I’ve devised another layer of torture for myself in response to The Thursday Thousand. I noticed that the exercise of writing a thousand words a week in response to a picture has pushed me towards meandering thoughts without ever getting to a real point. So, I’m going to try riffing off of the Thursday Thousand with the Friday 500. On Friday, I’ll try to pull a major theme from the previous post and get to the point in 500 words or less. Let’s try it, starting with Storm the Gates of Hell.
Collaboration
Collaborations amongst breweries have always been the pinnacle of brewing to me. It’s friends uplifting friends, comparing notes, and introducing each other to their respective communities. When I first found myself interested in craft beer, I was fascinated by how open most breweries are with their processes and trade “secrets.” I was enamored with this idea that the community would uplift each other and share knowledge.
I was certainly the beneficiary of that generosity through the years, but especially when I was just finding my footing in the industry. As Effigy Brewing, I was welcomed with open arms by breweries like East Cliff Brewing, Seabright Brewing, Hop Dogma, Fruition Brewing, Alpha Acid, Brewery Twenty-Five, and others. The knowledge I gained during those collaboration days was immense, but feeling embraced by the community meant even more.
When my partners and I started The Slough, I held on to that belief. We tried our hardest to collaborate with brewers, and even community members that we wanted to welcome into our fold. I felt strongly about openly discussing our process with not only our collaborators, but with anyone who asked. I’ve always loved breweries who put their entire recipe out into the world. After all, If you can replicate — or even improve — another brewery’s recipe, haven’t you earned it? If you brew the same recipe, and it’s not as good as the original brewer’s, what did that brewery lose?
I’ve met some brewers in my career who keep tightly guarded secrets, who pick and choose who gets the privilege of knowing their fermentation schedule or hopping rates. It honestly comes across as an inflated or especially fragile ego. No one brewer has the golden touch.
Other breweries I’ve seen — and have worked for — have twisted collaborations into a machine to build hype and maximize their growth potential. The soul of the collaboration is lost in a hollow exchange of computer files named “logo.png” to be pasted onto a label alongside a funny pun. The spirit of collaboration is staged just long enough to take a good Instagram photo. These brewers often ask what they can get out of a collaboration instead of what they can give.
Sadly, as the industry has gone through a contraction in the last few years, I’ve seen more brewers draw into themselves. Understandably, people are more defensive of their intellectual property, and it’s harder to open your doors to a stranger when you can barely take care of your own.
Still, there are those brewers who are holding on to the collaborative spirit. I hope the brewing community can preserve that notion for as long as possible. It’s what makes our community so unique and beautiful.
Thanks for tuning in so far. I’ll try to establish a regular writing cadence in the coming weeks. Please subscribe to make sure you don’t miss a single word.
Cheers,
Ben