Beer Diary...

  Why IPA Foam Ain’t What It Used to Be After spending two years nestled in the warm tortilla-fold of Michoacan, Mexico, I returned to California expecting certain things: traffic, overpriced avocados, and IPAs with foam — you know, the normal stuff. But no. The craft beer I once knew had changed — like an old friend who used to be the life of the party but now sighs a lot and wears Hokas. What struck me most — and yes, it felt personal — was the absence of head. Not mine, though arguably that’s long gone, but the kind that used to crown a pint glass with snowy, cloud-like dignity. These days, every IPA I’m handed at the bar or I pour from a can has the low carbonation of a forgotten bottle of sparkling water that’s been sitting in the back of the fridge since last Christmas, and the lack of foam that makes me question everything I thought I knew about what a good IPA should be. There it sits in front of me, hoppy as hell, yes — but also just liquid disappointment and th...

 T he beer was called Josephsbrau. It sat on the shelf at Trader Joe’s with a label faded and forgettable, a name like a whisper in a language I used to know. There were no Boatswain lagers that day. No proof for the theory I’d come to test. Only this wheat beer. Amber and solemn. A thing waiting to be chosen. I took it home. It poured the color of dusted brass. Too dark, maybe. Heavy in the glass. The smell rose up like something old and honest—clove and banana and grain. A wheat beer from the old world. Or the ghost of one. I drank it and it was good. Not perfect. But good in the way something can be when it surprises you and asks nothing more than that you notice. I believed it was brewed by Gordon Biersch, down in San Jose. And the name brought something back. A restaurant in Aptos the Brittania Arms, years ago. A man behind a bar. Dan Gordon. There was a promotion, some cheap celebration. Buy a pint and get a mug. A man like me doesn’t turn down a mug. So I did. And the b...

  D o you remember that old Smucker’s jam commercial? “With a name like Smucker’s, it has to be good.” I suppose the idea was that no one would dare saddle a product with such an unfortunate name unless it had something redeeming inside the jar. I thought about that as I stared down a six-pack of Boatswain IPA at Trader Joe’s—the beer equivalent of an off-brand cereal trying its best to look earnest. At $5.99, it practically leapt into my cart, whispering, “I won’t hurt you... much.” I wanted it to be good. Not out of optimism, exactly, but out of necessity. A beer that cheap has to be good, otherwise what’s the point of capitalism? But the name— Twin Screw Steamer —sounded less like an India Pale Ale and more like a nautical mishap. And sure enough, it drank like one. Imagine a rusty barge moored in a Wisconsin inlet, full of malt syrup, the scent of cardboard, and the gentle fizz of regret. From what I could gather in the 37 seconds I spent Googling it, Rhinelander Brewing Co.—n...