Beer Writer of the Year Ben McFarland compares the Great American Beer Festival to our own.
I've just returned from the Great American Beer Festival (GABF) in Denver, Colorado, where my flabber was well and truly gasted.
The GABF is no ordinary beer festival. It's a mouth-watering Mecca for beer lovers, where even the most fair-weather of hop heads salivate and rub their thighs in glee.
If the relocation from Olympia to Earls Court is to (hopefully) usher in a revamp of the much-maligned British equivalent, then the powers-that-be at CAMRA shouldn't take a leaf out of the Americans' book but rather the entire chapter and verse.
There may not be much cask ale, but in terms of sheer size, depth and breadth of flavours, missionary zeal and unadulterated entrepreneurial verve, the GABF knocks the GBBF into a cocked Stetson.
Just have a peek at the vital statistics: 1,669 beers on tap (a Guinness World Record for having the most beers tapped in to one location) from 47 states and representing 380 American breweries. Over three days, more than 18,000 gallons are poured for 28,000 visitors.
Beer is free and unlimited but to promote measured contemplation rather than mass consumption, visitors are handed a small tasting cup that can only be blessed with single one-ounce measures. Each server wears a T-shirt adorned with the message "Less is more we won't over pour! Savour the flavour responsibly".
It's a rather effective and cunning plan. Given the alcohol-enhancing altitude of the Mile-High city and the average strength of American craft beer (stumbling around the five or six per cent mark), a pint glass would be a silly idea.
The smaller receptacle facilitates extensive exploration of the jaw-dropping diversity of America's incredible craft-brewing scene. While nearly all US craft beers can trace their origins to European roots, the artesian brewers currently transforming the landscape of US beer are crafting brews that are bigger, brasher and boast bigger balls than anything being produced in Europe.
On my whistle-stop saunter around the festival, I met with hugely-hopped Indian pale ales, strapping stouts, take-no-prisoner porters, wacky wheat beers and chewy, nutty amber ales with equally leftfield names such as "Crazy Jackass Ale", "Karolina Wit", "Dysfunctionale", "Ich Bin Ein Berliner Weisse" and "Most Beer Judges are Bone Heads".
At the GABF, the envelope is less pushed, more it's given a big boot up the backside. High-octane highlights include a Hawaiian brewer whose Russian Imperial Stout is matured in Buffalo Trace bourbon barrels from Kentucky with a texture smoother than a Moscow backhander. Another is a Colorado-based brewing collective that's breathing life back into Sahti, a traditional Finnish farmhouse ale brewed with pine needles and twigs.
Almost as noteworthy from a British perspective is the profile of those visiting. If you thought the GBBF was the only beer festival with its knockers, then think again. In Denver, there are loads of lovely ladies drinking unusual beer; the demographic is significantly younger and funkier, there are less bellies, and while beards are aplenty, they're of the Brad Pitt rather than Brian Blessed variety. There's first rate food and music, a designated driver zone with sofas, magazines and chess boards, a PA system that you can understand, free masseurs are available for those somehow finding the consumption of first-class beers a little stressful and the petty politics that so often overshadow the GBBF are conspicuous by their absence.
In Denver lager is not a naughty word and the triumvirate of US brewing - Anheuser-Busch, Miller and Coors - are welcomed with open arms. When Anheuser-Busch picked up three medals for its Michelob speciality beer range, people clapped and cheered. They didn't boo and hiss.
"Our philosophy is that the GABF is a celebration of American beer culture and the big brewers are part of that," says Charles Papazian, president of the Brewers Association. "There are a lot of people who drink craft beers that also drink Bud Light."
With beer in the UK on the back foot, surely there's something to be said for adopting a similarly enlightened approach to the showcasing of British beer. Maybe I've been in America for too long but I reckon it's about time the beer community had a group hug.
Ben McFarland was awarded the title of Beer Writer of the Year 2004 by the British Guild of Beer Writers.