Craft Breweries: Style and Iconoclasm

Inevitably, as I continue my exploration of craft beers, patterns begin to emerge in the flavor profiles of American craft beers. I've got a feel for some of the most popular styles. However, with the possible exception of IPA's, American's innovation and resistance to convention has kept the craft brew world in a constant state of flux. In fact, the strongest patterns in craft beer that I've found are breweries' identity. Many breweries, particularly the ones who got their start with a winning formula, have a distinctive style that is distinguishable throughout their beer lineup.


The first brewery that deserves mention of this is Sierra Nevada. They earned their name on the strength and influence of their Pale Ale. Its sharp bitterness set it apart from Pale Ale's British forbears and inaugurated an industry-wide trend towards heavy hopping. That the floral hops were belied by an unsung malty sweetness, I think, was the key towards its enduring status as one of the most respected craft beers in the business.

I got my hands on a few other styles by Sierra Nevada in recent months. Unfortunately, they're shamelessly derivative of their flagship Pale Ale. Their Stout is pretty good, it just tastes like a Stout version of their Pale Ale. Less can be said of their Anniversary and Celebration Ales, which taste is as if the Pale Ale was just amped up into an IPA. More gravity, more hops, until the original balance that made the Pale Ale so beautiful is flagrantly destroyed.

Samuel Adams, on the other hand, manages the tricky feat of finding new ways to present a winning formula. This may have to do with the fact that their trademark style is malt-driven rather than hop-driven. By varying malt composition and gravity, the two seasonals I've tried have been even more impressive than their famed Boston Lager. Their Octoberfest has a higher gravity, greater charred character and a more substantial hop backbone than their classic brew. Their Winter Lager calls itself "a Dark Wheat Lager". It has a thick buttery richness that warms the soul.

New Belgium seems to revel in a charred undertone that characterizes their beer. The most prominent example of this is their near-black 1554, but see if you don't find the same dark note in sunnier beers like Fat Tire and summer seasonal Skinny Dip. I'm all for it though, because it's that subtle char that really sets their amber ales off. All three of these beers come highly recommended, particularly if you're serving them with food that's got some of its own char.

Anchor is a San Francisco brewery that I've found I just don't like very much. Something about the creamy-toasted quality that underpins their generally light-tasting beer rubs me wrong. The creaminess isn't justified by the light hops and malt, and the toasted quality just seems out of place. I found that of their flagship Anchor Steam and I had the exact same criticism when I tasted their Bock. It was the striking similarity in Anchor's treatment of these two ostensibly different styles that inspired this investigation into the internal stylistic conformity of so many craft breweries.

For some breweries, their trademark style works well and imparts a continuity to their broad range of beer styles. For others, this identifying stamp acts as a straightjacket that prevents their other offerings from ever escaping the shadow of the breweries' flagship beer.


I'd also like to talk about some new leads I've found in the craft beer world. I have only cursory knowledge of the following breweries, but one of their beers came out and spoke to me. These are American originals that I look forward to following up on.

Dogfish Head is a name synonymous with American beer's iconoclasm. Dogfish Head stands in proud opposition to the stylistic uniformity evident in the aforementioned breweries. Talk about bizarre, yet exquisitely crafted beer. This endorsement was mostly inspired by their 90-Minute IPA. I am sick of American IPA's, but this didn't taste like any IPA I'd ever had. Sure it was hoppy and alcoholic, but the standout quality of the 90-Minute IPA was that it was creamy, estery and sweet. I'm not sure I want more, but they obviously had an off-the-wall idea in mind and they hit the nail on the head. Incidentally, I've never felt wealthy enough to purchase any Dogfish Head with my own money; their experiments are expensive.

North Coast's Red Seal Ale follows in the footsteps of Sierra Nevada by pairing striking bitterness with understated fruity sweetness. Red Seal is in fact even more aggressively bitter than that iconic Pale Ale. I'm a sucker for a good red and these guys really struck the perfect, bleeding-edge balance.

Anderson Valley's Boont Amber Ale has a buttery-sweet quality to it similar to Samuel Adam's Winter Lager that is practically chewy like a cookie. This quality underlies the Amber Ale rather than forming the foundation of its flavor the way it does the Winter Lager. It was the distinctive, appetizing flavor and the light touch that made the beer stand out to me. I've sworn to get my hands on some more beer from Anderson Valley ever since.

Sudwerk is a Davis brewery with pretty decent distribution in the Central Valley. Excepting the Czech Pilsener Urquell, they make my hands-down favorite Pilsener. The brewmaster came to speak to my Beer and Brewing class (as well as Ken Grossman of Sierra Nevada, Dan Gordon of Gordon Biersch and the brewmaster of the Fairfield Anheuser-Busch brewery). He said that he was really into the flavor of the grains in beer, and it shows. The Sudwerk Pilsener tastes of grain in all its exalted glory; the bitter-sweetness, the earth, the dry grass. Yet, in Pilsener fashion, this is also an imminently drinkable beer whose subtlety and originality can be just as easily overlooked.

Unlike most American Amber Ales, Alaska's Alt Style Amber has the sweet, smooth, malty quality of a German beer. I have an affinity for American takes on Central European styles, because Central European aesthetics are so understated and American craft brews so boldly creative. For this, Samuel Adams, Sudwerk's Pilsener and Alaska's Amber earn extra accolades.

Buckbean's Schwarzbier also falls into this category. Few American breweries attempt the black lager style. I encountered it in the middle of an Apple House beer tasting of Bocks and Dark Lagers, and this Nevadan beer certainly stood out from the German Schwarzbier offering. The German one was a smooth and mellow meditation on dark malt, whereas the American was characterized by the distinctive, nutty flavor of mesquite, with the darkness only a backdrop.

You can find an earlier post about craft beer here.