The craft beer industry has grown by leaps and bounds over the past ten years.  Now, in the beginning, that was a good thing.  We were becoming more like Europe, where in countries such as Germany, it seems like every small town has their own brewery, and the beers there are generally good, unique, and flavorful.

The first brew pubs were packed here in the U.S., and for connoisseurs of that wonderful, malty beverage, it was a golden age.  Beer meisters experimented with different hops and barley combinations, used local ingredients, and in the beginning, some places produced some solid standouts.  Plus, it was a great way to thumb our collective consumer noses at the big national breweries, whose swill we’d been forced to overpay and tolerate for decades.

But something happened on the way to all of that beer deliciousness.

Capitalism.

Suddenly, every guy with a goatee and a garage thought that he, too, should get in the microbrewery business and make a buck.  Breweries began popping up everywhere, and I mean everywhere, like a lawn full of unwanted dandelions or actor Ryan Reynolds.  In my local area alone, there are now more than seventeen brewpubs and local alehouses to choose from, with more on the way.

So, let’s talk about some of that beer.  Let’s be honest, most of it isn’t that good.  Some of it is borderline undrinkable.  As it turns out, you can make beer out of just about anything, but in the words of Dr. Ian Malcolm (played by Jeff Goldblum in the movie “Jurassic Park”), just because someone can do something doesn’t necessarily mean that they should.

These mad scientists make beer out of “ancient grains”, add in extra hops to make their brews more bitter than a divorcee with three unruly kids and a condo mortgage, and drop in anything they can find from the pantry that will ferment.

There are sours, homemade kombuchas, triple-IPAs, stouts, porters, shandies, ales, lagers, seltzers, and pilsners – literally made out of anything from the garden (or found growing in the alleyway).  They’ve amped up the alcohol content so high in some of these brews that it’s like downing tequila and cold medicine all mixed in the same glass.  If you ask a bartender what’s in some of these concoctions, you’ll get some long winded explanation, like “our brew master takes locally grown hops and grains imported from an abandoned orphanage in Belgium, then mixes it with gooseberries, the petals of pressed tulips (only the red ones), some horse sweat, amps up the alcohol to 12.5%, and serves it in a specially-made organic glass that’s been chilled for twelve hours in our custom-made coolers.”

Huh?  I just wanted a beer.

And don’t get me started on some of these beer names. Just throw some words together.  “Kinetic Firefly”, “With Six You Get Belly Rolls”, “Grandma’s Couch Cushions”, “I Fear for My Safety”, “Hunchback Llama”, “Who Farted?”, or “That Time I Threw Up in Reno”.  There you are, budding entrepreneurs, the starting line-up for your new venture.  No need to thank me.  Oh, and feel free to charge $8 a glass for this unwanted garbage.  Can a guy just get a solidly produced, normal, brown ale in this joint?  

Look out, local wineries and distilleries, I see you on the same flight path.

Cheers, everyone.