Oregon a Heady Place for Beer Drinkers

What does it take to get a Miller Lite in this town?

Portland leads the nation in turning up its nose on blue-collar lagers in favor of hoity-toity brews in hues of amber, brown and black. In fact, ordering up an ordinary beer in some places can draw a haughty stare.

“If you had the choice between SPAM and filet mignon, which would you choose?” said local beer drinker Spike Cornelius. “That’s the problem with the typical mass-produced American beers. They’re insipid.”

Some call it snobbery, others plain good taste. Either way, the mania for microbrews has created a beer culture here that’s a little different.

In a town where loggers and salmon fishermen once ended the day by guzzling nickel brew in darkened saloons, beer geeks with goatees now sit behind gleaming brass bars, swirling brewski in their glass like Bordeaux and discussing the finer points of hoppiness and drinkability.

“People never really considered beer a cuisine before,” said Mike Sherwood, director of the Oregon Brewers’ Guild. “We’ve got juniper flavored, chamomile, rosemary, basil, raspberry and lavender beers.”

“These are sipping-around-the-fireplace-type beers. You don’t chug down a six-pack of microbrew. It stays on the palate a lot longer.”

Oregon has more microbreweries per capita than any other place in the nation. Each year, the state’s 72 breweries churn out 1 million kegs and more than 1,000 different varieties of wheat beers, pale ales, porters and stouts with such names as Pyramid, Blue Heron and Obsidian.

About 60% of all draft beers poured at Portland bars are local-brewed. But there are still a few pockets of resistance.

At Patty’s Retreat, 55-year-old barmaid Kay Scott pulls the handle on the solitary tap and pours another pint of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

“I’ve had people come in here and ask for microbrews and when I tell them what I’ve got, they just walk out,” said Scott, working under a sign that reads: “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.”

At the bar, old-timer Eugene McIntyre cradled his glass of pale yellow suds and scoffed at grandiose gourmet tastes.

“It’s a fad,” the 69-year-old beer drinker said as a Neil Diamond tune droned from the jukebox. “I never drink the stuff. After two beers, a man doesn’t really know what he’s drinking anyway.”

Choices abound, however, at Portland-area supermarkets, where microbrews have wormed their way into 10% of the market, compared to just 3% nationwide.

Beer aisles brim with apricot ales, hazelnut stouts, blackberry wheat beers and honey-tinged lagers.

“They all seem to have individual character and flavor,” said Steve Uchida, 31, a Portland transplant from Los Angeles and self-described beer aficionado.

“It’s a lot different than it used to be in high school and college,” he said. “The last time I had a Miller was a couple years ago. I’m maturing as a drinker. Now I try to enjoy the flavor of it.”

David Edgar, director of the Institute for Brewing Studies, said the microbrew trend mirrors the changing American tastes toward fully flavored wines and richer coffees.

And these changing tastes have the big beers jumping. Anheuser-Busch and Coors have already introduced their own versions of the microbrews. In a recent ad campaign, Miller counters the craze with the question, “What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned Macrobrew?”

“Miller’s about getting back to the basics about beer and beer drinking,” said company spokeswoman Kari McGrath. “It’s brewed in vats the size of Rhode Island. And that speaks to what consumers say back to us, that we’re the big American beer from Milwaukee.”

Microbrew fans maintain size isn’t everything. And while the industry is growing at a meager 2% a year, they say it’s a trend that’s here to stay.

“It’s easy for people to get on their high horse about it,” said the Brewers’ Guild’s Sherwood. “But these are young people who will be drinking beer for the rest of their lives, and they’ll be drinking something that isn’t a Bud.”