Exhibit A: I hate the poncey, arrogant, cicerone crap. If there has ever been a greater crime committed in the name of wine-ifying beer, I don’t know what it is.
Exhibit B: I've always hated it too, because it's boring as hell. And what is this supposed "Belgian" character?
For a social binder, beer sure does attract hate. I wouldn't say hatred so much as "hate" because I think in this context the word "hate" means something between mild irritation and the mere taking notice of something. Which may be as good a hallmark as anything for identifying when something is not "beer writing" or at least a safe indicator we are in the neighbourhood of the not so good. Speaking of hate in relation to beery stuff is about as useful as "fisking" is to discussions in blog comments. Happy, "fisking" died a number of years ago, likely when the last person recalled conversing on Usenet fondly. I don't think all blogging will follow down that path but maybe something needs to change.
There is much moanery going about, no doubt induced by the date being in late February and that sudden small glut of social media guru created craft beer enthusiast videos in the email in-box promising it is good for the bottom line, it is good for women, it is good for liver function, it is good for whatever you need it to be good for. Three weeks from now, grapefruit league baseball and setting the clocks forward will fix everything. That and a good healthy wave of bloggers making fun of larger craft brewers separately and collectively pretending, again, that they don't have PR strategies or advertising consultants but are purer, elf-like artisans merely mixing malt, hop and water as part alchemy and part gift to us all. Reality is found in the best rule so far: it is only beer.
Yet, as things beery, it is really great and worth writing about when it is well done. And few do it as well as Boak and Bailey have from London, the home they soon leave. When I read about their upcoming move to Cornwall, I immediately looked forward to reading about their new surroundings, new discoveries. A gentle spot that I hope continues as the whirl of anxious opinion and sticky fingers spins and shifts.