I love how mankind has a habit of bending nature to submit to our will. From genetically modifying our crop seeds to seeding clouds to make more rain for those crops, when nature doesn’t fit into the scheme, we tweak it. Part of me is being highly sarcastic, but another part marvels without judgment. This goes double for what we are able to do to nature’s best gift: beer. For millennia, beer has been brewed with grains, herbs or spices, water, and—whether the brewer knew it or not—microorganisms called yeast. Drink enough and it can make us happy. Drink too much and it makes us unhappy. Drink too much without proper exercise and it makes us fat.

To combat this, some chemists and brewers have created non-alcoholic (N/A) beer that, IMHO, only makes sense for alcoholics (from whom I’ve given up the argument that they should just drink other beverages instead of soft drinks made to taste beer-like). To combat beer bellies, there’s beer with far fewer carbohydrates and calories that natural beer contains. This only makes sense for people who play beer pong and the like.

But nowadays, some people suffer from Celiac Disease (1 in 133 Americans) or are in some way gluten-intolerant. Drink regular beer and they will surely get sick. As such, there is a growing market for gluten-free beers. Instead of traditional cereals like barley, they’re generally made from sorghum and/or buckwheat. Tragically for the glutarded, most are unpalatable. (Dogfish Head added a strawberry field however, to their sorghum-based Tweason’ale, for a resulting beer-juice hybrid. Portland’s Harvester adds chestnut flour and tons of hops to make their GF beers tasty. Also from Portland, Widmer Bros. just launched the Omission brand of authentic flavored beers made from real barley malt but filtered to the point it features less than 20 parts per million making it as gluten-free as N/A beers that are 0.5 percent ABV or less.)

Which is why it kills me that there’s a growing segment of the population who are not Celiacs, who are not allergic to gluten, but who merely adopt a GF diet because they think it’s healthier. Newflash: It’s not the gluten in cinnamon buns that are making you flabby, it’s the sugar, carbs and butter!

I overheard a guy talking about how he was going to start a gluten-free brewery, so I struck up a conversation with him. Here’s all I needed to hear: A) he isn’t gluten intolerant; B) he’s never homebrewed. Here he is proselytizing the gluten-free lifestyle—just like many people I’ve encountered—without understanding the basic tenets of what it means to be truly allergic to gluten. My guess is these are the same people who’d rather suffer through four 64-calorie beers than one delicious 264-calorie brew.

There is no doubt that these incredible experiences during the week contributed to my enjoyment at the conference. But it was one occasion that left me invigorated, confident and excited for our brewing community—a relaxing afternoon at Pizza Port.

A lot of the discussions at CBC involved the growth of the industry, and in the current era of record-number brewery openings and breweries-in-planning, “saturation” is a term that easily finds its way into the conversation. Whether we’re talking about decreasing shelf space, fighting over tap handles or maintaining beer quality, I tell people that I look forward to the day when there is a neighborhood brewery or brewpub on every corner that focuses on creating and serving that local community.

Pizza Port, with four brewpub locations in southern California, is one example of this beer utopia. I decided to venture out from the CBC festivities at the Town & Country Resort Hotel and convinced a few beer writer friends to join me for lunch and beers at the nearby Pizza Port in Ocean Beach. We met a few brewery folks from back home on the porch and settled in for a light lunch and local beer.

Though tied together under the same name, each Pizza Port location brews its own beers and has at least ten of its own brews on tap. This is in addition to several more draft offerings from other Pizza Port locations and local breweries, i.e., Russian River‘s Pliny the Elder happened to be on draft when I visited. (See the Ocean Beach Tap Cam.)

When hundreds of new beers present themselves to me, I have to sample as many as possible (one mental obstacle I hope eventually to grow out of). It was a breath of fresh air, then, to break away from tempting two-ounce samples and to share pitchers with friends. I don’t recall a time that I’ve ever had craft beer from a pitcher. Why would I when there are a plethora of beers beckoned to be sampled?

The physical act of pouring beer from the same container, however, goes beyond buying flights with a friend or even clinking separate pint glasses in creating a sense of community. I didn’t have to worry about how two sips of this beer compare to two sips of another beer or what beer I would choose to order next. Instead, the pitchers succeeded in the rather difficult task to make me relax, don’t worry and have a beer.

I had a chance to focus on the people I was with (instead of the beer) because I knew everyone was drinking the same beer, and everyone was likely to get more of that same beer. I didn’t know, however, how our discussions would evolve, how our relationships would develop, or what we would learn about each other while sitting in the sun and pouring our passion from a community container. For example, I spoke at length with one brewer with us who had acquired the difficult skill of living in the moment—something I’m rarely, if ever, able to do. He had been on that porch every day of the conference to relax by simply people watching with a pitcher of Rhino Chaser and buddies nearby.

Samples, half-pints and pints have their place and time, but I’ll be ordering pitchers of beer when I start to lose focus on the people behind the beer, especially when those pitchers are filled with a double IPA named Man-Baby. And as long as we have neighborhood breweries and brewpubs pouring their heart and soul into their beer and their community, the only saturation I’ll worry about is in my salad dressing.

A couple years ago, I did a story on collecting “white whales” for this here magazine where the first draft, in a graf discussing extreme prices collectors have paid for their beloved thingamajigs, I wrote that a 158-year-old full bottle of Allsopp’s Arctic Ale sold on eBay for over $503,000. After all, that fact is stapled on virtual telephone poles all over the interwebs. But it’s not true. Luckily I did my research before it went to print, which is why the final draft made mention of a scorched bottle of Löwenbräu found in the wreckage of the Hindenburg in 1937 that set an auction winner back over $18,000.

But guess what! That Allsopp’s Arctic Ale bottle—still unopened and still the oldest known bottle of beer—is back on eBay and can be yours for the bargain price of $89,900 (or use the Buy It Now function to secure the winning bid at $155,000, which is still 70 percent off if you believed it had sold for $503K.) Interestingly, a similar if not the exact same bottle was reportedly first sold on eBay for $304 + S&H. Sucker!

Unlike 99.99 percent of the beers being sold on online auctions that claim you’re bidding on collectible glassware and not the alcoholic contents therein, it’s safe to say this bottle won’t end up being cracked open at the next bottle share you attend. Then again, the novella contained in the listing’s description includes tasting notes on an Allsopp’s bottle of ale from 1875.

Given that I recently blogged about a friend who auctioned off his De Dolle Stille Nacht Reserva 2000 on eBay for $710, and other friends just Facebooked the lineup of beers they tore through with an eBay value of $4,000, what beer in the history of commercial brewing would you most want to drink? And how much would it be worth to you?

This isn’t to say you should get all fanciful or downright pretentious with your descriptors. There are still plenty of pockets in this country where merely talking about a beer’s herbaciousness or stone fruit notes would garner sharply raised eyebrows (at best).

I’m a coffee guy and possibly love the smell even more than the taste, but when a barista recently described the blend I was drinking as “comforting and deeply-fruited,” it was all I could do to keep from doing a spit-take.

In some ways beer has already bested its wine counterpart in terms of marketing or sommelier/Cicerone speak. I believe “craft beer” says more and has a better ring than “fine wine.” But I’m on record as being over the term craft beer. Yes, it describes only 5 percent of the beer brewed in the US, but it accounts for like 99.5 percent of the actual breweries! Among them, most offer the classic styles like pale ales, IPAs, stouts and wheat beers. You don’t have to like them all, but saying you like the “good” ones doesn’t actually say much.

When talking about preferred styles or specific beers, is using the brand name enough? Do you drop characteristics of your favored beers in conversation? And with authentic beer becoming a larger part of the national discussion, what pet peeves have you developed surrounding beer-speak?

I made the trip to Atlanta (again) to hang out over a few beers with the good folks at SweetWater, including its Minister of Propaganda, Steve Farace, and Francesca Zeifman, who is behind the brewery’s Libations and Communications. She’s dangerously good at both aspects of her job—I always knew exactly what was going on during the weekend, and my glass never stayed empty for longer than it takes you to say “Exodus Porter, please.”

There were rows and rows of casks with names like “Glazed & Confused,” “Tebow’s Tears,” “In Hops We Trust” and “Drops of Juniper” (Train fan anyone?). Participating civilian brewers showed their creativity in both the cask ales they created and the labels they chose for their libations.

Why this week? We saw the vernal equinox come and go, marking the first day of spring and the promise of an increasing amount of sunshine and warm weather. Historically, these conditions required us to refresh after a hard workday on the farm with a beer brewed and stored in the colder months to prevent spoilage. I take my sickle to the fields only occasionally today, but who am I to let the invention of refrigerators trump tradition?

Fortunately, Tasty Beverage Co., a bottle shop in downtown Raleigh and a World Beer Festival-Raleigh sponsor, feels the same way. They’ve dubbed this entire week the inaugural “Saison-a-Thon” to “celebrate the change of seasons” by “enjoy[ing] the delightful refreshment of some very excellent beers.”

Perhaps I added this movie as a result of searching for the word “beer” in the catalog; Lord knows I’ve done this in iTunes. Maybe I did it as a lark when I’d dreamed of receiving beer directly via Netflix-like service. This flick from 1985 wasn’t on Jay Brooks’s Top 10 Beer Movies list. In fact, a search of his blog revealed it was only mentioned once, buried around midway through a post on Fictional Beer Brands, Beer’s Norbecker Pilsner.

I watched it so you don’t have to. Beer stars Kenneth Mars as Adolph Norbecker, a third-generation brewery owner chagrined that his brand is rapidly losing market share. Here’s what he says to his advertising agents, in his notorious thick German accent (as fans of the movie The Producers will recall): “When my grandfather founded zis business in Germany 87 years ago, he knew ze secret of a successful beer! It’s not in ze hops, no! It was not in ze aging, no! Do you know ze secret of a successful beer? Ze secret of a successful beer,” muses Norbecker, taking a facetiously nonchalant pause, finishes by screaming, “IS ADVERTISING!”

He further explains to his inept admen (and one non-inept adwoman played by Hot Lips Houlihan, er, Loretta Swit, stating, “You see, all beer is essentially the same. It is all fermented piss-colored water, hmm!

The movie then proceeds to develop a successful campaign built Regular Joes with the line, “Are you tough enough?” but descends into standard chauvinism with the line, “Whip out your Norbecker.” It actually gets worse, save for a great role for Rip Torn who can do no wrong.

Luckily, there are dozens more movies with the word beer in the title, and hundreds of others that contain more than just a passing brew. From modern documentaries to slapstick comedies to arthouse dramas where a particular brand may feature prominently, what’s your favorite beer-theme movie?

I’m talking about hops.  Given that craft beer—while experiencing immense growth on the industrial and consumer interest sides—is still only about 5 percent of the market, it can be assumed at 95 percent (or more) of beer drinkers don’t know squat about hops. It stands to reason that, once consumers discover what hops even really are, they’re more likely to discover what beer can really be.

Where can people learn about hops? I have one idea. And if you can hold your breath ‘till September, there’s Stan Hieronymus’s tell-all book, For the Love of Hops (Brewers Publications). But this isn’t about the Pulitzer for hops. This is for the should-be category of Best Usage of Hops in a Short Film. The following two brewery-produced clips just came to my social-media attention and are highly deserving of being nominees.

Bar Hop-ping: Boston Beer Co. sent some Sam Adams lovin’ dudes around town in what could be a set-up for a joke, “A bag of hops walks into a bar,” to gauge how people react. The best lines come from bartenders themselves: “This does not belong in the bar” and “Get this $#!+ out of here! What do you think this is, Amsterdam?”

Resin: Brooklyn’s Sixpoint Brewery gets spiritual, historical, and downright transcendental about the hop cone as one of the most popular spices on the planet. Is it an ad for their Resin Double IPA? Sure. But moreover, it tantalizingly celebrates our generally agreed upon favorite flower’s place in the circle of life.

Hop Trip: The first one was shot guerilla hand-cam style, the second looks a lot more polished, and both are more succinct yet less giddy than this one I recalled from years ago, Deschutes’s ride-along for their that portrayed the laborious—and worthwhile—efforts that go into making a fresh hopped beer.

Obviously you enjoy drinking this A-list ingredient in your beers. Do you also like learning about hops in breweries’ marketing videos? If you know of any others or have a favorite homemade Youtube vid starring Hugh Mulus Lupulus, please cast your vote in the comments.

The festival was a collaboration between hosts COAST Brewing Co. and the Charleston Beer Exchange not to make a beer, but to organize an afternoon of remarkable speakers and brews to remember for the beer-loving community.

A crowd favorite, as evidenced by the lines, discussion and social media chatter, was The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery in Boca Raton, FL. Currently in the process of adding a production brewery to its brewpub operation, Funky Buddha pleased fans with timed releases of its Last Snow, a coffee porter with white chocolate and coconut, and my personal favorite of the festival, its No Crusts, a peanut butter and jelly-flavored brown ale that took me back to the soft, breaded triangles in my Kindergarten lunchbox that my mom packed for me.

Beer wasn’t the only star of the festival. Rob Tod, founder, owner and brewmaster of Allagash Brewing Co., and Peter Bouckaert, brewmaster of New Belgium Brewing Co., lit up the stage with talks of sour beers and open question and answer sessions. The presentations not only provided pleasant breaks to relax and give your palate a rest, but the two brewers gave fans inside looks of both the difficult nature of creating sour programs and the ease with which to maintain them.

The night before Brewvival, downtown Charleston’s Closed for Business served as the default congregation point for festival attendees. The Lucas brothers have built their restaurant and craft beer bar into a beer destination in Chucktown by maintaining an impressive array of draft options and hosting beer dinners with some of the country’s top brewers. In fact, Bouckaert hosted a beer dinner at Closed for Business the night before Brewvival.

Nonetheless, the best part of Brewvival, as it is with any beer festival, was not the rare and interesting beers available, but the community that those beers brought together and the discussion that they facilitated. I sampled fantastic beers with new and old friends as we listened to each other describe the experience, and I turned around to hear the stories behind each beer from the main characters in those tales.

This is a life enriched by beer.

Though it’s necessary to be reminded how great rudimentary pale ale is, and sometimes I even poke fun of how crazy we get with our beer these days, it’s also nice to put some playfulness back in the spotlight and let craft beer’s joie de vivre shine ‘neath the big top. One night during SF Beer Week last week, ringmaster and Homebrew Chef Seax Paxton put on the Greatest Show on Wort. Well, actually, just the funnel cake was drizzled with wort, but when talking about a nine-course beer dinner, why skip to dessert?

Billed as a Three Ring Circus—the rings being Shmaltz and Speakeasy of San Francisco and Ninkasi from Eugene, Ore.—the strongman was Shmaltz, under whose umbrella the Coney Island Brewery falls (makers of a Pumpernickle Porter and Korndog Kolsch). Riffing off the Coney Island Sideshow Freaks line of lagers, daredevils and contortionists performed between courses but, this being a Homebrew Chef event, it was Paxton’s dishes that took center stage. And he didn’t clown around.

Take the fourth course. First Paxton infused sugar with Centennial hops before converting it into bona vide cotton candy. But instead of merely wrapping it around a paper cone, the hoppy candy ensconced locally-sourced foie gras (before it suffers its own form of Prohibition in California come July 1). Instead of soda pop like you’d find at a conventional circus, this was paired with Speakeasy Big Daddy IPA.

The next course, unlike the ducks, guests were the ones being fattened up. To wash down the slider (made with ground elk, duck hearts, and rendered beef lard), diners were poured not one, not two, but three Imperial Stouts, one from each of the breweries. Veritably, somehow a dozen beers were showcased despite there being only nine courses. The aforementioned funnel cake was but one of two plated desserts (and even then that’s not including the savory churro dish, itself made with a Double IPA).

So while brewers and chefs, like coaches, are right in preaching the fundamentals, there’s certainly a time and a place for a little showboating razzle-dazzle. Do you prefer your beer dinners on the classic side, or would you always rather see some freakishness?