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![]() The Golden Goose How brewmaster Greg Hall makes beer soar
Since the first night Greg Hall stole a Stroh´s from his father's
fridge, he's always wanted more.
"That was what my father drank," the Goose Island brewmaster
explains. "That was back when they had the old gold-and-white label.
In
those early years of discovery, the easiest place for me to explore was
the basement fridge. My dad always had a variety of interesting beer
bottles too, but only two or three of them. I knew he wouldn't miss
much from a twenty-four pack."
As Hall got older, the allure of the more exotic bottles grew. "I
loved seeing them in the liquor store, even as a kid. Those different
beers always seemed so much more interesting to me than the stacks and
cases--and there was something on the label you could read about."
Greg Hall now supplies shops with his own share of literature--over
fourteen different beer labels, some boasting origin tales to rival
Greek myth.
Demolition, a strong, golden beer, rose from the rubble of a nearby
building teardown to reward their most intrepid regulars. Pere Jacques,
a malty, fruity ale, commemorates an Abbot by the same name who allowed
Hall and his team a peek at his notoriously secretive Trappist brewery.
One of their newer ales, Matilda, inspired by Belgian legends and
landscapes, recently took home a silver award from Seattle's World
Beer
Cup.
"We're really proud of that one," Hall says. "It takes two
different temperamental yeast strains, and requires most of our
team--brewers and cellar-men--to make it happen." In other brewing
achievements, Hall's received golds for his IPA and Hex Nut Brown Ale,
and in 1998 brewed over 100 different beers in a single calendar year.
These days, the work is paying off.
Last week alone Goose Island Brewery garnered mentions in both
Esquire and Food & Wine magazines, as well as an appearance on Late
Night with Conan O'Brien. Hall's segment involved the host assisting
in
the production of his own, honorary brew: ¨Conan the Red Ale."
"He wanted it to be called Conan the Pale Ale, or Conan the Pale,
Pale Ale. He's pretty self-deprecating about his complexion," Hall
adds.
Seeing a brewmaster spotlighted on late-night television is
something new to America; only since the mid-nineties has there been a
real craft-beer culture to speak of. Hall sees the increase in
publicity
as being indicative of a national trend--one the numbers reflect.
"Last year the craft beer market grew by 9 percent. Within that
market, IPAs grew by over 24 percent. That's a ridiculous growth to
have in any market. It tells us once people get those big tastes in
their beers--once they have those IPA hops, they find it hard to go
back. Small breweries have done for beer what Starbucks and
Intelligentsia have done for coffee; you get used to that strong taste,
and that cup of Folgers just doesn't cut it anymore."
Hall cites this demand as being responsible for Chicago's rapidly
changing beer landscape. "I remember, years ago, I had a friend
bragging to me about his bar. He said 'We've got variety here, too.
We've got Miller, Miller Light, Bud, Bud Light, Coors and Michelob.'
He was serious. That's not enough now. Even bars like Bar Louie and
Shaw's Crab House, where you wouldn't expect good craft beers, are
serving a great variety now, and that's going to continue."
Despite the trend in what's being poured at local bars, in
Chicago's metropolitan area of more than ten million people, Goose
Island remains one of the city's few craft breweries. Portland, Oregon
boasts more than twenty-five; even Anchorage, Alaska has five. Why is
Chicago, a beer-drinkers' city, so lacking?
"I ask myself that question almost everyday," Hall muses.
"There's a number of reasons. The big guys don't spend their
advertising money in Portland or Alaska, they spend it here. Also,
brewpubs thrive on their food business, and the expectations for food
in
Chicago are high. Very high."
Building on these expectations, Hall's currently campaigning to
have Goose Island beers served in Chicago's finest restaurants. He's
taken the lead in his own pubs by offering pairing suggestions with
several dishes. Goose Island's menu suggests an Oatmeal Stout with
Campfire Pork and Beans, an IPA with jambalaya, and a Nut Brown Ale
with
pulled pork. He hopes his culinary ambitions are contagious.
"I don't understand how a four-star chef will send back a whole
box of shallots because the first one he pulls out is a little wilted,
then turn around and sign for a palette of skunky, imported beer. The
new generation of American chefs are about flavors, and with so many
big
flavors on the table, they're going to need them in the glass too."
Hall admits the wine bottle casts a long shadow in the culinary
world, but has seen a recent shift in gourmet attitudes. "For example,
I got a chance to visit the American Cheese Society. They told me
although they still drink wine with their cheese, they actually prefer
beer." He's not just referring to mozzarella on a deep-dish crust;
Hall has held a number of gourmet-cheese pairing sessions, specifically
aimed at educating the beer drinker's palette.
"It's true that the best wines in the world achieve a level of
complexity that beer probably can't. But beers have bigger and broader
tastes than wine can hope for. Beers are less subtle, and you don't
have to be an expert to appreciate them."
In that vein, Hall contends he's no beer snob.
"Not at all. That's what's great about beer. You can wear jeans
and be loud. You can stand at Navy Pier and shout over a band while
you're drinking it. You don't have to put on a three-piece suit, and
walk around sipping and talking quietly." Likewise, he admits he
doesn't always have to drink the good stuff. "Sometimes you're at
the Empty Bottle at 2am, and after a night of drinking IPAs and stouts
you don't want anything too heavy. You know, I might go home and grab
an import or something light."
Is there still a case of Stroh's in the fridge? Hall laughs, and
doesn't answer.
Also by J.C. Geiger Singular Sensation
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