Repeat after me: beer should be fun and bring people together.
It should be stating the obvious, considering folks have been gathering and drinking beer for centuries. It is truly a social lubricant, as they say. In many ways, the craft beer movement has only helped solidify beer as a drink everyone can enjoy: people who never liked pale mass-produced lagers can try a fruited Belgian lambic or an intensely citric and aromatic New England-style IPA and realize that they’re beer people, after all. They just didn’t know it.
But it seems every movement, as they expand, has that small minority that wants to keep it to themselves. Snobs. And craft beer has ’em, too. Don’t get me wrong: beer is wonderfully complex and diverse and should be respected and appreciated every bit as much as fine food and wine. Snobbery and exclusivity shouldn’t exist in food and wine (there’s a separate conversation to be had about that) — but it’s particularly antithetical to beer, considering its proletarian history.
I’ve always tried to keep this in mind when I write about beer, but occasional reminders are always welcome. I got one the other day, when I was at the grand opening of Red Bison Brewery in Calgary. I was chatting with a group of friends about some of the new breweries in Calgary and Edmonton when a woman sitting with hers at the end of the table (the brewery has communal seating) piped up, “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and it sounds like you’re speaking my language.” We ended up talking about beer for a few a minutes before I went back to my friends and she returned to hers. I’d say it was a welcome intrusion — but it wasn’t an intrusion at all.
My recent encounter at Red Bison was a lot like how I envision this site: a place where anyone with an abiding interest in craft beer or someone who’s just curious about it can drop in, join the conversation and not feel left out. My training as a journalist taught me to write for a wide audience and that’s my intention here. I also think being inclusive is the beery thing to do.
The values of honesty and transparency I learned as a journalist are also cornerstones of my relationship with you, the audience. My mission, in addition to hopefully entertaining people, is to write knowledgeably and engagingly about craft beer and point people to some good beers along the way. That means being independent. I’ll still have my opinions, but they won’t be influenced by any business relationships I have with anyone in the beer industry — because there aren’t any. If I’m a fan of a particular beer or brewery, I guarantee you my endorsement hasn’t been paid for. Fancy product shots may excite brewery marketing reps, but I’m not sure they tell a reader anything about whether a beer is good or not.
Before anyone grabs their popcorn waiting for the negative reviews to roll in, something to keep in mind: a byproduct of my independence is that I pay for the vast majority of beer I drink, and I tend to spend my money on beer I already like or on new releases from breweries with a proven (to me) track record. If you want to know more about my approach, check out my about page or my policy on beer samples.
Despite all the journalism talk — which is done, I promise — Original Levity isn’t a news site. Burnout is a common phenomenon among writers and I want to avoid it by starting sustainably: look for quick hits with my thoughts on the latest beer l’ve tried or some pics from a recent brewery visit. That doesn’t mean there won’t be longer-form articles and profiles of Alberta beer folks when time permits or the story warrants it. That also doesn’t mean I won’t get serious if the topic calls for it. I guess Original Levity will be like a lot of conversations had over a beer: friendly, engaging and lively, but occasionally serious. Oh, and there will be hockey. Beer and hockey are a classic pairing and two of my loves. I definitely plan to work in some hockey talk.
Grab a beer and join me, won’t you?