U.S. now has over 4,000 breweries. How many is too many?

According to the Brewer's Association, the trade group that represents craft beer, there are now over 4,000 breweries in the United States. That's approaching the high of 4,131 the U.S.boasted in 1873, before the Temperance Movement, and later Prohibition, and then after THAT the big corporate brewers, laid waste to beer brewing in America.

That's pretty remarkable, when you consider that within our lifetime (or at least within my lifetime) there were as few as 89 breweries operating in the United States. There are now more than that in the Portland metro area alone!

Chart courtesy of Somethingsbrewing.com

Of course, many of us remember the craft beer boom of the 1990s. It was a glorious time. It was a time when Samuel Adams, Brooklyn, Sierra Nevada and others were just starting to make waves. Between 1986 and 1995, craft beer grew at rate of up to 75 percent a year. That growth dwarfed even today's beer explosion. Sure, I had to drive 30 minutes to get to the only decent beer store in the area, but the fact that decent beer even existed was a revolution.

In 1997, that growth hit a wall. Between 1997 and 2003, craft beer barely budged. Some years, there was no growth at all. It began to slowly tick upwards after that, but didn't begin to surge again until 2010, when the craft beer segment began experiencing double-digit growth that continues to today.

But can it last? Is there a so-called "bubble" that is threatening to burst, leaving hundreds of broken breweries in its wake?

It's a question that many people have been asking the last several years.

Breweries in planning, circa 2011

Despite my misgivings about the quality of many of the newest breweries, I don't think so. At least not any time soon.

Breweries like Stone, New Belgium, Dogfish Head, and Lagunitas are petty big fish, but only in a small pond. They seem big to craft beer nerds, but in truth they border on being nobodies. Really influential nobodies, to be sure, but hardly the giants we often think they are. As Dogfish Head's Sam Calagione recently pointed out, "I guess we are somewhere around one tenth of one percent of the US beer industry."

And these are the BIG craft breweries. Most are reeeaally damn tiny. That 4,000 figure includes nano breweries operating out of garages and barns, small brewpubs that make just enough beer to supply their restaurant, and so on. They serve very local, very small customer bases, just like breweries did over 100 years ago.

As the Brewer's Association points out:

Most of the new entrants continue to be small and local, operating in neighborhoods or towns. What it means to be a brewery is shifting, back toward an era when breweries were largely local, and operated as a neighborhood bar or restaurant

How many neighborhoods in the country could still stand to gain from a high-quality brewpub or micro taproom? While a return to the per capita ratio of 1873 seems unlikely (that would mean more than 30,000 breweries), the resurgence of American brewing is far from over.

That's not to say we're not feeling the squeeze. Talk to the person who runs your local beer shop and they'll probably tell you that there just isn't enough shelf space for all the new beers coming out. I have a solid half-dozen really good beer stores within five minutes or so of my house, and between the six of them they still can't maintain a selection of all the beers supposedly available in our area.

Photo courtesy of a really stupid column.

There is a lot of competition in the craft beer world. There will only be more. A lot of beers will get squeezed off the shelves. One bar owner told Draft Magazine in 2013:

“Frankly, I’m pretty convinced that the market [here] won’t support all of these breweries ... From talking to all of the bar owners in the market, we all have that opinion. There are a few breweries right now that none of us, meaning respected beer bars, support regularly. They sort of get ‘pity handles’ because we’re all on the same team.”

But there is room to grow, especially in areas not yet served by several good local/regional breweries, and even when that growth begins to slow -- and it inevitably will -- it's hard to envision a collapse. Today's beer drinker has been exposed to better beers right from the start. Sure, they will often still buy a cheap 30-pack of something because college + spending money don't usually go together, but from a taste perspective they have different expectations than people from my father and grandfather's generation.

Sure, my shop of choice doesn't stock half of what I want to drink because there is literally too much great beer out there for them to stock, but for the moment all that means is that every good beer shop is unique, with a selection not duplicated by the shop down the road. It makes every store you visit a beer adventure.

And that's hardly a bad thing. It means demand is still huge.

More importantly, people are still demanding good beer made nearby. As long as that demand remains -- and I don't see it waning any time soon -- we'll continue to see craft beer grow.

The sky is not falling. The good stuff is here to stay. Sure, make no mistake, there is NOT much room for competition in the upper echelon of the craft beer world. They're already starting to step on one anothers toes. There is room for only so many Founders and Bell's and Samuel Adams to go around.

The small, uber local guys are another story.

Four thousand breweries is a lot ... but we'll get to 5,000. Bet on it.

Tipping my hat to Anchor Brewing

Anchor Steam

If you can't appreciate Anchor Steam, you're no beer friend of mine.

Anchor Steam is one of the grandaddies of craft beer in America. It's just one beer from the excellence-filled Anchor lineup, but this one is something special. It's a landmark. It's a mainstay. It's a bottle of history.

Oh, and it holds up wonderfully, too. Many who are new to craft beer scoff at Anchor Steam. After all, it doesn't feature any crazy ingredients or style-busting flavors. Nope, it's just a damn good beer. Not going to blow your mind, not going to take you to new beer places, not going to push the boundaries of taste. Just going to provide a good, basic, "this is a good drinking beer" experience ideal for friends, food and conversation.

For some reason, that kind of thing is rejected by many of today's crop of craft crazies. That's too bad. There is a lot to be said for a beer that aspires to be nothing more than an excellent, impeccably crafted-yet-simple beer.

Beyond Anchor Steam, anyone and everyone who enjoys craft beer in America owes a small debt to Anchor Brewing. They were among the pioneers who helped get the movement started.

By now the story is legend. The brewery had been around since 1896 or so, quietly churning out beers, with their "steam beer," a uniquely American style now referred to as a California Common, being their mainstay. (A California Common is essentially a lager brewed at ale temperatures, giving it the smoothness of a lager with the fruity bite of an ale.) By the 1960s, though, they weren't going very well. Fritz Maytag, great grandson of THE Maytag, however, really loved their beer, so he did what any filthy rich beer lover would do: he bought the place.

Maytag prompted Anchor to reinvent themselves. They improved their processes and brought back traditional styles that had been all but forgotten in America, among them porters and barleywines. By the mid-1970s, they were probably the best brewers in America.

Even more important, they inspired a slew of others to follow in their footsteps and begin brewing craft beer. You wouldn't be enjoying your Stone and Dogfish Head and Bruery and New Belgium and Samuel Adams and Lost Abbey and on and on and on if it weren't for folks like Anchor Steam, New Albion, Sierra Nevada (who themselves credit Anchor and New Albion as major influences), and a very small (very small) handful of others.

Anchor Brekle's Brown

Steam isn't their only beer worth drinking, either. Their Old Foghorn barleywine may not impress those who like today's hopped-up barleywines, but if you like them traditional this is a classic. Their lager is good. They do a great summer ale. Love their brown. And oh, did I mention the porter?

If you haven't had Anchor Porter in a while, or at all, give it a try. Many decades after it was first made -- it was first brewed in 1972, waaaaay before almost every other porter on the market -- it's still one of the best classic porters made in the States.

Consider that for a moment. This is a beer that can go head-to-head with any American porter being brewed today. It's a definitive example of the style. Set it next to some of today's best, like Founder's and Bell's, and it is their equal or better.

And this beer was hitting shelves 40 years ago, during a time when light lagers were pretty much the only game in town! That's astonishing. That was back when good, robust beer was all but dead in America. And here you have Anchor putting out this inky black stuff that was all body and flavor. Talk about ahead of their time.

Loving Anchor isn't all about celebrating the past. All these years later, they're still a fantastic brewery and a model on how to do it right.

I will always, always tip my glass to Anchor. And you should, too.

Quick Sips: Samuel Adams New Albion Ale

I do love me some trips into beer history.

Before there was Samuel Adams or Sierra Nevada or Dogfish Head or anyone in craft beer, there was Jack McAuliffe’s New Albion brewery, the first craft brewery of the modern era. But in an era of bad canned lager made in dying regional breweries, America wasn’t ready.

New Albion opened in 1976 and closed its doors in 1982, a whisper in terms of business. Their legacy, however, endures. In some ways they were the Velvet Underground of beer. Not many people drank them, but everyone who did started their own brewery. They influenced countless others and helped introduce the idea that American beer can be hoppy, an approach that has all but come to define American craft beer.

Samuel Adams recreates New Albion's influential flagship with New Albion Ale, brewed with the original recipe provided by McAuliffe himself. Considering how far craft beer has come in the more than 30 years since New Albion folded, you’d expect this to be pretty tame. You’d be wrong. It’s a bright, hoppy, bitter-but-drinkable brew with an aroma that would not be out of place on today’s shelves. Have to admit, I was a little surprised - and impressed. It’s a little taste of history, sure, but if you don’t care about history then just look at it as a taste of something good. Because it is

Portions of this piece originally appeared in the Philadelphia Weekly and are repeated here with permission.

Shiner finally comes to Philly!

Shiner Bock is kind of a legend. In Texas, years before Stone and Dogfish Head and so many other major craft brands were household names, Shiner was King Shit. If you live in or near Pennsylvania, you know how Yuengling is a mainstay to such an extent that you need not even order it by name. "Lager" will do. And it's EVERYWHERE.

Shiner Bock is like that in much of Texas. You can't escape it. I remember visiting Austin in the early 1990s, and even then Shiner painted the landscape. In many circles, it's just what you drank. At the time, it was one of the brews that made me realize beer could taste good. Along with brews by Samuel Adams, Brooklyn, and Sierra Nevada, it was an eye-opener. Drinking a Shiner rather than some can of cold, yellow, tasteless beer wasn’t just a matter of drinking a beer, it was making a statement.

Fast forward to today. Shiner is no longer just a regional thing, widely known in Texas and surrounding states but known only by reputation outside its region. They’ve spread to 43 states, making them one of the most widely distributed craft beers in the nation. Shiner arrived in New Jersey about two years ago, and now, just in time for Philly Beer Week, it has landed in Philadelphia.

That's kind of a Big Deal.

See, Philly is one of the top beer cities in America. Few places have a better selection of great beer bars, local breweries, and strong beer culture. So a legend like Shiner arriving there, that's no small thing. I suppose you could think, "Who cares?" After all, Philly has TONS of amazing beer. The question would be valid. You can drink a different beer every day of the year in Philadelphia and it would take a long, long time to run out of good things to drink.

But if you care about how craft beer got to where it is today, you should care about Shiner, even if only to appreciate the roots of the embarrassment of riches craft beer fans enjoy today. Originating from the Spoetzl Brewery in Shiner, Texas, they were founded way back in 1909, but barely managed to scrape 1 percent of beer consumption in Texas in the decades since. Things began to pick up in the 1980s and 1990s, and exploded in the 2000s. Now, they are the 4^th largest craft brewery in the nation.

Shiner brews a number of beers, but their flagship is Shiner Bock, a deep brown lager with notes of nuttiness and molasses, yet with the easy drinking of a pale lager. It is unusual for a bock beer to be an American brewery’s flagship – bock is a traditional German style that tends to be dark and strong – but Shiner Bock has proven to be popular. Perhaps it’s because it does so well in merging flavor with accessibility. This isn’t some mind-blowing brew that will change the way you think about beer, it’s just a beer that tastes nice and goes down just as nice. No wonder Texans gobble it up.

Others include Wild Hare Pale Ale, which is a fairly traditional pale ale that leans more towards English traditions than American – the hopping is nice but not aggressive – Bohemian Black Lager, a smooth lager with roasted tones that make it nice to have with red meat, and Hefeweizen, their take on a traditional German wheat beer.

These days, Shiner probably won’t be life-changing for many craft beer drinkers. Their beers are just too approachable, too traditional, and too accessible for those who want the envelope pushed ever further afield. But that’s also what makes them such an attractive brewery. It’s the kind of beer you have when you don’t want to wrestle with notes of sugar-dappled plums and lemon grass roasted with chipotle and French oak barrels. It’s the kind of beer you have when you want a beer.

One would think Philadelphia would welcome that.

Shiner Bock is now spreading across Philly just in time for Philly Beer Week.

FULL DISCLOSURE: Reps from Shiner sent me a few bottles of their beer. I drank them.