Sam Calagione of Dogfish Head in his own Beer Bubble

Two great things were born in 1981: The Great American Beer Festival (GABF) and me. The GABF is touted as the biggest, oldest beer tasting in the US; I am touted as a big ol’ beer taster, myself. This year’s GABF was held last weekend, meaning for me, three days of texts from gloating friends who attended: “Dude. Just talked w/ Sam Calagione for like 5 min!” I was totally jealous of this one-on-one with the founder of Dogfish Head. It did occur to me though, after my fantasy chat with Sam, that I live in a Beer Bubble. Craft beer has not touched everyone’s life like it has mine. I came of age in a great era for beer drinkers; however, while craft beer has come a long way from 1981, we can still do better for our fellow Americans.

According to BeerAdvocate, the US was home to 4,131 breweries in 1873. But matters just spiraled downhill from that peak to 1919 when some self-righteous sons-a-guns cursed the whole country with Prohibition. That screwed things up profoundly. Americans were not even allowed to brew their own again until 1978 (respect-knuckles, Jimmy!). I’ve dated guys older than that law. So maybe it shouldn’t be a shock, but I was still surprised to learn from the Brewers Association that as of July 2012 there were only 2,126 breweries in the US. Only 5.3% of all the beer produced last year qualified as craft beer — craft breweries as defined by the Brewers Association: small (six million barrels or less), independently owned, and traditional (no malt bevs or adjunct usage permitted). So that means there’s still a lot of crappy beer being brewed and consumed here.

And while I’m throwing around numbers like I know what I’m talking about, here’s another beery nugget: most Americans live within ten miles of a craft brewer. Ten! Not me; probably closer to 30 — but the closest craft beer available to me (not counting the fridge) is in the convenience store down the street, and I can’t imagine not having that privilege.

As the manager of a small, local business in a small Ohio town, I spend much of my day cursing the megaliths of retail. I know that what I can offer is better than the alternative, but it’s also more expensive; I don’t know how to convince people to put their money back into the community. So at 6pm I lock the store’s door, go home to sit on the porch, and crack open a craft beer. (Great Lakes Eliot Ness tonight.) I know that I’m most likely preaching to the choir, but please remember to tell your friends about the joys of local beer — that something even better is right around the corner. (Can I get an Amen?)