Who’d have thought? Hops have become mainstream national news. As the saying goes: be careful what you wish for.
Over-hopped IPAs and pale ales have become fashionable. And it seems Oregon hop growers are forecasting a shortage as they struggle to meet demand.
This was worthy of note across the national press, including a report in The Guardian that forecast the imminent demise of craft beer. We beer writers get jealous of each other on these rare occasions when a mainstream paper commissions one of us to write something.
Hipsters
So who was this beer expert warning us our beloved IPAs were soon to be no more? Harriet Walker — a fashion journalist (I have since been pitching my views on the best dresses to wear this summer to the same paper, but apparently it doesn’t work the other way round).
Walker’s contention was that the only people who drink hoppy craft beer are east London hipsters, and the only reason they drink it is because it’s trendy. The nasty subtext of the piece was that, obviously, it would be bizarre for beer to become popular because of its intrinsic qualities.
Like growing stupid beards or wearing clothes your grandparents would regard as a bit square, people are only drinking beer as some kind of ironic statement. They’ve had their fun, and it’s time to stop being silly now.
I’m ashamed to say my comment in response was deleted as it did not meet the standards of online debate.
But although Walker’s cocktail of spite and effluent was the worst piece of writing about beer I have ever seen, she is not alone in her views. Some people who have actually been to pubs and drunk beer on occasion share her overall viewpoint, if not her breathtaking ignorance.
Trends
Recently the editor of the PMA used his leader column to rail against the fashion for over-hopped beers. He at least had the good grace to caveat his piece massively, claiming a poor palate and an estranged relationship from the latest trends. I did agree with one or two points he made.
But he ultimately fell into the same trap as Walker, seeing overtly hoppy ales as a hipster trend.
I recall several traditional cask brewers saying the same thing a few years ago, before they jumped on the bandwagon and began making over-hopped beers themselves.
So let’s get a few things straight.
While the hip bars of east London may well now be the visible epicentre of the craft-beer movement, London was just about the last place in the UK to cotton on to the trend.
Painfully fashionable BrewDog started seven years ago in a Scottish port. Thornbridge, which first brewed Jaipur in 2005, is based in the fashion capital of Bakewell, Derbyshire. Magic Rock — the most lupulin-obsessed brewer I know — was setting up shop in trendy Huddersfield, West Yorks, before most of London’s current crop of brewers had even tasted a Citra hop.
What motivated them and countless others in all parts of the country to career-swerve into small-batch brewing from their diverse backgrounds?
Anyone who bothers to ask will get a one-word answer: flavour.
Privilege
The first time I tasted US-hopped IPA, my life changed. The citrus and pine on the nose, the sharpness, the fruity, floral explosion on the palate followed by an assertive yet seductive bitterness rounding off and balancing the whole thing out… as I said in the book I was writing at the time, it was like tasting in colour instead of black and white for the first time.
I was in America, and on my return I spent two years searching for similar flavours over here. When I found them, I shared them with others.
Every time, the result was the same. It’s a privilege to see someone tasting a Goose Island IPA, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale or Thornbridge Jaipur for the first time and watch the wonder spread across their face. It’s an honour to be the person who gives them that beer and urges them to try it.
I’ve been saying for years that these beers convert friends who thought they didn’t like beer — particularly women. Since 2005, the tropical fruit cocktail of hops in Thornbridge Jaipur has won more prizes at beer festivals than any other beer in the UK.
The craft-beer movement based on US hoppy styles has spread around the globe in an astonishingly short time, with similar brews now being made everywhere, from Bangalore to Bergen.
Seismic
It’s inevitable that something with such dramatic potency should go through a ‘trendy’ phase on its journey from obscurity to mainstream. Something similar happened to coffee, tea, chocolate and sugar, when they were first introduced to the UK from the colonies of the New World.
Each was attacked as a threat, then dismissed as a fad, before becoming part of the furniture.
Yes, there are quality issues, unscrupulous bandwagon jumpers and people drinking it because it is fashionable. And, yes, it would be nice if more brewers made greater use of struggling English hop varieties. But this new (to us) style of ale is the most seismic thing to happen to beer for 40 years.
Dismiss it at your peril.