Beer Frontier. Aventures of a Beer Activist.

Organic Beers
However, rather than try to squeeze a case of long necks into a box of pony bottles, I'll skip those stories for now and pick up at the present. To fully enjoy this pint-sized ale tale, I suggest you celebrate the summer and try a bottle of Wolavers new Wit beer. Its crisp, refreshing, and made with organic barley, wheat, and hops. What could be better on a warm sunny day?

Speaking of organic wheat beers, Riedenburgers Weizen Premium is also delicious, as well as organic. There is an empty bottle of it sitting on my window sill along with about fifteen other organic beers that I've discovered while residing here at Schumacher College, The Old Postern, Dartington, near Totnes, Devon, the west of England (that address makes me thirsty just saying it).

Organic beer is widely available here in the U.K. Some supermarkets even have their own house brands. But organic beers are spreading in the US too. Check out Roger Protz' Organic Beer Guide, or just google the internet for organic beer. Look for a longer feature on organic beers in a future column of Fermenting Revolution.

Faggots in Gravy
The River Dart, a tidal river, ebbs and flows near my little room here at the College. Tidal rivers are important because of the unique estuary ecosystems they create. But I've been swimming in what is more like a river of ale. Real ales and rough ciders abound in the surrounding country pubs. What's more is that I have already attended two beer festivals in as many weeks. Keith Floyd is apparently a famous personality on British TV. I had never heard of the guy until I happened to pick up a used copy of On Hangovers, one of the many books he has penned. It turns out the beer festival I attended the next day was in his former pub, the Maltsters Arms, in Tuckenhay. The next event was the Plymouth CAMRA chapter's annual Beer Festival, held of course, in Plymouth, a town on the south western English coast. This otherwise unremarkable event (except in the fact that they did have nearly 200 real ales and ciders on tap which is nothing short of amazing in itself) was made more worthwhile by taking in some of the local Plymouth color. We dined in a fish and chips shop whose menu boasted 'faggots in gravy' for 1 pound seventy pence. Then we walked down to 'The Hoe' to watch blue-haired octogenerians playing 'bowls'.

Gaia Theorist Wingnuts
A word about my current beer-quest sponsor, so to speak. Schumacher College is an international center for ecological studies. The place is crawling with earth-activist, Gaia theorist, eco-feminist, chaos physicist, wingnuts like James Lovelock, Lynn Margulis, and Fritjof Capra. Being among misunderstood geniuses like these people makes me feel right at home of course. After all, more than a few people raise an eyebrow in concern for my mental health when I tell them I am writing a book about how beer is saving the world - as if that's a crazy idea or something. Gaia theory suggests that Earth acts like a big living organism, and all life on Earth is interconnected and interdependent.

I first discovered Schumacher College six years ago when I attended a five week course here about ecology, economics & globalization. The course instructors - some of the world's top experts in this emergent area of study (among them, Wolfgang Sachs of the Wuppertal Institute, and Martin Khor of the Third World Network), impressed us with their detailed knowledge of how unfair and unsustainable global trading practices are leading the planet to disaster.

In contrast to these famous experts, my own budding inquiry into beer must have looked rather ill-informed and unrefined at the time. In fact I recall making disparaging remarks about the 'wet sock' odor of English ales. Whereas today, a much improved beer enthusiast, I still think English beer tastes like wet socks, but now I quite like that about them. And what's more, England's 'real ales' are a vital part of the movement to save the planet by relying on local, craft production.

To Ale in a Handcart
Returning to Schumacher after so many years, I find I am far less interested in concentrating on how the world is going to hell in a hand basket and quite a bit more fascinated with how it is going to ale in a handcart.

In Britain, real ale is served, as Americans like to say, warm and flat. But a better description is that they are served at proper cellar temperature. And far from being flat, they are poured with only their naturally occurring carbon dioxide. That means they don't have a tube of CO2 running into the keg pressurizing them with forced carbonation, i.e. making them very fizzy.

Both of these attributes (warm and flat, that is) are good for the planet as well as the palate. The lack of industrial refrigeration required is a clear benefit in energy savings. Refrigerators are pretty inefficient to begin with, and they are often the most energy intensive equipment in any house or restaurant. The associated cost savings in utilities is also a boon for the publican.

The natural level of carbonation is good in two ways. First, carbon gasses are a major contributor to climate change, so limiting them is a good thing. Second, when combined with cellar serving temperature, the minimal carbonation allows for maximum enjoyment of the delightful wet sock aroma and flavor of these ales (some beer tasters prefer words like biscuity, earthy, or bready, to describe these flavors and aromas, but I'll stick with 'wet sock', 'locker room', and 'farty'). Cold and fizzy is actually a smart way of covering up the lack of flavor in many beers. Its actually a simple concept that wine drinkers already understand: the flavors in a glass of red wine, for example, are more pronounced when the wine is not served ice cold; and who would ever dream of pumping fizz into a fine dry merlot? Though, in fact, worse is done. How about an island-themed wine cooler, fresh from the fridge and popping with bubbles? Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you. In fact, in a way it sounds delicious. Indeed, I think people should drink whatever they want, whenever they want. And if mass-marketed, ice cold, alcoholic, sugary, fizz-water is what you want, then by all means go for it. But, well, you know. I'm just sayin.

Try a real ale, conditioned in the cask, and served at cellar temperature. You might just find that you like it more than your standard bland and fizzy lager.

According to Experts
Although some of the folks here at Schumacher seem dubious of my beer pursuit, many are quite enthusiastic. One of the visiting lecturers, Bill Dunster, architect of the pioneering BedZED project, a zero-energy housing development in London, had this to say:

"The most important feature of all of the projects we build is the bar. It is the only way to kick start a new community socially."

John and Nancy Jack Todd, two other lecturers here, who are world renown for their living machines, which use living organisms to clean wastewater, shared with me some of their work on an eco-industrial park that includes a brewery. The design utilizes spent brewing grain and wastewater to raise mushrooms and fish, as well as to create energy using a biogas digester. It turns out the location of the intended park is the Intervale, a place I visited just a couple months ago in Burlington, VT. The Intervale's director, Stephen Morris, is a beer man himself, having penned The Great Beer Trek, a romantic, yet down to earth story about a real life quest for 'The Secret of the Suds!' The Todds have designed 'living machines' for breweries like Pomona Mountain brewery.

As it happens, the College's administrator is a former publican herself. Just today she confided in me her melancholy sentiments about the state of England's pub trade. "It used to be the heart of the community. Pubs and churches."

Speaking of English pubs, Britain's oldest one is just a ten minute walk from my room. The Cott Inn was first licensed to sell alcohol in 1320 and has supposedly been operating as a pub ever since. I like to go down there for a pint of Abbot Ale in the afternoon and sit in the part of the bar marked with a sign that reads: "The Beer & Bullshit Corner." Just think about how much of both has flowed forth in nearly seven hundred years of business.

Bullshit Should Be of Keen Interest to Beer Drinkers
Methane, from cow manure and flatulence, is one of the greenhouse gasses most responsible for global warming. If it isn't obvious, the bit about this that makes it germane to our subject is that global warming will cause all manner of havoc in agricultural production, due to sporadic weather patterns and massive changes in the suitability of arable lands for crops traditionally grown in certain regions. Barley and hops are two crops I happen to value quite highly. I would hate to see climate change monkey with these blessed grains and vines. As a beer drinker, this compels me to do something about global warming. Rather than buying an extra fridge to deal with my growing beer storage requirements, I have decided to go the way of real ale and serve my home made beer straight from the keg at room temperature (I'm still working out how to dig a hole in the ground in the middle of the kitchen so I can achieve 'cellar' temp) via a hand pump. It's actually a lot easier than bottling my homebrew, it doesn't require forced carbonation, and now I also have beer on tap! I'll include more tips about how to drink your way to a cooler planet in future issues of Fermenting Revolution: The Beer Drinkers Guide to Saving the World.

Next Stop Addis Ababa
The next edition of Fermenting Revolution will issue forth from my Addis Ababa home, and most likely will feature exotic photos of fully exposed cans of Ethiopian tela. In the meanwhile, why not start saving the world today by drinking a nice organic beer? Cheers until next time.

Fermenting Revolution,
Chris O'Brien

P.S. I would love to hear your comments about this brewsletter and web site. If you yell real loud, I might hear you. Otherwise, email me. Thanks.