Last week I published a critical review of a whisky from Irish distillery Waterford Whisky. Admittedly I don’t have much skin in the game when it comes to whisky, but enough so that they saw fit to send me a bottle. One that made me think, and thus stimulated what was, for me, a useful exercise in critical writing.
Other than a couple of DMs, the review didn’t prompt much of a reaction. That’s likely because in whisky writing—as much as you’d expect in restaurant or wine writing—a certain level of fair criticism is expected. In fact I’d go as far as to say it’s encouraged. When people read the work of, for example, Grace Dent, Jay Rayner or Jonathan Nunn, they anticipate and appreciate fair critique. In part this is because seeing a restaurant get panned by a top writer can be very enjoyable. But it’s also because there’s a certain level of trust between the reader and the writer, and well placed criticism adds weight when a writer of such standing does decide to give praise to something they’ve enjoyed. It gives a good review meaning and genuine value.
This week I’ve been thinking about the lack of criticism in beer writing. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot over the years, because beer and pub reviewing doesn’t really exist in any meaningful way compared to how it does in wine or food writing. I consider that there are many reasons why this is the case, the main one being a general lack of consideration from mainstream (or, indeed, niche) media outlets for beer and pubs. But also it’s because beer drinkers are a different beast to most wine drinkers. There’s a certain level of—dare I say—zealotism, that means if anyone decides to log on and pan a beer, they can almost certainly expect some flack. I know this, because I’ve been guilty of defending beer perhaps a little too ardently in the past myself.
There’s also the hurdle of placing undue criticism on a small brewery that is almost certainly struggling at the moment. Beer is in a situation where market conditions feel like what I imagine they did in the 1960s and 70s where the UK market was dominated by the “Big Six”. There’s a different set of players involved, for sure, but the game is largely the same. The cost of raw materials and production is sky high, margins are thin, and routes to market are largely dominated (and in some cases controlled) by the aforementioned big guys.
Criticising these largest operators and their various brands is easy. It’s low hanging fruit. If I tell you honestly that Beavertown Neck Oil is a wildly-inconsistent shadow of its former self, or BrewDog Hazy Jane tastes close to tropical-flavoured shampoo with an aspirin dissolved in it, then most people will nod in agreement. Yes you’ll still get some kind of retort if you do, because beer of all sorts always has its defenders, but it's the style of beer criticism that’s generally acceptable. But what value does just saying what most people already know actually add to beer writing?
I don’t review beer or pubs because I make my living from writing about beer full time and there is almost no one paying writers to produce this kind of critique within the UK. Adrian Tierney-Jones’ column in the Daily Star is about the only regular review-style beer writing within mainstream media I can think of, and even that is a single, typically very positive write up each week. I think that has value, because it helps smaller producers get presented to a much more widespread audience than they might usually, but this is a good example of how most beer writing draws the line at proper criticism.
Despite not actually writing reviews, I still get sent a lot of beer samples for my consideration, almost entirely from small, independent breweries. Recently I had two sets of samples from two different breweries that I didn’t really enjoy. The first was a range of several different lagers, of which I’ve tried two, but both contained sediment in suspension, giving them a gritty mouthfeel, and an unpleasant finish. They went down the sink after a few sips. Another lager from a different brewery was under-attenuated, meaning there was a high level of residual sugar remaining in the beer. This gave it plenty of body, for sure, but it also left it feeling flabby and unsatisfying, and I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. But I won’t tell you what either of them are.
This is because I know that both of these breweries are capable of producing exceptional beer, because I’ve tried it. After sampling their more recent, far more lacklustre releases I have been considering what value criticising them would add, and weighing this against potentially causing reputational damage to small, family-owned businesses, and if that means any criticism ceases to be a worthwhile exercise.
I think both of these breweries probably already know that these beers are a long way from their best, and I’m happy to leave it at that. But then there’s this nagging feeling that there is an opportunity to pose rational critique, and how it could add meaning and value to the beer space. The kind that, at the moment, doesn’t really exist. Maybe it's time that more breweries just learned to take proper criticism on the chin, and we writers get on with it without worrying about the consequences?
Personally, I think there’s a huge appetite for good criticism in drinks writing, but with a few caveats. You’ve got to have personality. On Instagram wine critic Tom Gilbey has quickly built up a following of over half a million people, thanks to his eccentric video reviews, and he’s no stranger to panning something he dislikes (which is typically big brand, supermarket wine.) Similarly, Jason Hackett—The Primemutton (I love him)—has racked up over 135k followers thanks to his charismatic takes on Guinness, making him one of the most popular beer personalities online. But on occasion he does like to review other beers from small independents, often with glowing praise, but also with genuine observational criticism where he feels it's necessary. It’s refreshing, if a little off kilter. Still, the numbers don’t lie. People are really into this kind of content.
I don’t expect the Guardian, Financial Times or even BBC Good Food will be hiring a beer writer in the traditional sense to cover beer and pubs critically any time soon, and that’s largely because none of these outlets, like most, take beer writing with any sort of seriousness.
But there’s the thing. Why isn’t anyone investing in critical writing about the most consumed alcoholic beverage in the country? It feels like a missed opportunity. One that beer writers like myself will continue to ponder and work out if we can find a way to ensure it's the kind of work that does add genuine value to people’s beer and pub experiences.