Don't Trust a Beer You Can See Through

Somewhere between Arcata and Missoula, on a long road trip with beer as the organizing principle.

I’ve been thinking about how I got here — meaning how I got from “I don’t like beer” to the person who plans road trips partially around brewery stops.

When I was growing up, my Dad drank Budweiser. That was what beer tasted like, so I thought I didn’t like beer.

In college, friends Ken and Todd introduced me to stouts and porters in England. At the time, English ale was what the Americans were complaining about when they said warm flat beer. I thought it was magnificent. Something clicked.

My current position: I prefer stouts, porters, nut browns. The Dogfish Head Raison d’Etre, which I had from a bottle at seven dollars at a taphouse in Arcata, tasted like a fine wine that had also been a beer. I’ve been thinking about that beer for years.

The rule I’ve developed: don’t trust a beer you can see through.

This is a simplification. There are good light beers. But as a heuristic for ordering in an unfamiliar place — a rule that spares you from making the Budweiser mistake again — it’s held up pretty well. When in doubt, order the thing that looks like the inside of a fireplace. You’ll be fine.

Someday I’d like to start a craft beer tour that works the same way as the itinerary I built for this trip: anchor a route around breweries you haven’t been to, fill in the geography as you go.