[continued from part I]

So what exactly is the point of being selective about your beer? Wine snobs are generally nerve-grating for their seemingly BS reviews of oaky tannins, thick, rich mouthfeels and robust or seductive mid-palettes. These types of fans, while appreciative and enthusiastic, are almost more enamored by their own ability to dissect the substance. This contemplative navel-gazing is great (though expensive), but innevitably you come off sounding like a jackass.

To the other extent, though, there is great contrast between a $5.99 case of beer and an $11.99 six pack. And while I won’t wax intellectual about the aromatic use of Cascade hops instead of Chinook, I have slowly learned to recognize the subtle distinction. And the process is in fact where the hobby is, and gaining appreciation is the ultimate goal.

In all of this discovery of beer, it’s not the perfect beer that I’m after. I’ve realized something quite fundamental about myself. Simply put, I am too easily enamored by things involving a blend of strict methodology and creative adaptation. Car detailing, cooking, homebrewing, audio, web design…all of my hobbies that have occupied my free time over the years involve this mixture.

Each starts with a desire to gain appreciation by understanding how it all works. Perhaps my father’s engineering mind was imparted to me in a larger quantity than I think. In order to fall further in love with music, I want it to sound more pure, which involves learning about the science (gasp!) behind how it is produced and replicated…and then into how it is applied in specific environments. Cooking, making beer, they’re all the same. I want to love more, I want to learn and I want to not just blindly accept what’s out there commercially for my immediate consumption. Each turn brings more tweaking, more refinement and greater understanding (hopefully).

The Wife™ always looks at me with great wariness when I explain another half-cracked idea. She never gets why I would rather grind my own spices or roast my own coffee beans or hand squeeze my lemonade as opposed to the simplicity of buying the store-bought variety. She watches me get frustrated as I learn, she lovingly stands by my foul moods when my self-taught research leads me astray. But to me, the comprehension of how something works makes the final do-it-yourself version even better. I could buy bread at the store (and still do), but making it myself allows me to know what exactly I’m consuming, as well as helping me to acquire specific skills that can be transfered to other areas (e.g. yeast behavior, cell colony replication and maintenance is knowledge that is fundamental to beer making).

I know that at the end of the day, I can be too absorbed in my endless hours of research. If anyone truly knew how much free time I spent reading, analyzing and learning, I would certainly be embarrassed. But again, I’ve come to realize that this eternal student inside of me is just a part of who I am. And if my breadsticks aren’t perfect or you prefer that uncarbonated moose pee over one of my own ales, I don’t mind. The journey that got me there was worth a fair penny more than the final product.