The Champagne of Blogs

A change is coming to this country. After many years, we’re being asked to change the way we see the world, to embark on a new chapter, one of hope, one of faith, but most importantly, one of deep reflection. The status quo hasn’t worked. Our collective attitude has proven costly, wasteful, and arrogant. It’s time for something new.

Oh, you thought I was talking about Obama? Yeah, he’s great. But this is a beer blog. Sure, we had an inauguration party last Tuesday, celebrating this new chapter in America’s history, but we also toasted another change: craft beer in cans.

Sure, beer has come in cans for a long time. As a matter of fact, the first beer can went on sale 74 years ago yesterday. The big guys have been doing it for years, with Coors adding such features as the chug-friendly “vented wide-mouth” and dubiously scientific “frost-brewed liner” to the form.

Until 2002, American beer in cans meant one thing: lagers, low on flavor, iced down so cold as to be tasteless. Oskar Blues brewing company in Colorado changed all that when they started releasing their craft beers in cans. It made good financial sense: glass is very expensive as a material, very heavy, and very fragile. Aluminum is cheap, light, and durable. Advances in liner materials prevented the beer from coming in contact with the aluminum the cans are made of, preventing the metallic taste synonymous with cheap beer.

I especially enjoyed the “Gordon,” a double IPA that reminded me of Hair of the Dog’s sweetish Blu Dot, but in a smaller form factor (which worked out well given its 8.7% abv).

Other breweries followed, and today, Cask Brewing Systems of Canada lists 41 US craft brewers as customers on their web site, including Oregon’s own Caldera Brewing Company in Ashland, makers of Caldera Pale Ale and the colorfully-canned camping trip standby Caldera IPA, modeled here by one Kevin Platt.

As a frequent beer traveller, I appreciate cans for their portability; every time I visit Minnesota, I make sure to pick up a few cans of Surly Brewing’s Furious and Bender (still waiting for Darkness to make its way to a can …), and toss them confidently in my checked luggage. When I bring home glass-encased beer, I always feel as if I’m playing Russian Roulette – I know it’s only a matter of time before my wedding suit is splashed in IPA.

Exhibit A: The two six-packs of canned craft beer that arrived on my doorstop last week, courtesy of 21st Amendment in San Francisco. Were they wrapped in plastic? Wound with bubble wrap? Triple-bagged for my protection? Hell, no! The cans came in a hastily-packed cardboard box with mere beer coasters for protection, and a handful of packing peanuts thrown in, more garnish than packing material. Cans intact? 100% survived the trip. Contrast that with my shipment of Belgian bottles, highly padded, dishonestly-labeled, and ultimately, broken in transit.

I was surprised by the Watermelon Wheat, having avoided it at the last three Oregon Brewers’ Festivals. I assumed it was a syrupy sweet fruit bomb designed for the sorority girl crowd, but it was surprisingly dry with strong watermelon aroma, and an almost vegetal bitterness that reminded me of rind. A bit light for winter drinking, but I can’t wait to try one this summer.

The true judge of the format, though? The people. And I’d say they had a pretty good time if the below photo is any measure. I noticed a funny thing on the way to this beer review: people were having a really good time with the canned beer. I host a fair number of beer tastings, and I sometimes sense some tension around the margins of the events – perhaps a fear of appearing unsophisticated? This time, even the less beer-experienced seem to really enjoy the wide variety of flavors (Watermelon Wheat, anyone?) now available in cans. I think the format is just a little more fun than people are used to having with something so delicious. Sometimes, it’s a good thing to put down the fancy stemware and get back to basics.

Oh, and it’s a lot easier to clean up after a canned beer party than a glassy one.