Aug. 3, 2012
An article appeared on my desk not too long ago, lovingly
torn from the pages of The Denver Post, with a headline that implored me to
“Shatter those pint glasses, for the love of beer.” In the clip, Josh Noel, of
the Chicago Tribune, spelled out the latest step in the ascension of beer
culture: glassware.
Noel lamented the fact that though American beer is no
longer “largely terrible,” most establishments continue to serve everything
from mass-produced domestics to high-octane specialty beers in pint glasses.
These glasses are durable, stackable and can withstand the constant abuse of
commercial dishwashers and clumsy patrons, but believe it or not, they can
actually detract from your beer-drinking experience.
In the 1950s, the idea was introduced to wine-quaffing
circles that the size, shape and even thickness of a glass can dramatically
change the aromas and flavors that are imparted to the consumer. The father of
this radical deviation in drinking was Claus Josef Riedel, a ninth-generation
glassmaker from Austria.
Since then, the Riedel company has produced a slew of
varietal-specific wine glasses, enlisting help from panels of vintners who
compare style after style of glass to determine the perfect vessel for each
vintage. So, what does this have to do with beer and, more specifically, the
notion that my collection of pints should be pitched off the nearest rooftop?
With the advent of the craft-brewing boom, a few companies
started creating glasses specifically for their brews. According to Maximilian
Riedel, Claus’ grandson and CEO of Riedel Crystal of America, those original
forays into matching a beer with a glass were more marketing ploy than science.
This still left a vapid gap between the ever-evolving glassware for wine and
the archaic mugs and clunky glasses into which bartenders were sloshing our
precious brews. Into this void marched Spiegelau, which is attempting a beer
glass revolution in the same vein as parent company Riedel’s mind-blowing
epiphany of the 1950s.
Maximilian said consumers in North America are educated
about their beer and brewers are starting to demand that the care and quality
put into each craft brew be mirrored in the shell that Spiegelau builds to
contain it. To accomplish this, the same method is employed with beer glasses
as is used with Riedel’s wine glasses. Panels of brewers taste their specific
styles of beer in different glasses, narrowing them down to which shapes
capture the aromas, which sizes help dissipate the alcohol hit in the bigger
beers and which glass thicknesses direct the beer to the proper parts of the
palate.
The research has paid off, and Spiegelau now makes a handful
of glasses for specific beer styles — wheat, lager and pilsner among them —
which have been fine-tuned over the past few years. The latest project for the
company is a collaboration with Sierra Nevada and Dogfish Head to create an
India pale ale glass. I’m looking forward to building a new collection of
proper beer glasses as they roll off the line — from now on, the pints will be
reserved for vodka root beers and margaritas.
If you want to learn more about the beer-glass revolution,
check out the Beaver Creek Wine & Spirits Festival’s Spiegelau beer glass
seminar on Aug. 10. For more information or to buy tickets, visit www.beavercreek.com and click on “Events
and Activities” and then “Wine & Spirits Festival.”
From the Fridge: Left Hand Milk Stout
As I haven’t yet had the opportunity to grow my collection
of beer glasses, I poured this sweet, dark beer into a wine glass.
Specifically, I put it in a rose bud-shaped Riedel glass designed for pinot
noir. The bell of the glass opened up the flavors of the beer, and the tapered
and flared lip concentrated the aromas of cream-and-sugar coffee. If you
already have a collection of wine glasses, they can serve in a pinch to elevate
your beer. As Noel said, even leaving it in a bottle is better than ruining it
in a pint glass.
Glass snobbery aside, this beer is one of my favorite
stalwarts of the Colorado brewery compendium. The hue is a deep brown, almost
black, with a thick brown head, and the blend of six different malts weaves an
intricate pattern below the easy-drinking surface. Left Hand made this beer
sweet by using milk sugar, commonly known as lactose, in the brewing process,
which gives it a much different aftertaste and mouth feel than other sweet
stouts.
Pair this beer with sweet barbecue or chicken and waffles
with a giant pat of maple butter. Or bake it into cupcakes with one of the
recipes on the Left Hand website.
I dumped this beer from the wine glass into a pint glass
just to see what all of the fuss was about. Almost immediately, the coffee and
chocolate notes disappeared, leaving behind a sort of flat, milky nose. The
pretty head on the beer also receded rapidly. Though still delicious, it proved
that perhaps the Spiegelau guys are on to something.
Krista Driscoll
Hophead
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