Derbyshire’s Peak District is dotted and surrounded by every species of brewery, but you are as likely to see their beers in the wild as you are to see a goshawk hovering over the park’s beautiful but scarred hills.
Taking in the Nottingham Craft Beer Festival, the absurdly-named hype-generating machine that is Neon Raptor Brewing, and the absurdly-built Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn.
Bottle shops liquidating? A microbrewery in a football stadium? The cycle has peaked and the bell is ringing.
If the en soi of a Bourbon barrel constrains the pour soi of the beer that is geworfen into it, the culture of a wild beer is the nothingness—the incipient, the contingent—that creates a space for the transcendence of foeder-facticity.
Craft has an economics, and therefore it has an ethics, and those ethics are grounded in the economy of means. So what to make of a craft beer that feels like a triumph of rigmarole over substance?
The brewery taproom is one of the temples in which we gather to say a secular grace, in a ritual designed to alienate ourselves from our true sense of alienation.
The collaboration beer is a novel solution for marketing and distribution at scale―a challenge that used to necessitate ruthless consolidation.