Surfing the Vancouver Spring Brewfest

Quick road trips are good for the soul. Even better when beer is involved. That's why I accepted an invitation to the Vancouver Spring Brewfest last week. All-in-all, it was a pleasant experience, maybe a little less wonky than some similarly sized Portland festivals.

This is the fourth rendition of the Spring Brewfest. I attended the summer version of this event a few years ago, but had only a sketchy notion of an established spring event. It seems organizers have been diligently working to further develop Vancouver's craft beer culture.

The venue seemed odd...a postage stamp. Looking through some of the media coverage, I learned previous Spring Brewfests were held in a larger space at the Vancouver Landing. That space was unavailable this year due to construction.

That precipitated the move to the brick plaza at the southeast corner of Esther Short Park. The summer festival, which consumes more space and features things like live music, is held in the main park. But the city apparently doesn't allow events of any kind on the park grass until May. So the Spring fest wound up occupying a tight space.

I visited in the early afternoon. It wasn't particularly busy for the first hour. But things were getting a little cramped by the time I made my exit a couple of hours later. Even then, getting a beer was no problem. There were no deep lines such as you see at many Portland events, just wads of people in groups mucking up the paths to the beers.

This event is billed as a showcase of local beers, meads and ciders, and most of what they were pouring was local. But a fair number of beers were from outside the local area...Bend, Ashland, Seattle, Enterprise. That's mostly just an observation. Knowledgeable craft beer fans want to drink local beer. There was plenty of that here, as well as some stuff that wasn't quite as local.

Without a wing person to share tastes with, I didn't come close to sampling the entire beer list. Good thing, obviously. I did seek out hazy IPAs and my favorite from those I tasted was Heathen's 50 Shades Hazier, bursting with hops aroma and flavor. Grab a pint if you see this one. No glitter beers in sight, thankfully.

The same old rule apparently applies when it comes to enticing Portland fans outside the city for beer. They don't come. I would normally see a lot of industry-connected friends at an event like this one. I ran into one such person. This was a Vancouver/Clark County crowd, which organizers likely expected, even if they hoped a few brave souls would cross the Columbia. Not happening.

Honestly, it's great to see craft beer continuing to spread its wings on the other side of the Columbia. Well-attended events like this one are a nice example of that. Craft's trajectory may have seemed inevitable here, but there have been quite a few stops and starts over the years.

It appears Vancouver and Clark County is in a solid groove now. Beer quality is improving, breweries and taprooms are opening. The area is no longer starved for good beer. Stars aligning.

Social Media and the Demise of Print

Last week's announcement that the Celebrator Beer News will cease print production was a shot across the bow of traditional beer publications everywhere. It was also a reminder that social media is the heir apparent of print and digital in the beer world. Not necessarily a good thing.

The Celebrator, founded in 1988, helped push the craft beer movement along in its formative years. As others have noted, you had to search for beer-related stories and information for many years. That changed with the explosion of the industry within the last 10-15 years.

That growth spurt spawned another one: There are currently hundreds, if not thousands, of print and digital outlets dedicated to covering the craft beer scene. I'm obviously including the numerous blogs, like this one, that cover beer in a variety of ways.

There's certainly redundancy in a lot of this coverage. You read about a brewery or beer or brewer in one place and soon see a similar story somewhere else. As long as there was an audience hungry for information and anxious to read it, redundancy probably wasn't such a bad thing.

Of course, we all know print is in death throes. Newspapers and magazines are having a terrible time. The ones that have a good digital platform still have readers, but the ad revenue model of print has never transferred very well to the digital format. It's a financial calamity, actually.

The larger problem for print and digital outlets is that a lot of people don't read anymore. Blame technology, blame laziness. Whatever. The reality is that people prefer their information in small chunks. We're dreadfully uninformed as a result, but we don't seem to mind. Drink up!

The Celebrator, which may or may not survive in digital-only form, isn't the only beer-centric publication on thin ice. Beer Advocate, a magazine I've written for in the past, announced a while back that it was moving from monthly (10 issues a year, I think) to quarterly publication. I'm sure there are others we aren't yet aware of.

Print is being driven to extinction at least partially due to the growing power and influence of social media. Facebook, Twitter and Instagram mesh almost perfectly with shortening attention spans and the evolving consumer preference for smaller chunks of information.

Social media is not a great fit for some businesses. The med-tech company I consult for is a perfect example. It hasn't yet figured out how to effectively use social media to leverage sales or customer relationships. I recommended serious exploration of that strategy 10 years ago. True story.

Beer-centric businesses, on the other hand, quickly saw the potential of social media. They realized young beer consumers are highly driven by social media. Attracting that crowd meant devising events and activities that could be promoted via those channels. That's what release parties, tastings, tap takeovers, festivals, launch parties, etc., are all about. You knew, right?

The appeal of social media transcends its ability to reach youthful beer consumers. It allows beer-centric business to reach customers and potential customers more quickly, easily and cheaply than ever before. That's a big part of why traditional beer publications are struggling...they simply can't deliver what a decent social media presence can.

What's the downside? The demise of traditional outlets means there will be less objective, informative reporting out there. Social media, a platform designed for short form promotion, is open to groupies and hucksters who sometimes have an interest in what they're promoting without that interest being apparent or acknowledged.

I readily admit that conflicts of interest can be present in any form of media. Some beer blogs are nothing more than promotional vehicles for brands willing to hand out free beer and swag. Social media, because it's available to virtually anyone with a following without regard to expertise or conflicts of interest, merely takes the concern for objectivity to another level.

But this is the course we've chosen, for better or worse. And maybe it'll work out fine. Maybe it won't matter that social media coverage is skimpy on detail and too often subject to conflicts of interest. Maybe.

Goose Island's Awkward Stab at Relevance

Goose Island Brewing was established in 1988. It was a proud craft brand for more than two decades, respected in its hometown of Chicago and beyond. In 2011, it was consumed by Anheuser-Busch, a buyout that wasn't exactly welcomed by craft beer fans. Of course, there were many more buyouts to come.

For several years, Goose Island rode the wave of craft popularity. Heavily discounted kegs of Goose IPA sucked up tap handles in bars everywhere. Never mind that the great bulk of that beer was and is brewed in AB factory breweries or partner breweries. Goose was hot.

It's all gone sour, of course, Goose brands have been taking a dive in grocery and retail stores around the country. The only brand in growth mode is Goose IPA, up 29 percent last year. That number, mainly the result of discounting, is a fraction of the rate at which the IPA was growing several years ago.

Goose Island is caught in the same downward spiral we're seeing with many of the regional craft breweries. These folks are struggling, in good part because smaller, local brewers are better at innovation and producing what contemporary beer fans want. You need to be creative and nimble. Large breweries aren't.

Big beer failed to see the shift in tastes coming. When they started buying up craft breweries, they expected to dominate the marketplace via mass production and distribution of formerly independent brands. They've actually had some success with that. AB's High End portfolio has done well, largely due to the power of distribution and discounting.

But the number of small local breweries cropping up all over the map is a stick in big beer's spokes. The little guys have momentum. They're closely connected to their markets and many of them specialize in small batch, experimental beers that tap the hearts, minds and taste buds of local and regional consumers. This is the state of the industry, like it or not.

Adjusting to the changed reality is proving a steep challenge for big beer, which includes regional craft and the Baby Buds. Even though Goose Island has well-known specialty brands, its national status renders those brands less relevant to consumers. Its mainstream beers, widely considered to be pedestrian and out of touch, face declining appeal.

Addressing that challenge isn't as simple as installing a small batch brewery and making small batch beers. That's the easy part. The larger challenge is winning back status and credibility. That's tough. And breweries the size of Goose Island aren't that nimble, despite being bankrolled by their masters in St. Louis, Belgium or wherever.

Nonetheless, Goose Island hopes to remake its image. First thing on the agenda was a canning machine. You may have noticed that innovation beers often tend to come in 16-ounce cans these days. Goose noticed. It bought a tiny canning line and hopes to exploit the can fad by rolling out small batch, experimental beers in its home market. Blanks with label wraps, anyone?

There's also help on the way for Goose Island's specialty beers, including Matilda and Sofie, which are underperforming as consumers chase local options. They'll likely revamp the packaging with new bottles and labels. Because when beers aren't selling, it's almost always the packaging. Who was it that warned us about breweries that sell packaging, not beer? Hmmm.

It's worth mentioning that returning to local roots is a popular theme in big craft at the moment. It's popular because it's about the only option they have. Consider the case of Widmer, still waiting for a fat AB buyout check. It closed the Gasthaus Pub suddenly late last fall and promptly opened a taphouse featuring experimental, small batch beers. Shocking, eh?

Like Goose Island, Widmer has watched its brands collapse across a wide range of geography. Both would like craft fans to forget their national aspirations and connections to big beer. Both want to be seen as being all about experimentation and innovation. Both see building credibility at home as a means of lifting their struggling mainstream portfolios everywhere.

But it's hard to imagine Goose Island's mainstream beers rebounding nationally. Or Widmer's. The sheer number of small, local breweries has altered the landscape pretty much for good. Efforts to reclaim and build on local relevance look mostly like awkward stabs in the dark.

Small Brewers Challenge Traditional Industry Powers

The Brewers Association just released it's annual stats on the industry for 2017. Anyone who stops by here on any kind of regular basis probably knows of the numbers. We now have more than 6,200 craft breweries and the craft sector grew at a 5 percent clip.

Of course, there are signs of growing pains. Nearly 1,000 brewpubs and breweries opened in 2017, similar to 2016. But there were 165 closures, certainly the most we've seen in the craft era. That's not shocking. The rising brewery count makes closings more or less inevitable.

The raging growth we've seen over the last decade is historic. It's been good for consumers and brewers. There are more choices out there than ever before thanks to imagination, innovation and smart marketing. Also more places to find and drink fresh local beer.

But not everyone is happy about the altered lay of the land. The emerging popularity of taprooms and direct-to-consumer sales is upsetting the longstanding structure of the beer industry. That story is nicely documented in this Brewbound article.

The enemies of the status quo are the taproom and the brewpub, places where breweries sell their beer directly to consumers. The growth of that strategy is flipping the three-tier apple cart on its head and causing significant distress among the players that previously owned the industry.

Regional breweries have taken a direct hit. They once had no problem selling their beer in stores and in draft form. Today, consumers are buying more and more beer in taprooms and pubs. Large regional brewers, like Deschutes and Sierra Nevada, are struggling. And they don't like it.

The problem for regional craft extends to restaurants, bars and taverns. Where they once had free access, they are now forced to compete with local brands for tap handles and sales. Consumers want fresh choices. Established regional brands, considered old and tired, have lousy traction.

Traditional on-premise retailers are getting smacked around, too. With craft fans flocking to taprooms and brewpubs, restaurants, bars and taverns see their market slimming. As the Brewbound piece documents, some retailers have taken punitive action against brewers. But the reality for these folks is simple: they can adjust to the new reality or suffer the consequences.

Distributors are not immune, either. All that beer being sold direct to consumers doesn't pass through distributor hands. Distributors still get their pound of flesh for most packaged product and some draft, but the move to local beer and direct sales is a thorn in their side.

Fair is fair, though. The niche small brewers are exploiting is their best possible response to what's going on in the industry. Big beer, led by Anheuser-Busch, is locking down grocery store sets and squeezing small brewers out. That situation will only get worse moving forward.

The best case scenario for craft breweries has always been selling their beer directly in a taproom or pub. Higher profit per ounce, glass, gallon or keg. The emerging reality in distribution has encouraged and forced craft brewers to actively develop that model. It's no accident.

And the success of that model is changing the beer world. But it's unclear how far this can go. The size of the US beer market is declining, not growing. Which means all breweries are, in a sense, chasing the same customers. Right now, local craft brewers are on a roll, transforming the industry.

There's undoubtedly a limit to how many small breweries the market can support. Are we approaching that number? Maybe. But, for now, the little guys are flourishing and the traditional power structure is on edge. Oddly satisfying.

Portland: Provincialism and Californication

When I was interviewing industry-connected folks for Portland Beer a few years back, one of the things I heard repeatedly was that provincialism was a big reason craft beer caught on here. Portlanders have been historically inclined to support products made here.

It's clear to me that our old school provincialism is waning. I'll get to why shortly. First, its roots. Provincialism, I believe, is rooted largely in Portland's blue collar past. The city was a hub for the extraction economy from its early days through much of the 20th century.

Commerce moving up and down the Columbia and Willamette Rivers made Portland the largest and most important city in the Northwest through the late 19th century. The arrival of the railroads transformed Seattle, with its superior port, to the center of trade in the Northwest.

It's possible that being pushed into obscurity by rapidly expanding Seattle gave blue collar Portlanders a go-it-alone, do-it-yourself attitude. Residents became suspicious of products from the outside and developed rigid preferences for local goods.

Those were the embedded attitudes Portland's founding craft brewers tapped into when they were starting out in the 1980s. They'd take their products out to bars and taverns; patrons, who weren't necessarily unhappy with the macro swill they were drinking, would gladly try it. Because it was local.

The willingness to try local beer wasn't necessarily unique to Portland, but it was apparently embraced more strongly here than in other places. Provincial attitudes were crucial to putting Portland on the craft beer map, where it remains at or near the top today.

When I arrived here in 1989, the city was still in the throes of a grubby provincialism. Most of what is now the Pearl District was home to abandoned or broken down warehouses. Streets were virtually impassable, unless you were driving a Jeep. That theme was prevalent around the city.

Over the course of the last 10 or 15 years, things have shifted dramatically. The influx of newcomers has transformed large swaths of the city. The busted up or abandoned warehouse is now an endangered species, thanks to the demand for housing and retail space.

The strong provincialism of yesteryear is being displaced by something different. One might argue that was inevitable due to the migration here from around the country. With so many newcomers, attitudes were going to shift. No way around it.

If you aren't aware, the majority of our migrants come from California. Yup. It's right next door, it's an expensive place to live and they've had some significant issues in recent years. People are giving up on California and coming to Oregon, Portland being the most popular destination..

The result is a sort of Californication of our city. Old Portland is being demolished and replaced by trendy new buildings and businesses straight out of the Bay Area and southern California playbook. And there are no signs of it slowing down.

In the beer world, the strong preference for local product is diminishing. On my travels, I routinely see beer from all over the country being warmly welcomed. California breweries, and there are a lot of them, make some great beer. A number of them are doing well here.

An instructive allegory for Portland's transition may well be what happened to The Commons. Locally-owned and well-supported in its initial, quaint location, The Commons moved to a larger space and failed to attract expected crowds. Cash flow problems cropped up. The brewery crashed.

Enter San Diego-based Modern Times, which leased the space and now plays to a packed house regularly. The pub is gaudy, just what you expect to find in California. But it's wildly popular. Inoculated by a flood of Californians, Portland is losing touch with its provincial past.

Whether that's a good or bad thing is, I suppose, a matter of opinion. But it is the reality.

Craft Beer and the Great Mirage

Predicting the future is a sketchy business. That's just as true of the beer industry as it is of sports gambling. We look at the scenery and think we know what's coming. Then everything flips and we're left holding the bag. Look at what happened to Virginia last night.

Over the past few years, craft beer growth rates were stupendous. Easy money fueled a breakneck expansion of brewing capacity across the country. The rationale was simple: double-digit growth suggested there would be a market for virtually unlimited beer.

By one publication's reckoning, the expansion of brewing capacity during the past five or so years is comparable to what happened at the end of Prohibition. If you don't recall, the brewing industry, wiped out almost completely, had to be built back up from nothing to meet demand.

Of course, we now know the growth many expected to continue unabated has guttered. Demand for beer is flattening. The double-digit growth of craft beer has slowed to perhaps half that. The result is a lot of unused brewing capacity, similar to what happened in the late 1990s.

The excess capacity scenario generally foreshadows declining prices. Brewers look to sell beer and keep their doors open by lowering prices. There's some evidence of that happening. After years of increases, the big brewers are, indeed, backing off on prices.

Craft is a little different. In the big picture, we're seeing smaller price increases than in recent years in the mainstream beers. There's an interesting caveat at the top, where specialty product pricing appears to be no object. Consumers don't care. Premium and Super Premium craft, which account for only a fifth of the business, are responsible for 75 percent of craft dollar growth. Crazy.

But not everyone plays in the Premium sandbox. Most craft breweries sell mainstream product to folks who aren't beer geeks. Their challenge, given the situation with unused capacity and downward pressure on price, is figuring out what to brew that will allow them to stay in business.

The continued implosion of domestic premiums looks like an opportunity for craft brewers to chase dollars with lighter, lower ABV products at attractive prices. Breweries like Firestone Walker, New Belgium and Founders, among others, are doing so.

By the way, that strategy fits in well with demographic realities. Millennials, who drove a lot of craft's growth in recent years, are moving out of their twenties and getting fat. They're starting to look for lighter options. We've seen this movie before with prior generations.

So the idea of targeting the domestic premium space seems valid. The problem, as industry analyst Bump Williams recently noted on the Brewers Association Power Hour, is that craft brewers cannot beat the big brewers on price. The big guys are too efficient. They will prevail.

Thus, thoughts of escaping the craft slowdown with lighter, cheaper product in the domestic premium space is largely a mirage. As soon as that market blooms, big beer will enter the fray with aggressive discounting and swallow up the business.

Yeah, just one more reason these are scary times for craft brewers.

Grains of Wrath: Testing a Theory in Camas

One of the great fascinations of our time is that all brewers want to own their own breweries. Well, almost all. Time and time again, we see successful (and unsuccessful) brewers taking the leap from employee to brewery owner and head brewer. It doesn't always end well.

Enter Mike Hunsaker, ex-head brewer at Fat Heads Portland, soon to be known as Von Ebert Brewing. In 2016, Hunsaker announced he would leave Fat Heads to co-found Grains of Wrath in Camas. There was great excitement.

Like a lot of brewery projects, Grains of Wrath took longer to open than anticipated. It also cost more than the partners expected...going significantly over budget, apparently. The place finally opened this week...to a warm welcome, fortunately.

I stopped in for lunch on Wednesday, which was opening day. The facility is impressive. Right away you note the massive outdoor patio, complete with fire pits and a beer garden. Inside, there's a large seating area that looks out north facing windows (garage doors) onto the patio.

The bar, a smaller area shoehorned between the brewery and kitchen, is fairly typical. It's slightly dank, thanks to low lighting and dark fixtures. There are high tables and chairs. Behind the bar, sports flicker on a couple of large TVs. The brewery is visible on two sides. No minors allowed in here.

They were pouring 10 beers on my visit, pretty good for a place that just opened. Hunsaker built a solid reputation with his hoppy beers at Fat Heads. But he's far from a one-trick pony. Luger, a German-style Pilsner, is excellent. I did not not taste the full list, but did prefer the EGA IPA to Overkill. Opinions will vary.

They have 26 taps to work with and all but a few will eventually be pouring house beers. That's exactly as it should be. Give Hunsaker and crew a few months and this beer list will be packed with interesting choices. Grains of Wrath will have good beer. Make no mistake.

My guess is food offerings will follow the same pattern. The lunch menu on my visit was not extensive. The dinner menu evidently has more choices. Fine. But I think the food menu will evolve just like the beer offerings. We've seen this before.

Grains of Wrath bills itself as a family oriented pub. That's a good strategy in Camas, which is effectively a suburb of Portland/Vancouver that somehow retains a small-town identity and feel. The median income is high in Camas. It hasn't been overrun by millennials like Portland. A lot of families do live out here.

But the family motif appears to me to be at odds with the edgy, punk rock, metal branding. On my visit, the sound system was blaring some unknown (to me) metal. It was too loud for comfort. The punk branding isn't completely in your face, but it's obvious enough. The package makes me think this isn't a place for families. Yet that's who they say they're targeting here. Fascinating.

Prices are another concern. Pints are $6 and $6.50. Add tax (10 percent of my bill) and you've got what some, perhaps many, will consider to be an overpriced pint. I usually drink half pours so I can sample a few beers without getting gooned. I asked for a half pour. "I can do that, but the price is the same," returned the barkeep. Again, fascinating.

A lot of thought and money went into this facility. It's an attractive space. The beers and food are going to be fine or better. The patio is going to attract hoards in warm weather. But there's a disconnect here: The branding and ambiance don't align with the stated target audience.

Maybe Grains of Wrath quietly hopes to be a destination for meandering Portland millennials. In that case, the branding makes some sense. But that strategy runs counter to current beer market logic, which suggests craft beer fans, even millennials, prefer to drink local and close to home.

There is, of course, the possibility that brand identity and ambiance don't matter, that you can succeed regardless of wonkiness on those fronts if you're good enough or unique enough. Grains of Wrath may be the perfect test case for that theory.

Oregon Beer Awards, Version 2018

The 2018 Oregon Beer Awards ceremony took place at Revolution Hall on Wednesday evening. It was a packed house of mostly industry-connected folks. There may have been some independents who attended because they thought it might fun...and they were rewarded.

Organizers have fixed a lot of the issues that made this event less than perfect in the past. Getting into the building was a problem in each of the last two years. I didn't see much of that this year, maybe because I was in the building early. Things seemed to have a better flow.

The two MCs did a good job keeping the awards on schedule. Presenters got onstage and mostly focused on the award they were handing out. There wasn't as much in-between fluff as what I recall from past years. Yet the ceremony still lasted nearly three hours.

This is the third year in which the award winning beers were selected by way of objective judging. I was part of that again. Judging (with the exception of the fresh hop beers) happened in late January at Maletis Distributing headquarters on Swan Island. Very nice facility there.

Judging was done over two days. We tasted a gazillion beers in 24 style categories. The Oregon Beer Awards are establishing themselves as our own version of the Great American Beer Festival, but the number of categories is a far cry from the 90+ judged in Denver. That's good and bad.

I was on the panel that selected winners in Classic UK Styles. That category included English-style IPAs, porters and the gold medal winner, a barleywine (Femur) from Boneyard. Having all these sub-styles in the same category was, like a friend of mine, a little awkward. My understanding from competition director, Ben Edmunds, is they hope to adjust for that next year. That would be good.

This year's actual judging was nicely arranged. The space at Maletis was an improvement on what we had in previous years. Then there were the countless behind-the-scenes people who volunteered their time to pour and schlep samples around. Big thanks to those folks. In contrast, those of us who judge are on easy street. Honest.

No need for me to dwell on the winners. Ezra posted a recap within hours of the event winding up. He's a co-founder of the competition and director of the awards ceremony. Unlike the rest of us schmucks, he surely had the results in hand prior to the time winners were announced on stage. Regardless, you can read his article here.

One of the complaints I've heard several times around town is that the OBA is the Breakside show. That's due to the fact that Breakside has been pretty dominant since judging began in 2016 and that Ben Edmunds, Breakside brewmaster, has somehow fixed the competition.

That's a pretty outrageous suggestion, right? And it's all the more outrageous if you know Ben, who is one of the most honest and genuine people you'll meet in this business. Breakside was tied with 10 Barrel for the most medals this year with five each. Maybe Edmunds was a little off his fixing game this year. Maybe.

Another part of the OBA schtick is an academy that votes on a bunch of things, like Best New Brewery, Best Brewpub Experience, etc. I plead guilty to being part of that academy and I voted for  the winners, for better or worse, in most categories (the results are part of Ezra's piece).

One area where my vote differed from the academy was the Hall of Fame choice. John Harris was inducted and he is certainly deserving of the honor. Harris started his career at McMenamin's and became an icon at Deschutes and Full Sail before launching Ecliptic several years ago. He's a great fit for the Hall of Fame.

My vote went to Art Larrance, one of the founding fathers here with Portland Brewing. Art has been director of the Oregon Brewers Festival since the beginning and, of course, founded Cascade Brewing in 1998. Along with the Widmers, the Ponzis and the McMenamins, Art was instrumental in getting the Brewpub Bill, passed in 1985. These folks should all be in the Hall of Fame ahead of brewers who benefited from their efforts. My opinions on this issue are informed mostly by history. Thus, I hope all of the founding brewers are inducted before they're gone.

As has been the case for the past several years, the Oregon Beer Awards coincided with release of Willamette Week's 2018 Beer Guide. I wrote some snippets and a short article for the Guide again this year. The 2018 focus is a little different, as we switched from covering breweries within 50 miles of Portland to covering the Top 100 Oregon breweries. That actually aligns with the OBA judging. Copies are available around town and there will be an online version soon.

There's no particular need to review the Guide here. It is what it is. One thing I do want to mention is the list of Top 10 beers. That's a highly subjective list, compiled by WW staffers and beer freelancers during a December bottleshare. The top beer listed is Upright's Pathways, a unanimous choice. Coincidentally, Pathways won a gold medal in objective judging. Hmmm.

So that's about it. As in past years, thanks to Willamette Week for sponsoring the competition and to Ben Edmunds for running it. Finally, special thanks to Martin Cizmar, WW arts and culture editor, who drove the editorial portion of the Beer Guide and invited me to participate several years ago. Martin is moving on to new digs at RawStory. Good luck, man.

Golden Road and the Abyss Ahead

It's funny how dots sometimes connect themselves when thinking about beer and, more specifically, the beer business. Thinking up things to write about isn't always easy. Then you get slapped in the face and a point comes instantly into focus.

Long ago, I set up a Google alert that funnels beer industry news into my inbox. That intel is typically pretty light compared to the pro newsletter stuff I occasionally receive and read thanks to generous "friends" in the business. But sometimes the Google bots surprise.

The other day, into my inbox came a Sacramento Bee article outlining Golden Road Brewery's plan to open a brewpub in Sacramento. You may be aware that Sacramento is somewhat behind the craft beer growth curve in California. The state has more than 900 breweries, but just 58 of those reside in the Sacramento area and roughly 50 of those have opened since 2009.

If you pay attention, you likely know Golden Road does not exist, at least not in its original independent form. Just as 10 Barrel, Elysian and Goose Island no longer exist. All of these breweries were subjugated by Anheuser-Busch in recent years and are, in effect, baby Buds, members of the High End portfolio. Denials are alternative facts.

It's not hard to figure out why Golden Road is opening in Sacramento. It's an underserved market with a lot of low hanging fruit. Golden Road, which originated in LA, is arguably a better fit for Sacramento than 10 Barrel or Elysian, both founded in the Northwest. They'll go in there and market themselves as a California brand. Consumers will descend like swarms of locusts.

Pubs are just one prong of Anheuser-Busch's strategy to shove independent craft brewers into the shadows. With its mainstream brands mostly in freefall, AB had to come up with a viable survival strategy. The strategy, which came into focus over a period of several years, was to partner with and, eventually, buy a collection of craft brands.

By the way, AB now owns enough craft brands to create significant disruption in the market. It need not buy any more, though I continue to believe it will buy the Craft Brew Alliance, of which it is already a partner, before late summer. As discussed here more than once, that is strictly about Kona, which has huge national and international potential. But never mind.

The primary reason AB wants pubs is to establish strategic outposts in areas where the captured brands are not readily known. That's why 10 Barrel has pubs in Denver, Boise and San Diego. Pubs help lend local legitimacy to brands. Consumers in many cases don't know or don't care that 10 Barrel or Golden Road are part of big beer.

Of course, the pubs are largely a sideshow. The main thrust of AB's strategy is being played in retail, primarily grocery stores. That's where the majority of beer is sold in this country and that's where Anheuser-Busch is diligently working to reduce independent craft brands to secondary, redheaded stepchild status. And the strategy is unfolding nicely, unfortunately.

I got a nice reminder of that in the beer aisle on a recent trip to Fred Meyer. What's occupying

the prime shelf space? Golden Road, 10 Barrel, Elysian and other zombie AB brands. Beer from independent craft breweries was relegated to a small area off the beaten path, where it's less likely to be seen or grabbed impulsively.

Sad to say, this is the future of retail beer. With its High End brands and the power it wields in grocery via distribution, pricing, etc., Anheuser-Busch aims to gradually squeeze independents out. Except for beer specialty stores, this is the emerging reality.

Otherwise known as the abyss ahead.

Reeling in One of Portland's Finest Dive Bars

The great bulk of contemporary craft beer consumers are too young to have any inkling of what Portland's beer world looked like before the late 1980s. There were taverns and bars, but nothing like the beer bars and brewpubs we have today.

Things gradually began to change after passage of the Brewpub Bill (SB-813) in June 1985. That moment presaged what was arguably the greatest victory of the craft era: the notion that beer needn't be sequestered in dark, grimy establishments.

The brewpub and beer bar scene we have today owes its existence to the Brewpub Bill. These places are often, though not always, welcoming to adults and minors. They are well-lit and typically (though not always) less grubby than the dive bars and taverns of yesteryear.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe we lost something in the bargain. I can well recall going to grubby bars and taverns when I was younger. Strictly for fun. There was no rush to sample or discuss the latest new beers. In fact, there were no such offerings. These were bar excursions.

My favorite grimy bar as a young drinker was The Cellar in Lewiston, Idaho. It was a dark, dingy dump in a downtown basement. They served pitchers of swill and patrons lapped it up graciously. There was foosball, pinball and other gaming. A simple experience with rugged charm.

Of course, even with the advent of fancy beer bars and brewpubs, grubby dive bars never went away. There are plenty of them, even in beer-wonky Portland. It's just that beer snobs (like me and most of my friends) tend to steer toward fancy, beer-centric bars and pubs. No offense to the dives. We chase nerdy beer.

Several weeks ago, I asked a friend in the know where to find the best deep fried chicken and jojos in Portland. He advised me to visit the Reel M Inn Tavern on Southeast Division. A quick trip verified the accuracy of the chicken and jojo advice. But there was more.

This is your quintessential dive bar. According to legend (and the internet), a great dive bar has certain characteristics. Firstly, and maybe most importantly, it has to walk a fine line between being a standing health code violation and the place you want to be on any given night. Check.

The Reel M Inn is dimly lit, dingy and filled with apparent regulars. It has free pool and other gaming, plus a spunky bartender who chats it up with customers she mostly knows by first name. Reel M Inn gets bonus points for the marked up ceiling beams, mounted deer racks, multiple neon signs and related grubby charm. Even the out of order men's toilet was a nice touch.

One way the Reel M Inn doesn't fit the dive bar shoe is food. An authentic dive bar ought to have crappy frozen pizza or some sort of stale packaged snack that patrons order only when drunk out of their gourds and desperate. Not the Reel M Inn, whose terrific chicken and jojos make it a destination for a lot of people...my wife, for example.

Since that initial visit, we've been back a couple of times. Those trips have been for the chicken and jojos, but I've come to appreciate the place for what it is. On the most recent trip, my wife wanted to play pool. The gents manning the table graciously invited her to play. There's a casual friendliness here that you don't find in most snobby beer bars.

Part of what's different is socioeconomic, I think. This isn't the same crowd you find at your typical pub or beer bar. A lot of these patrons are looking for drink deals, which come in the form of can prices and shot specials. There's a decent, if compressed, draft list. But Rainier and PBR pounders look to be the fastest movers. Along with low tier liquor. Big surprise.

The Reel M Inn lives down the street from where Division turns into an upscale arcade. The chatty bartender told me they get a fair number of tourists, folks who are evidently headed to the fancy digs a few blocks away and stumble in. Some of them must be shocked when they see this joint. If that keeps them from moving here, mission accomplished.

The thing is, this is what bars have always been about. We've lost sight of that a bit in our craft beer obsession. There's a warm camaraderie that isn't remotely concerned with beer at the Reel M Inn. It's based on conversation and community. Regulars migrate here daily, yet welcome visitors. You can be a pint drinking champion or a pool shark here. Or you can melt into the woodwork.

No way will the Reel M Inn become my Cheers bar. I'm fine where I am. But I'm glad I found it and I look forward to occasional visits. Because it reminds me of what's great about neighborhood dive bars and taverns.

For Widmer, the Future is Innovation

Monday evening, I attended an event at Widmer Brothers Brewing Pub, formerly known around these parts as the Gasthaus. A bunch of folks from the Portland beer community, mostly brewers, were invited to stop by, sample the beers and see the place Widmer now calls home. Fun evening.

I'd been there ahead of the event. Several weeks ago, I stopped by on the advice of someone who said the innovation program, lead by Thomas Bleigh, is putting out some nice beers. Sure enough, the beers were pretty good on both occasions.

The innovation and small batch program is almost certainly Widmer's future. Soon enough, the parent CBA will become a fully owned subsidiary of Anheuser-Busch. That deal, as I've suggested here and elsewhere, will probably happen by summer for contractual reasons. I'll be shocked if it doesn't.

The CBA made its shift in focus official the other day when it announced that John Glick, vice president of its emerging business unit, is quitting to pursue "other business opportunities." The emerging business unit, launched in 2015, was responsible for acquisitions (just one) and forming strategic partnerships. With a buyout imminent, there's nothing for Glick to do. He's gone, golden parachute pending.

At the same time, the company formalized its intent to refocus on innovation. It named Karmen Olson, the former director of emerging partnerships under Glick, as director of innovation. She promises an aggressive approach to innovation across the CBA portfolio. It's open season on that in this wacky beer climate, so she'll have some fun.

The innovation strategy first began to emerge a couple of months ago, when the CBA abruptly shuttered the Gasthaus Pub. That was mostly a cost-cutting move, intended to create a leaner CBA that would be more attractive to AB. But the underside of that move was and is the new Widmer Pub, which opened a few days later and features mostly small batch, specialty beers.

The CBA brass naturally denies that shutting down the emerging business unit and shifting to aggressive innovation signals that a buyout is on the horizon. That's par for the course, though. Buyouts in craft beer are always never going to happen until they're announced. Until then, operatives on both sides stonewall. You know the drill.

As I've detailed and you may know, AB's sole interest in the CBA is Kona, which is growing rapidly and has huge national and international potential. Given its current trajectory, I don't see how AB can afford not to have Kona. Widmer, along with its longtime Northwest stablemate, Redhook, will be altogether dispensable once the buyout happens. 

It's hard to say what will happen to Widmer in the wake of the deal. Whether it continues on as part of Anheuser-Busch's High End portfolio or is spun off as a separate entity, Widmer will have to feature a strong local and regional focus. Its national appeal has declined in recent times, thanks largely to the influx of new local breweries, but Widmer still has potential here. 

The key to getting some traction is going to be innovation. Small and inventive is the current buzz. Some would say Widmer has been innovating for years. If that's the case, those activities have gone largely unnoticed by those who follow local beer trends. Widmer has been widely regarded as a declining quasi-national brand without a future, the dysfunctional older sibling of Kona.

Nonetheless, they're on the right track. Pushing ahead aggressively with the innovation program is good business. The folks involved are doing a nice job and it provides a path forward, regardless of how things turn out. Stay tuned.