The always interesting Matt Kramer uses the news that Peet’s Coffee & Tea, Starbucks and other coffee vendors are embracing lighter roasts to point out America’s tastes are changing. Not a shocking conclusion, but it goes directly to a wine bottom line.

As the marketing mavens of Starbucks have discovered, the American palate is seeking an alternative to heavy flavors. Are we becoming—dare I say it?–more nuanced? By golly, I think we are.

For whatever reason, this reminded me of something Italian winemaker Antonio Terni said in The Accidental Connoisseur: “I will only say that Americans like too much in the glass. There’s always too much going on. Other than that, if we’re living on Planet America, that’s not necessarily the fault of Americans.”

If you check out the comments after Kramer’s post you’ll see not everybody agrees with him and this seems to piss off the ones who do. (And you thought pettiness was confined to beer blogs.) I’m enough of a fan of Kramer’s writing and way of looking at things to own a couple of his books, but I ended agreeing with some of those commenting. He seems to be saying that outsized is obvious, lighter is nuanced. The implications are, well, obvious to even those of us who are simple.

I’m guessing that Kramer wouldn’t find nuance in a glass of Bell’s Hopslam. In which case I’d refer him to Malcolm Gladwell. Drink 1,000 glasses and get back to me.

We ventured across Missouri this past weekend, where I spent most of my time in the company of the Kansas City Bier Meisters, judging beer, talking about beer, drinking beer, talking excessively about beer, speaking at the awards banquet for their 29th Annual Homebrew Competition (making it older than all but a few American breweries), and talking obsessively about beer.

I didn’t take pictures (other than one of Twitter star Jeremy Danner, a.k.a. “Cookie Bottom”). I didn’t take notes. I did have a great time, and, of course, I learned more about beer. New Beer Rule #9 remains in force.

More practically, I discovered a few things I need to state more clearly when speaking, or writing, about hops. The manuscript it nearly done, but some parts will read different at the end of today than they did Friday. So readers of “For the Love of Hops” will also owe a thanks to the Kansas City Bier Meisters.

Nine hundred and five breweries closed between 2000 and 2010, an average of a little over 82 a year. The numbers for 2011 aren’t in yet, so I couldn’t include them. Closings ran higher in the front half of those years, but in even the best of them, other than 2010, a brewery closed at least once a week.

So I’m bumfuzzled why my feed reader is full of stories, actually the same story modified here and there, implying that six breweries closing so far this year could be the start of a trend. Hey, maybe 2012 is going to turn out to be a terrible year for small breweries, but it won’t be because these six breweries closed. (To be clear, I feel bad for the owners, investors and the poor souls who worked at these places. Mostly the people who worked there.)

I can’t tell you how much beer the breweries that closed sold last year. Those numbers are not available yet, but take a look at the 2010 sales listed below. Except for Buckbean, which did not report its production to the Brewers Association (and that might tell us something), so I had to go with 2009.

So let’s say that 80 breweries end up closing during 2012 and that they previously produced an average of 750 barrels a year — a number pretty much made up, I admit. So that’s what? 60,000 barrels out of the system. I’m pretty sure that Deschutes Brewery alone will grow that much in 2012.

The Session #60, Let’s Talk Growlers, is in the record books.

Now we begin Year Six of The Session in Indiana. (Year Six, meaning we started five years ago. Pretty amazing. “What Goes Around… Comes Around” was atop the music charts.)

Hoosier Beer Geek Matt Robinson asks we consider this question over beer: What makes local beer better?

Of course I think this is a good idea. www.drinklocalbeer.com is one of those stray URLs I’ve given a home (don’t bother with the link, it brings you to the Appellation Beer front page). So to Matt’s marching orders:

We are hosting the March edition of the session. The topic I’ve been thinking about is local beer. The term is being used by just about every craft brewer in the country. What does it really mean though? Is it more of a marketing term or is there substance behind the moniker? This month I want to think about what makes local beer better? I’m not just talking about the beer itself, although it’s the focal point, but what makes local beer better? My connection to local beer is far from thinking that my beer is actually “local.” Maybe you don’t agree with me, and you can write about that. Bonus points for writing about your favorite local beer and the settings around it being local to you.

I just realized that last year for the March Session we visited Urban Chestnut Brewing in St. Louis. It wasn’t local then. We were still paying property taxes in New Mexico. Perhaps I should hum “What Goes Around… Comes Around.” If I only knew the tune. The fact is, though, there are two breweries closer to our house than UCB, and in addition three breweries opened in the months after UCB. Local has taken on new meaning in St. Louis.

OK, I’m probably just out of it. This may have already been discussed to death on various beer forums. Perhaps under Innovation, as in “Is this more are less innovative than Green IPA for St. Patrick’s Day?”

Anyway, opening Ale Street News today I sure was surprised to see a full page advertisement for take home beer cartons.

Nothing much at the Crafty Carton website right now (don’t bother with the “how it works” link; I tried), but apparently there will be March 20.

Ale Street has partnered with British ex-pat Luke Dolby to create Crafty Carton, so there is a story in the brewspaper. “The take-home disposable carton has been part of the British pub for over 20 years and I always feel proud when I see one of our cartons on sale there,” Dolby says for the story.

So think of it as a cardboard growler that holds 32 ounces.

Oh, and the advertisement indicates it is bio-degradable and recycalable.

Did every local television station get the same marching orders this past weekend? Super Bowl: Go find a beer story.

In Cleveland it was about Mickie Reinhart, who has come up with seven flavors of “hops drops,” liquid additives intended to be used in light lagers. The varieties include chocolate and coffee, as opposed to ones, say “tangerine” or “lychee fruit,” that have drinkers and brewers talking about new “flavor” hops.

Reinhart’s not trying to fool anybody that the drops will turn cheap beer into something it’s not. “These are really good for thin, watery tasting beer,” she said.

Anyway, a few Monday morning links, all from England, nothing about Super Bowl commercials.

* Will Hawkes profiles Eddie Gadds of Gadds’ brewery, who sounds like a poet describing his favorite hop, which happens to be his local hop, East Kent Golding: “When you smell them, you know there is a class about them. They’re not particularly pungent, mores the pity – they’re pretty bloody shy. It’s very difficult to find really good ones and it’s even harder to get the flavour out of them. But if you can do it, it’s great.”

* Simon Johnson has assembled his Craft Beer Manifesto in one spot, after first “releasing” it one Tweet at a time. Use only barley that’s been warmed by the breath of kindly owls. Brilliant.

* Zak Avery poses a question for the ages: “What is a brewer?”

Remember those hilarious videos from Breckenridge Brewing a while back? My favorite was “Gravity Activated Pouring.”

They’ve released two more. Probably as good as at least half of those that will be on display Sunday during the Super Bowl.

In the early 1980s, Anheuser-Busch chairman of the board August Busch III ordered that freshly brewed cans of Budweiser and Bud Light would be cryogenically frozen, so that they could be tasted against each other over time.

More than 20 years later, Wall Street Journal reporter Sarah Ellison described a scene where Busch and Doug Muhleman, then A-B’s vice president for brewing and technology, had cans from 1982, 1988, 1993, 1998 and 2003 thawed and set before them in the corporate tasting room. She wrote, “Muhleman . . . says the company didn’t set out to make the beers less bitter. He calls the change ‘creep,’ the result of endlessly modifying the beer to allow for change in ingredients, weather and consumer taste. ‘Through continues feedback, listening to consumers, this is a change over 20, 30, 40 years,’ says Mr. Muhleman, gesturing toward the row of Budweiser cans. ‘Over time there is a drift.’

“The sample cans demonstrate how ‘creep’ works. The difference in taste between two beers brewed five years apart is indistinguishable. Yet, the difference between the 1982 beer and the 2003 beer is distinct. ‘The bones are the same. The same structure,’ says Mr. Muhleman. Overall, however, ‘the beers have gotten a little less bitter.’”

In Why Beer Matters Evan Rail suggests we consider “beer’s unstuck relationship to time.”

Which is why I find myself thinking about beer’s bones. Why when I drink a crappy bottle of Pilsner Urquell it pains me to think about how good it can still taste in the caves underneath the brewery. Why if I didn’t have a cold that disconnected by olfactory system from my brain yesterday — when temperatures here in St. Louis were flat out balmy — I would have been sitting in front of Urban Chestnut Brewing drinking Zwickel, a beer most definitely unstuck in place as well as time.

Beer Matters is first of about Rail’s own relationship with beer.

I can’t explain what beer means for everyone: as a subject, beer is too broad and deep, too varied and multiform, just like the wide public for whom it has clearly come to mean so much. But I can tell you a few things about beer that I like most myself, why beer has come to matter to me, and what I tell people when they ask why I have chosen to write about it.

An allusion to Billy Pilgrim aside, this relationship is an act of free will. He writes, “If the unexamined life has less merit than one which has borne deep investigation, clearly there is some value in caring about what you eat and drink.”

He gives 937 words to his personal obsession with the Polish smoked-wheat beer known as Grodziskie, and part of the story is about how quickly a single beer can disappear.

Despite its recent fall from grace Budweiser hardly seems in such danger. And I don’t really care what a can from 1982 might taste like. But I do appreciate that August Busch III understood why it matters, why beer matters.

*****

Now the full disclosure. Evan Rail and I have been drinking together. He bought rounds. I bought rounds. He emailed me a copy of Why Beer Matters for review. In fact, I bought it from Amazon, in part because we are sort of friends and in part because of curiosity about how the whole “download it to Kindle” would work even though our family does not yet don’t own a Kindle. (We go to the library a lot, plus I read it on my phone.)

The essay runs about 6,500 words, a chapter in some books. You’d like to read it in a beer publication, but find me one that will print something of such length. I have no idea what Beer Matters might lead to from Evan — notice he was “Rail” in the review part, very professional, but this is the personal part — or others. But I hope it’s more.

Ray Daniels predicts that his Cicerone program will 10,000th certification in a matter of weeks. And it seems like only yesterday, as opposed to 79 AD in Pompeii (which is where this photo was taken; in 2008 rather than before Mount Vesuvius erupted). Here are the basics from a little press release:

It may seem like just yesterday that you first heard of the Cicerone Certification Program–the sommelier-like sequence for beer that tests and certifies knowledge among those who sell and serve suds for a living. But the program is now more than four years old and the number of certifications issued at the first level has skyrocketed in the past two years.

We’re writing to tell you that we’ll soon award our 10,000th certification at that first level. That’s a big event for us and for everyone involved with the program. So to celebrate, we’ll offer a unique opportunity for people to sign-up for the program at a great price — but only for a single day.

The best way to track updates is to follow Ray Daniels on Twitter.

* But perhaps we can all agree we like cicerones better than laywers. And, yes, I know passing the first level test doesn’t make a person a “cicerone.” There are Certified Beer Servers, Certified Cicerones and Master Cicerones, but don’t begrudge me Tom Paxton reference.

If you read blogs and don’t write a blog then your answer to the question Alan McLeod asks, “What If I Posted A Series Of Posts For A Fee?” will likely be read with great interest by Alan and others who write blogs.

Go. Comment.

Otherwise, a few links I’ve collected in recent weeks and haven’t managed to passing along.

* Alaskan Brewing has finalized its biofuels project. Soon it will be three years since I wrote about Alaskan getting its mash filter press online. There’s a bottom line here beyond the financial bottom line. This is good for the Alaskan environment.

* Best of the rest, I guess. The explanation Livability came up with for how it picked its “Top 10 Beer Cities” could be more illuminating. “Most beer lovers already know about the big beer cities. The keg has been tapped on places like Portland, Asheville, Fort Collins, NYC, and Chicago. What we’ve been brewing is a list of places beer nuts might miss. These are cities where great beer is being made and more importantly it’s being enjoyed, even celebrated.” No. 1 on this list of Albuquerque. For the record, I’d rather be drinking beer right now in Albuquerque than Asheville, but that’s my personal bias. However, Asheville has a population of 83,393 and Albquerque’s is 448,607, so I am struggling with the concept of “big.”

* Tableside whole-hop infusions. “Here’s how it works: Order any Bull & Bush (a Denver brewpub) beer on tap and then pick one of five hops varietals grown by Jack Rabbit Hill Hops in the Western Slope town of Hotchkiss. The beer will be served in a French press with the crumbled hops cones added. The customer can then choose how long to wait before pouring the beer and tasting the effect.”

This is going to result in a lot of crappy beer experiences. But I predict the idea has legs.