DRAFT Magazine

Dear Mr. Audigier,

I bet you thought you stumped me. I can imagine you, leaning back in your Herman Miller desk chair, bedazzled Chuck Taylors propped on your desk, pinky ring gleaming in the moonlight; you throw back your salt-and-peppered head and laugh in that way only French people can: “Haha! I sent zem beer! And zey weel be confused!” And for a moment — OK, a few days — that was true. Until I noticed my gas tank was empty.

You see, we at DRAFT are highly concerned with balance. Yin and yang. We like our IPAs to have solid malt backbones. We hate it when fruit beers have too much fruit and not enough beer. We spend countless hours each issue searching for the perfect culinary matches for porters and ambers. We actually think about what brews match best with biking, golfing, skiing, and board-game-playing. But when you sent us your two new Ed Hardy beers, emblazoned with the same tattoo-style designs favored by West Coast clubgoers, I was bewildered. “What does one do with this?” I thought. What circumstance does this beer complete?

I tried the beers, which appear to be made by Tecate. Your Light Beer was, well, light, but fine enough; soft and a bit fruity with a mere 120 calories. The Premium option was nearly the same but grainier and a bit fuller. They’re not bad beers. But they’re not bowling anyone over, either. Even mediocre beers, though, have a match in this world; they’re good with pizza or at pool halls or in beer bongs. What was the match for this? I came up with a few ideas, but none of them panned out. Here are a few:

1. Drink it with your friend Jon Gosselin. But then I’d be sick to my stomach, not because the beer’s bad, ‘cause it’s not, but because Jon literally makes me ill.

2. Sip it in a club — nay, a lounge — that blares Paramore and All-American Rejects. But to my knowledge, the beer is retail-only. And I hate Paramore.

3. Play beer pong with it. But I already sold my beer pong soul to Miller Lite back in college.

I threw my hands in the air, perplexed, coming to the conclusion that there’s no niche for this paradoxical beer. Later that day, on my way home from the office, my gas light turned on. I pulled over at the nearest Circle K, and figured I’d snag a candy bar and pay inside.

It was in this ramshackle gas station that answer to my quest suddenly appeared, like a scene from a Dan Brown novel. A dusty rack behind the register caught my eye, bright colors, and tattoo designs beckoning. There they were: four Ed Hardy koozies, officially the only thing in the world meant to pair with your Ed Hardy beers. Boo-ya. I win.

Love and rhinestones,
Jessica Daynor

By Rick Sellers

The news leaked weeks ago and quickly spread over the beer-soaked portals of the Internet — Sierra Nevada and Dogfish Head were creating a collaborative beer, two actually. Earlier this week I was on hand to see the collboration and I came away with one overriding belief: Find the beer when it’s released in November.

The day began around eight in the morning. As the first to arrive, I was in the waiting room when Ken Grossman and Sam Calgione (and Mariah, too) strolled in the front doors. Calgione was almost giddy. He had arrived a couple days ahead of time and had taken a first-class brewery tour the day before. Before the brew day started I asked him for his thoughts on Sierra Nevada, the brewery. He responded with a look that said “I don’t even know where to begin.” He mentioned being impresed by the cleanliness, the organization, and how open Ken was to suggestions of his employees.

Our time alone didn’t last long, however, as a film crew arrived and set up shop in the brewhouse. Soon, more brewers from Sierra Nevada joined. In no time, the brew day seemed like a brewing party — the kind with which many home brewers are familiar. There was talk of ingredients, the equipment, the extraordinary costs involved with making beer, and general BSing as the day unfolded. And that was good. Since the beer required three different batches to be brewed, it was going to be a long, happy experience indeed.

Background
According to Calgione, who was in town from Delaware solely for the brewing of Life & Limb, this project started in concept many months back. By his own admission, Grossman initiated the collaborative project and its legs grew at this year’s Craft Brewers Conference in Boston. The idea was simple: The two would work together to create a beer that incorporated ingredients representing both companies, as well as each brewer’s own family. While the project was originally Grossman’s idea, the beer screams Dogfish Head! With three types of sugars in addition to malted barley, the boozy concoction will tip the scales at over 10% ABV. No, this is not your standard Sierra Nevada beer, and the brew day reflected that.

A further departure in this Chico-brewed beer can be found on the label, which I was able to check out even in its draft stage. According to Bill Manly, Sierra Nevada’s communications coordinator, Sierra Nevada worked with a new artist for the image. It’s a label you’ll want to study, as there are subtle and not-so-subtle ties to each brewery that tells a story without using words. The label includes symbols that are personal to Grossman, Calgione, Dogfish Head, and Sierra Nevada. Take a minute to study it; See what questions you come up with. To my knowledge, DRAFTmag.com is the first to see this label.

Family Ambitions
Both brewers, the legend and the rock star, spoke openly about family during the extended brew day. For Caligione, this beer is being made with hopes that it will age well enough to enjoy with his children when they reach drinking age. He also mentioned a hope that there will be a day when his children and Grossman’s will be running the family businesses and will be able to sit down and enjoy Life & Limb together. With this in mind, the beer is bottle conditioned and extremely high in alcohol; There’s little doubt it will age well for years to come.

Personal Touch
Life and Limb is constructed to represent the personalities of the brewers and each brewery. The parties also took collaboration to a new level, using both house strains of yeast: Chico Yeast and Doggie Yeast. What’s that mean? Well, not much really. The beer will be clear with clean ale yeast character, with just a touch of fruit from the yeast. Still, it’s a fun story to tell.

For Sierra Nevada, the use of barley grown on its own property is an important addition. For those who aren’t familiar, the barley field was planted this year in Chico. The yield was an impressive 100,000 pounds before malting (80,000 pounds malted) and was used primarily in this year’s Estate beer, recently released in 24-ounce bottles. Sierra Nevada contracted with Breisse Malts to make both pale and caramel malts for these beers.

The Dogfish touch is more obvious: three different kinds of fermentable sugar on top of the heavy grain bill. The Birch Syrup, which will be used to prime the bottles, comes from Alaska and will impart a subtle, sweet aroma and flavor when finished. Life & Limb also features molasses, a product that Dogfish Head fans will recognize as it has been used in Immort Ale — the uber powerful elixir made in Milton. The third adjunct is a bit more personal: maple syrup from Sam’s father’s farm in Massachusetts.

Availability
Life & Limb is slotted for release in early November and will be available around the country in 24oz bottles. Bottles are expected to retail for $10. Kegs will be harder to come by, as the entire batch is right around 350 barrels (just under 11,000 gallons).

Additionally, there is another beer that’s coming out of this project: Limb & Life, made from the second runnings of the Life & Limb wort. This brew will be considerably hoppier and sold only on draft in select regions. Sierra Nevada anticipates only 75 kegs in total of this brew and details on distribution are not firmed up at this time. All we can say is, good luck.

The Dinners
But wait, there’s more. Each brewery is working on Life & Limb release beer dinners in New York City and San Francisco. Dates and locations have not been finalized, but from what I hear they will be “can’t miss” events. For information on these events, I’d monitor the Dogfish Head and Sierra Nevada Web sites, along with DRAFTmag.com. If you live near either of these cities, start saving your pennies now — dinners will take place in mid-November.

For pictures of the brew day, click here.

By Zak Stambor

While extreme beers, like ultra-rare Russian imperial stouts, viscous bourbon barrel-aged double stouts, or inordinately hoppy double IPAs garner the spotlight, there’s a craft beer counter-movement quietly brewing in the shadows.

Session beers — a wide range of lagers and ales that are ideal for extended drinking sessions in that they check in roughly around or below 5 percent alcohol by volume (ABV) and are well-balanced between malty sweetness and hoppy bitterness in order to offer (Bud Light catchphrase be damned) high drinkability — are finally getting some respect both from brewers and imbibers.

The reason is twofold, says Greg Hall, brewmaster at Chicago’s Goose Island Brewery. The number of craft beer drinkers continues to grow exponentially, which means there are more people drinking all styles of microbrew beer. But also, extreme beers are often too extreme — both in flavor and ABV — to drink all the time.

“I love Bourbon County Stout but most of the time when I have it, it’s one and done,” says Hall of his brewery’s 13 percent ABV bourbon barrel-aged imperial stout that the brewery’s Web site claims has more flavor in one sip than your average case of beer.

With a session beer, like Goose Island’s Honker’s Ale, a 5 percent English-style bitter, Hall can have a few pints when he gets home from work without forcing his taste buds to work overtime and his wife to wake him for dinner.

“Craft beer drinkers can’t just drink double IPAs and Dark Lord [Three Floyds’ Russian Imperial Stout] all the time,” he says. “If you want to have a beer with flavor, and you want to stay in craft beers, you need to reach for a session beer for a day when you’re cutting the lawn or watching a ballgame.”

Session Beer Project
If there’s a ringleader to this quiet counter-revolution, that man would be Lew Bryson, a Philadelphia-based drinks writer who mans the blog, “Seen Through a Glass.”

At a barleywine festival in 1998 Bryson found his calling while drinking a pint of cask-conditioned Young’s Old Nick Barley Wine Ale.

“It was so damn good that I thought to myself, ‘I wish this was 3.7 percent so I could drink it all afternoon,’” he says. “And that’s when I realized that that’s really what I want — a beer with a lot of flavor that I can drink a lot of.”

Nearly 10 years passed before he decided to make embark on the quest for the best low-alcohol, full-flavored pints with the January 2007 launch of the Session Beer Project. Bryson describes the venture as a “non-profit, unorganized, unofficial effort to popularize and support the brewing and enjoyment of session beers.”

Seven months later he helped organize what very well may have been the first-ever beer festival devoted to session beers, the three-day Zieglersville, Penn.-based Session Summer of Love in which all the beers were 5.5 percent ABV or less. Then, this year he launched the Session Beer Project Web site and dubbed 2009, “The Year of the Session.”

These efforts aim to raise the profile of less alcoholic, less extreme beers, like Yards Brewing Company’s Brawler Pugilist Style Ale and Harpoon Brewery’s Brown Session Ale. He hopes that with more attention, brewers will brew more session beers, restaurants and bars will carry more of them and beer drinkers will drink, and appreciate, more of them — especially since subtle beers require just as much, if not more, skill to brew than the extreme beers.

“It seems like all we ever talk about is the latest outrageous beer,” he says. “I’m not anti-big extreme beers. I love them. But I also get bored by them because often they offer the same whack in the head with a different label.”

One reason that extreme beers continue receiving attention, he says, is that they boldly stand in such stark contrast to macrobeers like Budweiser and Miller Genuine Draft.

“The beers that bored beer drinkers and drove them to craft beers were bland lager beers,” Bryson explains. “And now people just assume that all lagers or lower alcohol ales suck. To be fair and honest, a lot of lower alcohol craft beers have sucked, but that’s not necessarily the case anymore.”

In fact, there are some like Tom Kehoe, founder and brewmaster of Philadelphia’s Yards Brewing Company who are focused on brewing beers that can be someone’s “everyday beer.”

“Not every beer we brew is meant to knock someone’s socks off because you can’t drink that all the time,” he says. “We’re not looking to do anything crazy, just brew a good beer that you can have a few of every day.”

Less is more
Truly appreciating session beers requires an attention to subtlety, says Kehoe.

While they can — and should be — full in flavor, they can’t overwhelm the palette so that you can’t have just one or two.

That’s the reason Kehoe named his 4.2 percent English dark mild ale Brawler since “you can go a few rounds with it.”

The challenge of brewing a beer like Brawler, he says, is that it has both “mild” and “dark” in its name.

“Mild beers have these negative connotations,” he says. “And people run away from anything that’s close to mass-produced macrobeer — whether in alcohol content or subtlety. I think that’s what has happened to milds and bitters [traditional English-style beers]. They’re just everyday kind of drinks. And isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Drink a beer a day.”

While session beers may be every day-types of beverages, ensuring their consistency is not. They require absolute precision, says Goose Island’s Hall.

“Anyone can order a pound of Amarillo hops and make a beer pretty hoppy and delicious,” he says. “Obviously some are better at that than others, but when you add all those hops you can cover up your flaws and inconsistencies. But with a 20 IBU [International Bitterness Units scale which provides a measure of bitterness in beer -- from 5 IBU American lagers to 100-plus double IPAs] the beer has to be clean. People can taste the difference.”

– Zak Stambor agrees with Tom Kehoe: We should be drinking a beer every day.

By Zak Stambor

Just like the unlikely second acts in the careers of Billy Ray Cyrus, Rush, and Rod Blagojevich, chances are, your dad’s favorite beer is back.

But while fabled brands like Rheingold, Old Style, and Primo Island Lager are experiencing a Hell Freezes Over-like rebirth, the breweries that produced them are long gone. Rather, companies like Drinks Americas Holding Ltd., which produces spirits such as Trump Super Premium Vodka and Willie Nelson’s Old Whiskey River Bourbon, and Pabst Brewing Company, owner of such beer brands as Lone Star, McSorley’s, and Colt 45, are resurrecting the classic brews following the unexpected resurgence of Pabst Blue Ribbon earlier this decade.

The what’s-old-is-new mantra is even spreading to newer beers aimed at recreating old-style tastes like Victory’s Throwback Lager and Trader Joe’s Simpler Times Lager.
The reason is nostalgia mixed with people’s preference for more flavorful beers, says Tyler Peters, brewery development manager at Minhas Craft Brewery, which has seen a recent uptick in sales of its Huber Bock, which the brewery has produced since 1947.

Beer brewed with adjuncts — unmalted grains such as rice, corn or barley used to cut brewing costs among macrobeers like Budweiser and Miller Genuine Draft — are simply lacking.

“A lot of beers were cheapened over the years and the taste got drowned out,” Peters says. “People like the taste of the grains. It’s not about making the cheapest thing possible, but making a handcrafted, quality product that people can always come back to.”

Although these old-new beers are certainly not craft brews, that movement has helped draw people’s attention to think about the flavor of their beer, says Kevin Kotecki, Pabst CEO.

“The craft beers have awakened America’s palettes,” he says.

An unlikely return
While Pabst was one of the largest American beer brands into the 1960s, by the mid-60s the company began a sales slide that lasted into this decade.

But unlike beers like Schlitz and Old Style that saw their recipes altered over the years to cut costs, PBR remained the same.

“It’s one of the few products that we didn’t tamper with over time,” says Kotecki.

Since the beer was cheap and seemed both retro and undersold, young, urban hipsters began turning to PBR in the early part of the decade. Thanks to double-digit growth in 2003 and 2004, the brand has steamrolled back to relevance as it’s increased its production 37 percent since 2003.

To keep up that hipster image, Pabst does very little. It sponsors NPR’s “All Songs Considered,” as well as bike polo and Rock Paper Scissors leagues. But mainly, it does nothing.

That’s exactly what sparked the resurgence in the first place.

“PBR came back because it wasn’t marketed,” says Bill Covaleski, Victory Brewing’s brewmaster. “Sometimes things just have to be discovered and can’t be marketed.”

That hasn’t stopped Pabst and Drinks Americas from marketing other beers that fell off the map in the last few decades.

Drinks Americas acquired the Rheingold brand three years ago. Since then it’s slowly let the beer produced by the previous owner of the name disappear from store shelves. Within the next year they aim to reintroduce the beer in Florida and the New York metropolitan area.

The Rheingold name has important, deep roots, says J. Patrick Kenny, Drinks Americas’ president and CEO.

“New Yorkers understand that if they see the Rheingold name on a label that it’s not going to be an overly pretentious, contrived beer,” he says. “It’s just an easy-to-drink American beer.”

Kenny expects New Yorkers who drank Rheingold to return the beer they remember and for the younger generation to turn to the beer because its part of their heritage.

“Currently there’s no beer that New Yorkers can call their own — but that’s what Rheingold is,” he says.

Despite the name recognition, the beer probably won’t return to its classic flavor profile. Instead, Kenny says it will reflect “what today’s consumers expect in a beer.”

Old style brewing
Drinks Americas’ Rheingold approach stands in sharp contrast to Pabst’s efforts to restore Old Style and Schlitz’s classic brewing styles.

Until Stroh’s bought Old Style in 1996, the lager was one of the few kraeusened domestic beers (Sam Adam’s Boston Lager is the only other one that Pabst brewmaster Bob Newman knows of). Kraeusening is an extra step in the brewing process that tacks on four to seven additional days of fermentation, but adds natural carbonation that produces what Newman considers a smoother, mellower taste.

After Stroh’s abandoned the traditional German brewing method, the brand’s sales fell into a steady downward arc.

But this January, Pabst relaunched the fully-kraeusened, old style Old Style. Doing so required capital improvements that allowed the brewery to add the additional time and space necessary to produce the beer.

“It’s an extra step that’s more intensive and costly, but gives the beer a better finish,” says Newman.

It’s also about brewing a quality beer that moves beyond pure nostalgia,

“You can’t sustain a brand based on nostalgia, it has to be more than that,” Kotecki says. “It’s about producing something that can establish ties that remain for life.”

Pabst used a similar philosophy last year when it restored Schlitz back to its classic formula.

“Schlitz was the largest beer brand in the world in 1960,” says Kotecki. “And people have fond memories of its taste.”

There was no written recipe for the classic Schlitz so to recreate the flavor Newman interviewed five different people who worked at the brewery in the 1960s. Then he found Schlitz’s former research and development director who “had the formula at the top of his head,” says Newman.

The beer is malty and slightly sweet, which is just how baby boomers remember it, says Kyle Wortham, Schlitz senior brand manager.

“Schlitz is full flavored, it’s not watered down and it’s not dressed up with packaging, gimmicks or boutique flavors,” he says.

It simply is what it is, says Wortham.

“It’s a beer that you can drink a few of, but that has flavor as well,” he says. “It’s just a real beer.”

Brewers versus marketers
For the past four years, Victory Brewing Company, which produces flavorful lagers such as Prima Pils, produces its draft-only Throwback Lager, a pre-prohibition-style lager for a party celebrating the ratification of the 21st Amendment which repealed the 18th Amendment.

Brewed with corn and a yeast strain used in the lagers produced by Philadelphia’s historic Christian Schmidt Brewing Company (which closed in 1987 after 127 years of operations), the beer’s old-style profile is approachable with mild fruit flavors.

“This is a beer that we intend for people who are not only willing to accept big flavors, but nuance as well,” Covaleski says.

While the taste is a throwback to the beers of yesteryear, Throwback Lager is different from other resurrected beers like Schlitz and Rheingold, says Covaleski.

“This is where marketers and craft brewers do similar things for different reasons,” he says. “We do it commemorate our history with an event. Marketers do it because they see it worked for another guy.”

– Zak Stambor, who lives across the street from a former Schlitz tied house, is glad that Schlitz is back so that the building’s facade no longer conjures up memories of Schlitz Bull Ice.

By Kelly Trevino

As the end of the winter season draws near, the sure signs of spring start to filter through the air. After months of down jackets and snow boots that seem to float in and around the growing snow-drifts we start to see faces, a glimpse of sunshine, or maybe even a naked forearm.

For the city of Kalamazoo, Michigan there is no better announcement of spring than when March 30 rolls around and the celebration can begin. This date is the opening day of Bell’s Oberon.

Bell’s Brewery’s signature summer brew is a spicy and fruity un-filtered wheat ale that beats through the heart of this college town every spring when the snow melts and the masses begin to thaw.

The cold and empty block of time that falls between the beginning of October and the end of March just doesn’t have the same standing enthusiasm as the spring and summer months when Oberon can be found in every grocery store, party store, and beer mug from Gull road to Westnedge Avenue.

Bell’s Brewery, the oldest craft-brewer east of Boulder, CO, has been brewing up tasty ales, stouts, lagers, and porters since it was established in 1983. Larry Bell, founder of what was originally known as the Kalamazoo Brewing Company, sold his first beer in 1985.

Oberon, the over-achieving offspring of Bell’s, is the official sign that the season’s changing according to John Mallett, production manager at Bell’s Brewery.

“For many people the idea of summer is Oberon and Oberon is summer,” Mallett says. “Really I think it’s more a response to the season, and it’s taken on something bigger than itself.”

Michigan and the upper Midwest, where Oberon can be found, have four very distinct seasons, and according to Mallett that is what makes this beer so popular.

“I can’t think of another beer that has this much anticipation around it that is out there,” Mallett says. “The beer itself is really designed and emulated around the beer you want to drink in the summer.”

Full-time engineer, part-time beer drinker and Kalamazoo area resident Greg Serkaian remembers Oberon as a college student. To him Oberon represented the end of the semester approaching, the beginning of a time to relax and put away the books.

“I remember getting up and hitting the party store at 7 a.m. with my buddies and getting a six-pack as soon as it came out,” Serkaian says. “Being able to have some as soon as class was done, you’d be excited all day.”

The reason it is so well-liked is because of the connection with the budding trees, the melting snow, and the reintroduction of life into the city, explains Serkaian.

“You’re transitioning from the winter to the summer and you’re outside and it kind of gets you excited for that,” Serkaian says. “It’s a sign of life.”

For Mallett, the reasons for Oberon’s popularity are simple.

“I’ve had people come to me and say ‘You need to brew Oberon year round’ and I think why would we want to do that?” he says. “If I had Thanksgiving dinner every night would it be so special?”

Those changes in seasonality speak to a primal need, according to Mallett; it’s something we as humans have been doing for a long time is celebrating seasons.

Kelly Trevino is a freelance writer based in Metro Detroit. Please send comments to Kelly.Trevino [at] yahoo [dot] com.

By Zach Fowle

It’s happened to many of us before: you’re at your buddy’s house for the big game. You settle in with a six-pack of your favorite brew and ask for a bottle opener to pop one open. He replies that he only drinks macros with twist off caps (why are you friends with this guy again?) so he doesn’t have one. What’s a thirsty reveler to do?

A bevy of products exist to fill the niche and avoid just such a dilemma, but if you’ve already forgotten what they taught you in the Boy Scouts and left yourself unprepared (shame!), there are several other ways to get that beer bottle open.

Some techniques are difficult. Some are downright dangerous. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Table
We’ll start with the basics. A trained monkey could pull off this next technique. Come to think of it, that would be pretty awesome. Weekend planned.

The Method

Find a counter with a sharp edge. Also works with chairs, windowsills, car bumpers, and your friend’s flatscreen.
Grip the beer firmly in one hand and place the lip of the cap over the edge of the counter. The bottle should be positioned so you can tug on it and the cap would still catch.
Make a fist with your other hand and pound the top of the bottle. If you’ve pounded hard enough, the top will pop right off.

The Risks

Requires a certain amount of manliness and arm strength. Make sure the grip on the bottle is firm and the strike from overhead is forceful and confident. But don’t overdo it: you could punch the beer right out of your lower hand and into a pile of shards on the floor. Also a stubborn beer or an improper placement could cause you to take chunks out of whatever surface you’re using. This is especially awkward when using a flatscreen.

Difficulty Level: 3

Fork/spoon/knife
Archimedes once said, “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I will move the world.” While your aspirations are decidedly less grandiose, the same method can apply when opening a beer with utensils.

The Method

Grasp the beer firmly at the neck, with your index finger just under the edge of the bottle cap. This is your fulcrum.
Fit the tip of your utensil of choice under the bottle cap so that it is wedged between the edge of the bottle cap and the part of your index finger closest to your hand. This will be your lever.
Press down on the end of the utensil with your free hand and leverage the cap off.
Pour out some for your homie Archimedes.

The Risks

Spoons work better than knives or forks. Whatever you choose to work with, make sure it’s clean beforehand.

Difficulty Level: 4

Lighter
It’s hard to quit smoking, especially when you know that lighter in your pocket will ensure that you never have to worry about unopened bottles again.

The Method

Lay the patch of skin between your thumb and index finger across the cap, covering it about halfway.
Take out your lighter and prop the bottom of it against the cap’s edge, above your index finger.
Gripping the bottleneck tightly, push up on the cap with the edge of your lighter, using your index finger as leverage. Keep pushing until the cap loosens or pops right off.
Drink up. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.

The Risks

WARNING: Flammable gas under pressure! Cheap plastic lighters have been known to explode when used incorrectly, so make sure you use the bottom of the lighter and stay away from any with cracks or other structural flaws. Carelessness could result in some unfortunate new nicknames, like Bleedy or Nubs.

Difficulty Level: 3

Another Beer
Beers, like geese and women going to the bathroom, tend to travel in groups. This bodes well for you, as another beer can serve as a very effective bottle opener.

The Method

Pick of two bottles with your dominant hand, gripping them so the cap of the first bottle is just under the edge of the second bottle’s cap.
Using your knee (or a hard surface, like your buddy’s head) slam the bottom bottle upward so it pushes against the upper bottle’s cap and pops it right off.
Drink up, and start looking for another bottle to open your next one.

The Risks

Obviously, this method requires that you have more than one beer handy, so if it’s your last one, you’re out of luck. Gripping two bottles can also get a little tricky for those with smaller hands, and is damn near impossible for guys who’ve already blown off a couple fingers trying to do the lighter trick.

Difficulty Level: 5

Ring
If you’re one of those poor saps who has been trapped by the soul-sucking institution we call marriage, there is an upside. That little trinket on your hand can do double duty: while warding off attractive single women, it can also serve as a decent bottle-opening device.

The Method

With your ring on, grasp the top of the bottle in your hand.
Close your hand over the cap, gripping it so the finger your ring’s on is laying over the top of the cap and the edge of your ring is flush against the bottom of the cap.
Keeping your grip tight, tilt your hand forward. The edge of the ring will peel off the cap and open the bottle.

The Risks

The proper ring makes all the difference. It should have sharp edges and be loose enough that you can just fit the edge of the cap between the ring and your finger. Slipping is the biggest issue here, so look out. You’ll have a much easier time explaining why you stayed out so late with the guys than you will explaining why there are huge gouges in your wedding band.

Difficulty Level: 7

Dollar Bill
Your friend doesn’t have a bottle opener. Chances are he has at least a dollar or two lying around, so ask to borrow one. Tell him your friendship depends on it. After all, this is true.

The Method

Fold the dollar bill in half and roll it up as tightly as possible.
Bend the rolled dollar bill in half to maximize the pressure at the bend.
Hold the bill tightly in place between your thumb and index finger, with the bent part sticking out.
Squeeze the bottle around its neck. Using your index finger, push the cap upwards with the bend in the dollar bill.
Continue applying pressure until it the cap pops off. Keep the bill as punishment for making you resort to such measures.

The Risks

Dollar bills are easily torn, especially against the sharp edges of a bottle cap. I went through three bills before I got it; the two casualties looked like they were on the losing end of a western gun battle. The trick is an extremely tight roll and a tight bend so the bill can handle large amounts of pressure without crumpling or tearing.

Difficulty Level: 9

Chainsaw
Occasionally, we don’t mess around.

The method

Place the beer on the ground near your feet, preferably on a flat, level surface.
Hold a running chainsaw parallel to the bottle, making sure the blades closest to the cap are moving upwards, toward your head.
Move the chainsaw toward the bottle very slowly, trying to just nick the cap with the blades. The cap will fly off at high speed, so watch it.

The Risks

Broken bottles, grievous wounds, and dismemberment.

Difficulty Level: 10

So there you have it. With a small amount of skill, the right implements, and a little ingenuity, losing a bottle opener will never be a problem again. MacGyver would be proud. Your mom, less so.

Next week: the best ways to open those twist-tops. Yep, we can do it with our eyes.

Zach Fowle is an editorial intern for DRAFT Magazine, and thinks bottle openers are overrated anyway.

By Greg Lalas

In today’s globalized world, nothing is from around here anymore. Our chocolate comes from Switzerland, our sea bass from Chile, and our beer from a passel of exotic locales — Amsterdam, Sydney, Dublin, Milwaukee.

While there are certainly some negatives to this — increased carbon emissions, questionable labor practices, and all the other things locavores rail about at the farmers market — the positives often make us forget them. Or at least look the other way while we devour another Lindt truffle. When it comes to beer, the expanded “import” section in the fridge is a decidedly tasty development. It means we can drink Reissdorf Kolsch with our liverwurst and Leffe Blonde with our moules frites, just to name a few scenarios.

But there’s a problem. Namely, the mad men on Madison Avenue get involved. Next thing you know, beer is the liquid embodiment of a place. Corona, for example, is passed off as the quintessential Mexican lager, capable of transporting snowbound schlubs from Buffalo to sunny bikini-filled beaches. Heineken comes with its own European-tailored suit. Mythos is the nectar of the Greek gods.

There’s a disconnect, an ocean-sized gap between mass-marketed perception and reality. For expats here in the States, their so-called national beer can be an embarrassment. They take pity on the poor Americans who think that these brews represent of their homeland.

Hasta La Vista, Corona
To most Americans, Corona is Mexican beer. Hell, to most Americans who don’t live in Texas, Arizona, or southern California, a bottle of lime-topped Corona on Cinco de Mayo — one of the most successful marketing ploys ever — is as close to a Puerto Vallarta vacation as they’re going to get. Which makes Mexican bartender Fidel Vazquez shake his head in bewilderment.

“I’m not really a big fan of Corona,” says Vazquez, a native of Mexico City who tends bar at funky taco-and-tequila joint Barrio Chino in New York. “It just has more marketing behind it, you know? It’s like Mexican Budweiser.”

In the mother country, Corona isn’t popular at all; the beer of choice is Victoria, which is the Mexican equivalent of the Beast and is generally not exported. (“I think it’s illegal here,” Vazquez claims, “but there is a bodega in the East Village where you can buy it for, like, $12 a pop.”) Vazquez, a diminutive man with spiky black hair and bright brown eyes who calls everyone Buddy, says he drinks only the dark lager Negro Modelo when he’s back home. It’s the best thing to cut through the sweat-soaked heat of the Mexican afternoon.

“On a hot day, we mix it into a michelada,” Vazquez explains. A michelada is a beer cocktail, if you will. Vazquez’s recipe includes a dash of Tabasco, a dash of Worcestorshire sauce, the juice of half a lime, and Negro Modelo, served in a cold glass with a salt rim. “It’s really fucking good.”

Australian for “Light and Girly”
Jason Crew looks like he belongs in the outback: broad shoulders, afternoon scruff, a mischievious glint in his eye. The Brisbane native opened Brooklyn’s Sheep Station, what he calls “an Australian local,” a little more than two years ago with an unstated mission: educate Americans on the many worthy Australian beers that don’t come in blue oil cans.

“Foster’s is the Bud of Australia,” he says on a recent evening. “It’s beer for beer’s sake.”

Crew says very few people back home drink Fosters, especially when there are so many other good options. He points to Sheep Station’s blackboard menu to stress the variety of Down Under quaffs: Forex, VB, and Tooeys are all up there, as are lesser-knowns like Barons Black Waddle and Steinlager from (gasp!) New Zealand. So is what most Aussies consider the champagne of beers, Coopers, a gorgeous sun-colored ale from Adelaide that was first brewed in 1862. Part of its appeal is the company’s independent attitude.

“Foster’s owns the export business,” he claims. “Coopers, though, is a family-owned business, the only non-corporate one, and they can do whatever the hell they want.”

Just then, a young blond woman sits down at the bar. The bartender walks over. “How about something light and girly?” she asks.

Crew, who is standing nearby, smirks. “Get her a Foster’s,” he says.

Luck o’ the Irish
Perhaps no beer represents its brewland more than Guinness does Ireland. From the famous pour to the iconic lyre logo, the 250-year-old dry stout seems to be the Emerald Isle in liquid form. One wonders if the brewmasters sprinkle a few dust particles of the Old Sod into the mix to give it that earthy color.

However, despite its nationalistic character, Guinness avoids the pitfalls of mass-marketing that Corona and Foster’s tumble into so easily. Call it Celtic pride or simply good taste, but the Irish seem offended when someone wonders if Guinness is just a marketing ploy.

“I don’t really know what you’re asking,” says Rocky — “just Rocky” — a publican at the Irish Village in Brighton, a borough of Boston. “Guinness is the national drink back home. Most people drink it.”

Rocky, a native of Connaught, then tosses in a surprise.

“You know what else is big in Ireland right now? Budweiser,” he says. “It’s more expensive there. It’s an import, you know?”

Budweiser is big in Ireland. Wow. There is almost nothing to say upon hearing that. Maybe it’s an anomaly, this taste for Bud, something the many Irish tourists who come here have taken home with them after visiting their cousins in South Boston. Yes, that must be it.

Then you hear Bud’s also big in Greece, of all places, land of wine-filled goatskins and cloudy ouzo. According to Neva Bergmann, an American expat restaurateur on the island of Paros, “you can find Budweiser in all the la-di-da places.” She adds, “I don’t get it.”

– Greg Lalas is a freelance writer in Brooklyn, which, he stresses, is not the Budweiser of New York.