Their attitude fits right in with the interior, which screams, “drinking bar.” Just remember a golden rule of beer traveling—“you’re here for the beer.” Let the folks who want fruit drinks with umbrellas move on to somewhere else while you have another round.

When you exit Toronado’s front door, turn right, keep going until you get to Masonic Avenue, and cross the street as you face north. You’re now standing in front of The Magnolia Pub& Brewery (1398 Haight St.), another great place for a beer traveler to quaff and eat. Once you’re inside, you can either find a quiet corner or make friends at the bar.

The interior has recently changed. The enormous mural is gone, and the overall feel now is artsy and rustic. There are about 10 beers on tap, plus five more on hand pull. We ordered a pale ale and a porter and found them spot-on. The staff was knowledgeable about their products, but perhaps a bit hurried. Don’t expect traditional pub grub here. Magnolia subscribes to a “Slow Food” philosophy, which means the menu has a little bit of everything—pork cracklings, charcuterie and cheese platters, braised oxtails and pizza just to name a few.

Gimme Steam

Entrepreneurs and, of course, beer lovers are familiar with the story of Fritz Maytag and his beloved Anchor Brewing (1705 Mariposa St.). The brewery offers two public tours a day, so we were lucky enough to see the operation first-hand. Once again, the city’s public transportation system didn’t disappoint: the 22 bus dropped us just three blocks from the front door. The tour lasts about two hours and is a wonderful way to spend a morning.

Every bottle label of Anchor Steam, the flagship beer, says “Made in San Francisco since 1896.” It’s been far from smooth sailing for the little brewery, though. Between the earthquakes, fires, untimely deaths of owners and Prohibition, it’s more than amazing that this little gem has survived. At least six owners have struggled keeping Anchor alive over the years. In 1965, bankruptcy was looming and the owner of one of the few remaining tap accounts mentioned Anchor’s imminent closing to Fritz, the grandson of the Maytag appliance founder. Not long afterward, Maytag bought 51 percent of the ailing operation for about the price of a car. Four years later, he acquired the rest of Anchor’s shares. In 1971, Anchor began bottling. Growth and popularity came slowly but today, its products are distributed in all 50 states. Nevertheless, at about 100,000 barrels a year, Anchor remains very much a craft brewery.

For years “steam” was a generic name for West Coast beers that were made with lager yeast but fermented at ale temperatures. There are differing opinions about why it was called “steam.” The two most popular explanations include the need to let off some of the carbon dioxide pressure, or steam, generated during the fermenting process before being able to serve the beer. Another is the appearance of “steam” rising from the shallow cooling tanks used to drop the wort temperature. In any event, “steam” is trademarked by Anchor, but the style is officially referred to as “California common.”

Our last stop is located along Memory Lane. The first brewpub we ever visited was San Francisco Brewing Co. (155 Columbus Ave.). It enjoys a fantastic location: the intersection of Chinatown, North Beach and the Financial District in a Gold Rush-era restored saloon. The brewpub has many touches from yesteryear—its mahogany bar and beveled glass back bar are stunning. Over the years we’ve found the beer quality variable. For that reason we thought long and hard about leaving it out of this story. But cooler heads prevailed: We decided to include it because of its early role in the formative years of craft beer history, as well as the Bay Area’s.

If you’ve decided to stop in, be sure to check out the custom-made copper brew kettle. But if this brewpub isn’t for you, don’t worry—you’re only a few blocks away from the Rogue Ales Public House (673 Union St.). We’ve sung Rogue’s praises in other issues, and the North Beach location won’t disappoint you.

California Steam Beer a.k.a. California Common Beer

California steam beer was the bridge between those old styles and the new craft beer movement. This beer type, introduced in the later part of the 19th century, only reached its full potential in the 1970s as the last great American style of the old days and the first great American style of the new craft beer era.

Steam beer originated in about 1851, a little after the California Gold Rush started. It is actually an ale, warm fermented, but with bottom working (lager) yeast instead of the usual top working (ale) yeast normal for that beverage. These mid-nineteenth century immigrant German brewers finished out their beer, in warm California, as they had been taught: that is by lagering it in cool cellars (but not as long, and not as cold). Those German brewers were lager-addicted. In Germany, they had even started lagering their top fermented ales (altbier) and in this new country they were forced to brew bottom-fermented beer at warm temperatures, where cold ferments and lagering were unfeasible.

As time went by, this new beer came to be kräusened in the German (lager) style, rather than primed in the English (ale) fashion. Priming is the addition of sugar to the finished beer, which then causes a ferment in the container, resulting in a small increase to the alcohol content and the carbonation of the finished beer. German brewers felt obligated, even in this new country that had adopted them, to follow the ancient Reinheitsgebot purity law. Sugar was verbotten, so a small volume of kräusen (new fermenting beer) was added directly to the casks before bunging (closing) and delivery. This additional ferment gave the product a rich, creamy head, especially so because the beer was served warmer and therefore under much heavier pressure (carbonation) than we are accustomed to seeing these days.

A beer writer of the time, John Buchner, writing in the Western Brewer, in 1898, gives us the scoop: “Steam Beer is bottom fermenting at high temperatures of 60-69F/15-20C… [the beer] is allowed 10-12 days…from mash tub to glass.” “Steam” refers to strong CO2 pressure 50-60-lbs/in2 caused by kräusening with green beer as priming, thus building steam. Buchner was no fan: “not a connoisseur’s drink… tastes better than raw hopped, bitter and turbid ales.”

Steam beer was a bridge between ales and lagers of the nineteenth century and also a bridge to the twentieth. Even though ice machines became available by the 1870s, steam beer remained popular in San Francisco and other parts of California and, indeed, the nation.

In the process, the large brewers began dumbing down all of their own beer types. Beer color was as pale yellow as the brewers could make it. The hop levels fell to barely detectable amounts, close to the human taste threshold. By 1978, the world’s largest brewers had just about totally ruined the great beer styles of the world.

Cold-fermented and aged, lager beers had become the world’s major brewing style since their introduction in the mid-19th century. The cold-brewing method made lager beer smoother, more mellow and less bitter than the old ale beer types, which were warm-fermented quickly with top-fermenting yeast (above 60 degrees F/15.5 degrees C).

The faster ale ferment produced beer with heavier and more intense taste factors. The British and Belgian brewers were masters of the old traditional ale beers. In this period, only a very few American brewers pursued the ale tradition.

Prohibition also had the effect of destroying the good name of homebrew. My stepfather’s homebrew was a classic example of that miserable breed. His recipe: one 3.5-pound can of Blue Ribbon Hop Flavored Malt Syrup, ten gallons of water, ten pounds of corn sugar and a cube of Fleishman’s yeast. His lone fermenting vessel was a beautiful 10-gallon porcelain crock that stood behind my mother’s kitchen stove. At the end of ferment (about a week signaled by a low-key bubble formation on the surface of the beer), he bottled it in reusable dark quart bottles. A secondary ferment in the bottle, initiated by the addition of a level teaspoon of corn sugar, served to carbonate the finished beer after another week or so.

Unless you really needed an alcohol fix, this beer was truly wretched. It cost my dad a penny per quart, and he continued brewing the stuff until I was in college after the end of the war. By then, he was investing two cents a quart, but it satisfied the alcohol needs of my friends and me. We were after the cheap alcohol effect, and you couldn’t beat the price (free to us) nor the alcohol content (about 6 percent)—especially so since I didn’t reach legal drinking age until 1947, after service in the Marines, where I enjoyed American “3.2” beer (4 percent ABV) on military bases during the war. What I learned from all this was that drinking homebrew was only for the desperate among us.

Say ‘Hello” to Good Beer

When I was recalled for the Korean War, I sampled my first really good beer in Japan (Danish Tuborg). I was amazed at how good that tasted. I’d had no idea that beer had such potential. I became acquainted with delicious imported ales and American-brewed Rainier Ale, a strange concoction that turned out to be a bastard ale, i.e., brewed warm with bottom-fermenting (cold-fermenting) lager yeast. At least these beers had taste, while the mainstream mega-brewers were busy removing all vestiges of flavor from their ever more miserable products.

In 1967, I traveled down to San Francisco, the city of my birth. There, in the company of a friend, I chanced to visit the Old Spaghetti Factory on Green Street. They served San Francisco Steam Beer from the Anchor Brewing Co. Now that was a beer to note! My friend commented that Anchor Steam reminded him of homebrew. I had to wonder where he might have sampled any homebrew of such distinctive quality. But the idea stuck with me, and I began to wonder if one really could brew a beer like that at home.

I soon gave up on beer, and concentrated on exploring the good wines that this country produces. I started to make my own, with the help of Wine-Art, the local Portland home-winemaking shop. My wines were good, and Jack McCallum, the owner, suggested that I should teach a winemaking class for the local community college in 1968. It was great fun, and I discovered that the shop also had a great homebrewing section, with a Canadian recipe for a European-style lager beer, which was fermented warm in the manner of most homebrewers. It was quite different from that made by my stepfather.

This one was based on using only malt extract syrup and/or dry malt extract, with no sugar to ruin the taste. Moreover, the production system called for a brewery-style large kettle boil-up of the wort, during which one added real dried hops, and then transferred the cooled hot wort to an open primary ferment. This, along with a closed secondary ferment (a major feature in winemaking), under a fermentation lock in a winemaker’s glass carboy, made me say, “Wow!” There was a big difference in taste. This beer was like no other beer brewed in anyone’s home that I’d ever tried. It tasted pretty much like one would expect good beer to taste. I incorporated this recipe into my winemaking classes, even though homebrewed beer was still illegal.

Wine-Art owner Jack McCallum was so impressed with my re-write of his very good homebrew recipe that he invited me to write a book on the subject. In 1969, I did just that. A Treatise on Lager Beer came out in 1970 as a small, 52-page, booklet. We sold 110,000 copies of the book’s seven editions or revisions.

At that time, there were only 73 U.S. brewing companies operating 133 brewing plants in 31 states. Industry predictions told us there’d only be 10 by 1990. One could speculate that they’d all be brewing Budweiser clones by then.

But as the techniques of modern, scientifically-based homebrewing appeared, curiosity about small brewing began to rise. Fritz Maytag’s San Francisco Steam Beer techniques also began to draw interest. This culminated in the first American microbrewery the New Albion Brewery in Sonoma, CA, opened in 1976 by Jack McAuliffe.

Enter Michael Jackson and Charlie Papazian

Meanwhile, in England, Michael Jackson appeared with his monumental, soul-satisfying World Guide to Beer in 1977. I had suspected that there was a great variety of good beer out there, but I had no idea of the magnitude. Most of the beers found in the United were sold by the country! Who knew there were also styles?

Ale and lager, light and dark? What other kinds of beer could there be? Charles Finkel soon showed us, when his importing company, Merchant du Vin, brought in some of Jackson’s recommendations, including the great Belgian Orval Trappist and Lindemans Kriek, as well as British Samuel Smith Nut Brown Ale and Pinkus Ur-Pils from then-West Germany. Good beer had returned to America.

In Boulder, CO, in 1978, Charlie Papazian formed the American Homebrewers Association, our country’s first national homebrew organization. In December of that year, he introduced their journal, Zymurgy. He had been teaching and encouraging modern homebrewing in that city for several years by then, and he published his first book The Joy of Brewing (1976), whose sequel, The New Complete Joy of Homebrewing (1991), is still the definitive text on that art. The end of 1978 also signaled the legalizing of homebrewing along the same lines as homemade wine had always been, even through Prohibition.

The Return of the Ales

The year 1980 was a banner year, as homebrewers and other interested folks began opening small micro-breweries, including Sierra Nevada in Chico, CA by homebrewer and homebrew shop owner Ken Grossman, and Boulder Brewing in Longmont, CO.

These events brought Papazian and myself together with Michael Jackson at the first Great American Beer Festival in 1982, which included beer from some 40 breweries. Although not very impressive, what it did signal was that one could open a small brewery and enjoy modest success.

From 1981 to 1987, some 80 new microbrewers opened their doors in this country and Canada, due to the efforts of mostly new homebrewer entrepreneurs. By 2002 there were 1,503 breweries operating in this country! Not all have survived, of course, but some 1,449 were in operation by the end of 2007. Microbreweries have spread across the world, producing a wide variety of Jackson’s styles, showing up in such strange and disparate places as Japan, Korea, Europe and even Africa and southern Asia. Most of these new brewers produce ale beer on draft, which can take as little as seven to 10 days from brew kettle to beer tap. None of this would have happened without the work of Charlie Papazian and his brainchild, the American Homebrewers Association, which helped build a home for all these new brewers.

Hops, grapes and grains, with the occasional fruit, nut or spice thrown in for good measure. Brewers, winemakers and distillers—all doing their best to gain a greater share of the consumer’s stomach.

Sure, there were some giant multinational companies crossing the boundaries. But it was done in rigid corporate structures, with operating divisions and subsidiaries. It was not all that surprising when a liquor company like Seagram’s bought into wineries. Constellation Brands went from being just a wine producer to owning spirit brands, a brewery and the U.S. rights to a fast-growing imported beer by the name of Corona. Diageo, through acquisitions and mergers, amassed an empire that ranged from Guinness Stout to Captain Morgan Rum to Beaulieu Vineyards. And even America’s largest brewer, Anheuser-Busch, started playing in two fields by announcing last year that it was marketing spirits under the Jeckyll & Hyde label and importing Ku Soju, a 48-proof Korean spirit.

But now it appears we have entered the crossover era of craft producers crossing lines. Brewers are distilling. Vintners are brewing. Consumers are drinking.

Early craft beer pioneers have caught the bug. Fritz Maytag of the legendary Anchor Brewing Co. in San Francisco operates a winery and a distillery. Bill Owens, who founded Buffalo Bill’s Brewpub in Hayward, CA, and ran a couple of beer-related publications, is now the president of the American Distilling Institute. The ADI provides information resources and advocates for small distillers, plus hosts an annual Craft Distilling Conference.

“I don’t know if the potential volume for artisan distillers can match the growth of craft beer,” says Sam Calagione, owner of Dogfish Head Brewing in Delaware. “However, I don’t think the early craft brewers at New Albion or Sierra Nevada envisioned how large the craft brewing movement would become.”

Calagione is one of the pioneers who has decided that if brewing beer is fun and profitable, then distilling liquor also holds potential. “Our goal in opening the distillery was to further expand on our concept of off centered ales for off centered people,” Calagione says. “We don’t brew to style, we never have since we opened the brewery in 1995.”

Dogfish Head is sticking to that approach under distiller Mike Gerhart, who crafts rum aged in French oak with wildflower honey, a gin called Jin and a liqueur distilled from honey and flavored with maple syrup called Be. Dogfish Head’s Vodka Erotica is an exotic flavored vodka made with rose water, watermelon juice and a number of secret spices. If you show up at the company’s Rehoboth Beach pub you can even sample small batch specialty vodkas made with chocolate and vanilla beans.

Rogue Spirit

At Rogue Ales in Oregon, the brewing of extreme beers also led to the making of extreme spirits. Always up for a challenge, founder Jack Joyce said Rogue decided against making vodka in favor of starting with rum because “we figured if we could make rum, we could make anything.” Light rum and dark rum moved them to a rum flavored with hazelnuts and then to a spruce gin that contains 14 ingredients. Rogue is considering other products, perhaps a brandy, flavored vodkas and even beer schnapps.

“Beer is really hard to make. You have to deal with lower alcohol contents and a high level of sanitation. Booze is real forgiving along the way,” says Joyce. “The danger for any brewer going into distilling is if you don’t make great products it can reflect on your beer. Making great spirits requires a great palate. You have to balance the various ingredients along the way.”

In addition to its brewing and distilling licenses, Rogue also holds a permit for a winery, but has no plans to start crushing grapes.

“We have a bit of a brand problem, since someone else uses the Rogue name for wine. Plus there are 300 wineries in Oregon. We don’t think there is a need for another one,” Joyce says.

In Massachusetts, Jay Harman has become a triple threat in the drinks world. Starting with Nantucket Vineyards in 1981, then Cisco Brewing in 1995 and onto Triple 8 Distilling in 2000, he has seen each business up close and personal.

“It’s a juggling act. It’s seasonal where we are with tourists out here for eight to nine months, then we have three to four months to regroup,” Harman says. The company gets its grapes from Washington state vineyards, bringing in juice for the whites and crushing red grapes on site. The company brews a range of beers and uses honeybell oranges from Florida to make Triple 8 Orange Flavored Vodka.

Triple 8 has been raising money to fuel new brands by selling futures on 53 gallon barrels of single malt “Notch” whiskey. The futures that went for $3,000 a barrel back in 2000 now sell for $6,000. Harman uses Cisco’s Whale’s Tale Ale, minus the hops, as the wash to distill to make the whiskey, which is aged for at least five years in used bourbon casks. He predicts the 200 750-milliliter bottles that come out of each cask could sell for as much as $200 each.

Brett VanderKamp, president of New Holland Brewing in Michigan, started brewing beer in 1997 and added distilling in 2005, making a brandy, rum and whiskey.

“What is important to us is that New Holland is known as a great brewery,” VanderKamp says. “I think New Holland will always be a brewery that happens to have a distillery.”

Still, the company is getting creative with its distilling operation and is making some very interesting products. It started distilling and laying down whiskey using several grains in a mash that is double distilled to 115 proof. On the rum side, VanderKamp says New Holland is “dabbling” with small batches to determine the right mix of cane sugar and molasses, as well as trying different barrel combinations for aging, including used bourbon barrels. On the brandy side, the company distills its product five times and is selling juniper- and raspberry-flavored products.

The restless people who kept moving west and further west had to stop here or step into the ocean: maybe all that restlessness got channeled into innovation?

Viewed from afar, West Coast-style brewing is a phenomenon: audacious, ground-breaking, and hop-heavy. There are communities “ out West” where craft beer outsells the Big Three, where it must be as daunting to open a new brewery as it is to open a new restaurant in New York.

The hard brewing facts support the sense that this is special territory: the four American states and one Canadian province that make up the West Coast of the United States and Canada contain over 30 million people, about 15% of the total. However, they are home to over 440 breweries, microbreweries and brewpubs: about 25% of the total.

The western states and British Columbia gave their countries their first brewpubs and they take home a disproportionate share of national brewing awards. In short, things are happening there.

For 15 years, Celebrator Beer News has been the voice of West Coast beer. We asked Tom Dalldorf, Celebrator’s publisher, to help us make sense of it all.

—AAB

A Stanford University graduate student in Japanese studies had only lunch and a cold beer on his mind that fateful afternoon in July 1965. But when Fritz Maytag ordered his usual Steam Beer, the server suggested that he savor it because the brewery was to be closed.

Fritz, the scion of the Maytag washing machine family, was by his nature positively Jeffersonian in his eclectic pursuit of quality and substance in everything he found worthy. He saw in that quirky beer brewed under primitive conditions something that was distinctly San Francisco and he had to learn more. Thus began an almost single-minded dedication to reviving lost traditions of brewing that is the hallmark of the Anchor Brewing Co.

Fritz dropped by the brewery and discovered that it was indeed to be closed after so many years, having survived even the devastating consequences of Prohibition. He wondered what he could do to help out. With a small investment and a lot of hard work, Fritz became the proud owner of a historic brewing property with rather poor prospects. Even with the San Francisco Chronicle’s Fearless Spectator Charles McCabe singing its praises, Anchor’s Steam Beer was a bastard child of the beer business and an unruly one at that. Fritz set to work cleaning up the brewery and stabilizing the beer.

Eventually, Maytag discovered the adage to be true in beer as it is in wine: the way to make a small fortune is to start with a really big one. This expensive avocation could not continue for long. A new location and some more modern equipment and quality control improved his product to the point where Maytag could actually sleep at night without worrying about the beer going bad.

Anchor produced fewer than 800 barrels of Steam the first year, but demand increased after the quality issues were addressed. Maytag’s research and travels to England and Europe convinced him that other styles might be equally attractive to a country notably devoid of beers of color or flavor. He introduced Liberty Ale in April 1975 to commemorate the midnight ride of Paul Revere, and the beer became so popular that he had to make it a year-round brand. Old Foghorn, a traditional English-style barley wine, was introduced that same year—another first. This was Anchor’s most extreme beer yet. Given its high alcohol and robust flavor profile, it must have been quite a radical move in a beer market awash in an ocean of light industrial adjunct lager.