A few weeks ago, despite a long term illness and sleepless night, I found myself waking up early, intentionally, torn between two possible activities.
I could go and have a breakfast taco and pay $15 for a middy of 13% alcohol beer. Or I could go and queue with a bunch of other beardy fat men to pay $25 for 375ml of 14.5% stout.
At that moment I knew two things: choosing one would probably mean instant regret on missing out on the other, and I probably should just admit that I have a craft beer problem.
I’m sure a psychologist would tell me that all of this can be traced back to my parents. Indeed, I can remember my dad coming home, incredibly excited over a mixed six pack he’d picked up from the bottle-o. It was an experiment in unknown beers, but in those days that was limited to a Guinness, something with umlauts from Germany, some undrinkable American stuff, and probably a Sheaf Stout. Rural Australia put a serious limit on how nerdy you could be over your beer.
My problem really began when I walked into my local bottle shop five or six years ago and met the three men who would quickly became my first hop dealers – Liam, J and Jackson. They would ask me to try exotic things like vanilla porters, imperial stouts and sour beers. They explained the difference between pilsners and IPAs and commended my ‘palate’ when I said I liked things. Within weeks they had me hooked.
In the first month I had already decided that I wouldn’t drink anything but beer ever again (this was in part a reaction to the size of my new beer bills). I would keep my favourite bottles sometimes without drinking them. And I found myself using a whole new vocabulary, dropping phrases like ABV (alcohol by volume), IBU (International Bitterness Units), balance, mouth feel and hop forward in contexts I’d never considered.
Within the first few months I became a zealot. I would ask bars for their beer list and roll my eyes if they just pointed at the same old taps.
I would always bring more beer than I needed to any social event and proselytise about the virtue of the latest craft brewing co’s, I’m sure to the annoyance of friends who were trying to have civilised conversations.
I would like to think I have mellowed over the subsequent years. But it’s possible that I have just made friends with people who share, or at least are more tolerant, of my problem.
Either way I need to come clean and admit the following things are true:
I have voluntarily drunk beer made from maple syrup, tea, beard yeast and steak. The last of which was recommended as having “a realistic greasy mouthfeel” as though that was a good thing.
I often give people beers that make them say things like “That’s interesting, but it’s not beer though,” possibly because it has an ABV percentage in the mid-teens.
I think $15 is a reasonable price for a 375ml bottle of beer and have paid up to $80 for a long neck.
I got excited about the beer potential of Liam (my hop dealer) taking a trip to Belgium. To be clear, I wasn’t invited.
When I did take a holiday, I kept tasting notes on the beers I tried on my trip through the US (a trip planned in part around tasting beers).
I have friends I only know through beer and am a member of multiple social media craft beer groups.
And most importantly, I don’t regret any of the above.
I’m not telling you all of this to warn you off craft beer, quite the opposite, I’m trying to do for society what Liam and Jackson and J did for me all those years ago. So, can I get you a beer? It’s got great mouth feel.