Quite simply I never thought I’d enjoy a beer brewed in the USA as much as one brewed over here. I always thought American beer was Miller this and Budweiser that, and as if it wasn’t tasteless enough in its original form they went and made it worse by rolling out ‘lite’ or ‘diet’ varieties, two strains that have me running for the hills, screaming like a banshee.
Of course I’d heard of micro-breweries in the US taking our invention - as Americans have taken so many things cobbled together by us Brits - and giving it a much needed kick up the arse. But I thought the notion of micro-breweries on t’other side of the Pond taking the world by storm was a mere affectation touted by professional beer lovers with a book to sell.
So about that hat; I have never been proved so wonderfully, so utterly and magnificently wrong when it came to American beer as I was this past week. I happily take back all my scepticism, all my doubt and misgivings, for I have just been to the Mid-West and I have discovered for myself just how wonderful the beers in that part of the world truly are.
Sure, you can still order something bland and lemonade-like in a bar such as the (amazing) Winking Lizard in Akron, Ohio if you really want to. But you’d be much better off plumping for one of at least a dozen different draught micro-beers, all ranked along the four sided island bar. Or have a stab at some of the 100-plus bottled beers from across the US that are on offer.
I decided to stick to beers made in the area, although my early attempts to identify a brew from just down the road initially ran into trouble, thanks to my Sarf London burr being somewhat incomprehensible to the natives.
Still, I persevered and eventually discovered that the Founders Brewery of nearby Grand Rapids, Michigan produces some amazing stuff, notably - in my book at least - the punchy Centennial IPA (7.5%). This is a beer guaranteed to put a HUGE smile on your face.
Then there’s Eliot Ness, a stonking yet at 6.5% relatively subtle amber beer from the Great Lakes Brewery in Cleveland, which also makes Nosferatu, a palate-pulverising dark ale.
I was also much taken with Detroit’s Motor City Brewery’s Ghettoblaster; true, it was quite tame compared with the aforementioned ales, but was still a flavoursome way to kick off an evening in that much-beleaguered part of the world.
There were others that bordered on the wonderful, of course, but these were my highlights. I am happy to admit this as a fact. It also helps that they go down very well with my old Homburg...
Hamish Champ writes about pubs and other stuff.
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