The Message is in Your Hand

As a brewmaster of almost 20 years, I often get a chuckle listening to our tour guides. My office sits next to the brew house, and every afternoon, I can look through my window and see a gaggle of beer lovers gathering around the copper kettles to learn the story of Boulder Beer and how we make it. One of our marketing people, with a beer in one hand, will be pointing out the mash tun or the brew kettle, and tossing out a Twitter-ready version of the brewing process that makes our job as brewers seem as complicated as working behind the counter at the local coffeehouse.

Sometimes, they’ll poke their heads in and ask me to step out and say a few things. Before I do, they’ll tell me which things they want me to say, depending on this season’s “messaging.” “Remember to mention the 30th anniversary,” they’ll say, or, “Flashback rolls out next week,” as if I hadn’t scheduled the brewing, packaging and shipping from my desk. And, after a little good-natured banter, I do step out and say something.

But the real message is in their hands. Boulder Beer has never been driven by marketing. Our brewery’s mission statement talks about great beer, great people and a great workplace. There’s nothing about focus groups, sales figures or the latest trends. We make beer. We make beer that we’d like to drink and we take pride in it, and we know that if we like it, someone else will.

Thirty years ago, here in Boulder, a couple of guys no older than myself got together in a goat shed and thought the same thing. About the same time, somewhere in northern California, the same thought processes took hold, and in Boston a few years after that. Next thing you know, there are a couple thousand of us around the country with questionable fashion sense looking at our reflections in the mirror behind the bar, saying, “Hey, I’ve got a pretty cool job.”

I’m hardly one to talk about fashion, but the fashion in the beer world is to come up with what’s been called “extreme beer.” We make a few of those ourselves; it’s deeply satisfying to take a sip or two of higher-octane brews with more flavor than is currently on the shelf, and we feel like snobs in tennis shoes.

Of course, the average beer buyer would crinkle their nose but feign admiration before passing it by on their way to actually buying a comforting old favorite.

In the movie The Devil Wears Prada, Meryl Streep’s character draws a line from the runways of Parisian designers to the sale bins at Casual Corner. When you think about it, it’s true: The wild stuff worn by the fashionistas of New York is a long way from my cargo shorts and bike shoes, but if some designer hadn’t put those pockets on the legs of their models…

The same comparison can be made taking a trip along the taps at our own tasting room. Our customers are excited to try the newest, biggest experimental beers from our brewers, but it’s the old favorites that outsell the crazy new stuff. After a while, the new beers settle in to become old favorites, and those that don’t, fade away. One thing about being around awhile is that we’ve had more than one flagship brand over the years.

When we rolled out a dry-hopped, unfiltered Amber Ale eight years ago, it was a crazy, bold, new idea brewed on a 50-gallon system by a brewer who thought it might taste good. Today, Hazed & Infused is our number one seller, available in 30 states—and considered a “session beer” by some of my old friends in Portland, Ore. The same could be said for the original beers produced by the guys in the Boulder Beer goat shed when they brought out a Porter, or the “traditional” beers from our compatriots on the coasts.

I can see how it’s easy for beer snobs to look down on session beers. They’re not new. They’re not big. They’re not different. But they were once, and it’s our old favorites that pay the bills. Why? Because most people like them.

I can’t bust the chops of the “extreme beers.” The brewers that come up with those—our brewers included—are no different from the Parisian clothiers that top off their waifs with wacky hats. Next year, or the year after, a version of one of those extreme brews will be in half-barrel kegs on top of ice in the trash cans of every frat house across the country.

However, I can—and do—bust the chops of our marketing people. While they might be pushing what’s next, what’s new, what’s big, they might just be holding the next “classic.” But I have to give them credit: They don’t drink the beer because they have to. They like it. And that’s the message.

Oh, and did I mention it’s our 30th anniversary and that Flashback rolls out next week? ■