What's Wrong With IPA's?

As a fledgling beer snob with a vendetta against the most popular style of microbrew, I get the question a lot: What's wrong with IPA's? The short answer is that they're pretentious and undrinkable. Now, if you're an IPA fan, you've heard that before. A non-beer drinker could say that.

IPA's are the product of a "logical extreme" paradigm that is uniquely American. You've heard Texans boast that "everything's big in Texas". Well, Texans are just Americans with less class than the rest of the country. The conceit is shared by us all. We want everything to be more intense, more "real".

Have you ever compared British candy to American candy? British candy is weak. It hardly even fries your taste buds. Eating British candy could put me to sleep. Who ever heard of milk chocolate that actually tastes like milk? The British, that's who. Try skipping soda and candy for a month and then having a Coke. It's like you've never tasted anything properly your whole life. It's like a nuclear explosion in your mouth. Without conditioning your taste buds will burn from the intensity of Coca-Cola. And that's just Coke. That's the saleable aspect of American culture.

The story of American food is a story of one-upmanship. You think fried chicken is unhealthy? Try fried cornbread (aka hushpuppies). And if you think soaking something porous in grease and then cooking it in batter just isn't enough, try fried twinkies.

We've applied this "bigger, better, more extreme" philosophy to everything. Not the least of these is our alcoholic beverages. Because when we're pretentious, we like to be really pretentious. And the fact that we only half know how to be pretentious won't stop us (though I'd propose it's secretly one of our strengths).

When Sierra Nevada came out with its pale ale, it was one of the bitterest beers on the market. It has an IBU of 37. It was revelatory that a brewery could successfully market an overtly bitter beer. It was a slap in the face to mass scale breweries that kept hopping low to make their beers as innocuous and "drinkable" as possible. Bitterness, gravity and high alcohol became the standards borne by the American microbrew movement. Samuel Adams keeps breaking its own record for the world's most alcoholic beer (their Utopia has 27 ABV).

But any boorish lout can appreciate a beverage that will fuck him up. Ultimately, it was bitterness that became the ideological rallying cry of craft brewing. Just read any diatribe on the back of a Stone Brewery bottle. Bow down and worship at the feet of almighty Bitterness! It's true that hops have complex flavors that sparkle in interesting ways at high concentrations. Bitterness is both daunting and artistically redeeming. The drinker must be willing to suspend expectations of instant likeability and instead struggle with a flavor that confronts and baffles, ultimately to reward.

Of course, the equation Pain=Artistic Merit is so tired and postmodern as to make me sick, but it's not like there aren't legitimate precedents. John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band is a rubbed-raw bender of an album. I myself prefer Nirvana's dark and twisted In Utero to their more pleasant Nevermind and the Velvet Underground's raucous anti-beauty White Light/White Heat to the radio-ready Loaded. Burn-out albums are a wonderful thing. However, they have a very defined and limited place in art. They aren't the sort of albums you'd listen to every day.

But the sense of self-righteous warfare against complacency, aspiring pretension and the mindless pursuit of logical extremes has elevated a beer as boneheaded and specialized as India Pale Ale to the top of craft brewing. Typical American IPA's (India Pale Ales) frequently have IBU's of 60 to 100 (100 is roughly the human taste threshold) and an ABV between 7 and 10. They are crushingly bitter and dangerously alcoholic. Make no mistake, this is a critics' beer. But this is about the most boneheaded critics' beer imaginable. Lots of flavor, lots of alcohol (but not enough to mess up the foam) and lots of malt. IPA's are absolutely interesting, but they ruin the palate and are almost impossible to drink.

This brings us to a cardinal rule of cuisine. Good food and drink ought to be appetizing and complementary. Expensive wine is imminently drinkable, because it tastes delicious and delicate. It is flexible enough to go well with many foods and while it doesn't shy from asserting its beauty, it can also play a beautiful supporting role. This is not the case with IPA's.

Anyone knowledgeable about beer pairings will tell you that IPA's go well with Indian food. That's because Indian cuisine is one of the few foods strong enough to not be overwhelmed by an IPA. However, the best beer to drink with Indian food is not an India Pale Ale (the word India actually has nothing to do with IPA being made for Indian food, btw), because IPA's march to their own tune and don't bother to try and complement anything. That Indian food had damn well better play along.

The best beers to drink with Indian food, I've discovered, are Indian lagers like Taj Mahal. This was my first and most powerful practical lesson to drink a country's beer with its cuisine. Indian lagers are dark, sweet, and vaguely floral. Rather than competing with curry to be the strongest taste, they play a support role, adding another, interacting layer of nuances and subtleties to an already complex curry.

So IPA's aren't food beers (because they're willful) and they aren't session beers (because they're difficult to drink). They are tasting beers, and nothing more. They fill a minor niche well and with panache, but their eminence in the world of American beer-snobbery is as unjustified as it is predictable.


As a sidenote, the two occasions I drank primarily IPA turned out very badly. Some people might think it's a good idea to order a keg of Racer 5 or consecutive pitchers of Arrogant Bastard. It's not. It's really, really not.