Beer Hunter – Whisky Chaser

This is a book, dedicated to the late Michael Jackson by fellow writers. It is edited by Ian Buxton with a wonderful chapter by Michael Jackson’s long time partner Carolyn Smagalski. The articles in this book have been written by Stephen Beaumont, Julie Bradford, Dave Broom, Ian Buxton, John Hansell, Charles MacLean, Hans Offringa, F Paul Pacult, Roger Protz, Lucy Saunders, Conrad Seidl and Gavin D Smith.

Published by Classic Expression, http:// www.classicexpressions.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-906000-04-2

The profits of the sales of this book will be donated to the Parkinson’s Disease Society (UK).

I have read this book twice and I might revisit it again in a little while. It’s a superb collection of beer and whisky related stories from the best writers in the industry and no afficionado should be without it. Instead of the normal book review I will simply quote Ian Buxton and Carolyn Smagalski. It says it all and much more eloquently than I ever could. It’s long, but please do take the time to read it! It’s worthwhile!

With kind regards

Franz Scheurer

Ian Buxton

Introduction

De mortuis nil nisi bonum dicendum est.

Chilon of Sparta

The news of Michael Jackson’s untimely death spread rapidly through the worlds of whisky and beer. Amongst those who knew him there was a sense of shock, but scarcely of surprise: his illness, borne with stoic dignity for so long, had visibly progressed. The deterioration of his health was painfully obvious and, on several occasions prior to his death, he had seemed gravely ill. I first met Michael in February 1984 when we spent a week touring Czech breweries. For more than 20 years we met intermittently at whisky events – conferences, tastings and distillery and industry functions. Our last encounter was memorable even before its significance became clear. In the course of a long conversation at Craigellachie’s Highlander Inn during the 2007 Speyside Whisky Festival, he chose to reminisce about that trip behind the Iron Curtain, recalling with astonishing clarity incidents and fellow travellers that I had long forgotten. Later he spoke of moving to the United States; of making ‘a fresh start’ – from what, I could not discern. In retrospect, it was a curious conversation: typical of Michael in its elliptical form, rambling, diffuse but warm and deeply humane, always illuminated by his abiding interest in people and his restless curiosity. Yet even at the time it struck me as having an elegiac quality and afterwards I was vaguely troubled by his apparently effortless recall of distant, trivial events. So news of his death was a shock, but not a surprise. Within Beer Hunter-

Beer Hunter, Whisky Chaser an hour the plan for this book had formed, yet I did not act for some while on the initial impulse. There were others more qualified, I reasoned, others who knew Michael better, others with greater resources. I knew also that there would be other plans: a Memorial Service, perhaps, and commemorative bottling of his favourite beers or whiskies. It seemed crass and, even in some ill-defined way, opportunistic to push the merits of this modest proposal. But though other projects crowded forward I remained convinced that something permanent was required. A Memorial

Service is ephemeral and reaches only a limited audience, however satisfying for the participants (and I do not mean to decry its importance). By its very nature it excludes many and the memory of it inevitably fades with time. So too, with the finest of commemorative bottles (and again I applaud the initiative): once opened and drunk their glories are fleeting and transitory, yet Michael would hardly have welcomed them becoming mere

trophies for collectors. And Michael was not a brewer or distiller. He was a journalist and writer. Above all, what he stood for and cared about, even

more passionately than rugby league or jazz or, yes, whisky or beer (and he cared deeply about these fine and worthy things) was honest writing.

So it seemed most appropriate to remember him with words. But not, I reasoned, a collection of personal essays on what Michael meant to various luminaries. This seemed to me likely to pall very rapidly, to become repetitive and, possibly a worse horror for a Yorkshireman, to descend into the sentimental and maudlin. Moreover, anyone buying this book would, in all probability, have their own memories of Michael Jackson, their own

stories, their own tributes. Yet, whatever their merit or personal significance, not all of these stories can be told whilst the process of selection itself seemed to me demeaning, implying greater worth or interest in one memory over another. What is more, given the inevitable delay in compiling, editing and printing a volume such as this, it seemed better to honour his name by looking forward rather than with recollection. The time for obituaries is now past, I argued, and those who walk in Michael’s shadow should attempt something that would have engaged and intrigued him, not simply an exercise in selfindulgent and morbid flattery. Let us honour Michael with words, fresh and new writing on beer and whisky that he would have enjoyed reading; that he would have respected; that he might even

have wished to have written himself. Or so I argued to a small group of other beer and whisky writers. And, to my considerable surprise and even more considerable pleasure, it seemed they agreed. I determined that this

collection of essays should be evenly balanced: six of the best writers on each subject would be recruited to contribute a new essay, on a subject of their choosing. I made only two stipulations: there were to be no personal

reminiscences or anecdotes about Michael, for the reasons

outlined above; and the material was to be new. And a third, final

but critical thing: the author was to be proud of what they had

written. (Oh, and there was no fee!).

My initial enquiries were, I hope, both tentative and modest (I hope the authors would collectively agree) yet with each response I grew in confidence and belief, for I did not receive one refusal. Acceptance was in every case immediate and full-blooded – with 12 emails or phone calls I solicited contributions from 12 internationally renowned authors, several of whom I had never met (and indeed have still to meet). Lest I sound vain I should add that this is nothing to do with me. It is the finest and most heartfelt tribute to Michael Jackson that his peers could make. I was merely the lightning rod for their passionate need to express their respect, admiration and loss in a way that seemed both more appropriate and more profoundly felt than any tribute or valediction. I should properly add here that, when word of the project belatedly spread amongst the community of drinks writers, the size of this volume could easily have doubled. Perhaps in a future edition that will be possible but, with publication deadlines to meet, a decision had to be made simply in order to get this into print. So, if your favourite whisky or beer writer does not appear in these pages the fact is that they probably wanted to be here and I either neglected to approach them (I was initially reticent to ask fellow professionals to contribute their work for nothing) or simply misunderstood the depth of feeling that I could have tapped.

What you hold in your hands, then, poor thing though it may be, is testament to Michael from at least some of those best placed to value and appreciate what he achieved. Michael was not the first writer on either beer or whisky; arguably, he was not the finest, but he was indisputably the most influential. For that he will be long remembered and it is to acknowledge the remarkable achievement of his life and work that this collection of essays has been compiled.

If variety is what you celebrate in your choice of whisky or beer, then this is truly a joyous and eclectic celebration of a life well-lived. Amongst these pages you will find both fact and fiction. In no particular order, John Hansell has contributed a very poignant private memoir and both F Paul Pacult and Dave Broom have elected to tell us something about their personal, and very different, journeys into whisky. Hans Offringa’s contribution is a short story, though you may feel that you recognise the

character of Alan MacManus. Stephen Beaumont has taken a more scientific approach, discussing the impact of environment and context on beer

drinking, whilst Gavin D Smith (better known, perhaps, as a whisky writer but very well qualified to expound on beer) investigates 30 years of British beer which roughly matches the period of Michael Jackson’s contribution on the subject. This is mirrored by Julie Johnson’s review of the last three decades of American brewing and an authoritative analysis of the development of single malt whisky by Charles MacLean. Conrad Seidl goes in search of German beer culture and wellknown British beer writer Roger Protz discusses lagering. Lucy Saunders offers a practical guide to beer and food and in my essay I have sought to discuss the problem of ‘authenticity’ and what it means for Scotch whisky.

But this volume could not be complete without some personal reminiscence of Michael, and no one is better suited to that task than his partner, Carolyn Smagalski, who writes movingly of the Michael she knew. Apart from this introduction and Carolyn’s contribution, the other essays are organised in

alphabetical order of the authors’ surnames.

In editing this volume I have tried to take a light touch. All the contributors are experienced and widely published and it seemed impertinent to make any significant alteration to their work. All spellings, however, have been standardised to reflect English usage (‘flavour’ for ‘flavor,’ for example) except where the context makes it clear that the American variant is required. Hence alternate spellings of ‘whisky’ and ‘whiskey’ are not errors

but reflect an individual author’s predilection for Scotch or

Bourbon respectively. All of the writers, and Gill Allan our jacket designer,

contributed their work free of charge and we have received generous sponsorship from Chivas Brothers’ The Glenlivet to offset the cost of production. My colleague Neil Wilson at Classic Expressions took on the onerous responsibility of publisher with considerable grace, especially considering that I ‘volunteered’ him for this role. To all of them go my thanks and the gratitude of the Parkinson’s Disease Society of the UK. Michael suffered from the debilitating effects of this dreadful disease with grace and true Yorkshire grit for many years. It is fitting, then, that all profits from the publication of this book will be donated to the Parkinson’s Disease Society of the UK. To this end, I add particular thanks to you, the purchaser, for buying this book. You may never see the good that this has done, but it is appreciated and valued more than you can know.

Whatever your tipple, savour it with the knowledge that Michael Jackson is by your side – a reliable, robust and modest guide whose memory and influence lives on.

Slainte!

Ian Buxton

Carolyn Smagalski

Quintessentially Michael

First impressions so deeply root in our psyche that neither place nor time can diminish them. ‘The Jura Scholar,’ ‘Doctor of Drams,’ ‘Professor of the Pint.’ Humble, yet arrogant. Rumpled, yet royal. A bit off balance. Gracious in manner and prescient in wisdom.

Michael Jackson belonged to us. We, who quaffed the dram and the pint, laid claim to our treasure and to his digressions. Had he come from Oxford or Yale, he may have been less accessible, but we embraced this champion of the working class. His tongue titillated our own with tales of international flavours – sour lambic from the valley of the Zenne in Belgium, single malt from the Isle of Islay, and imperial stout from the Baltic nations of Europe. He called himself the ‘Beer Hunter’ and the ‘Whisky Chaser.’ With deadpan wit, he introduced Golden Shower Imperial Pilsner to NBC chat-show host Conan O’Brien with the cunning innocence of a fox. We understood his subtleties and he became our rock star.

What drove us to such lustful thirst?

Jackson was a man’s man, irascible in the face of competition. His tempestuous nature sharpened at the sweat-drenched jab of a boxer’s glove or the oncoming crush of a bloodstained scrum of rugby league … not union … league. Jackson’s own native Huddersfield in West Yorkshire spawned 26 newspapers by the late 1950s. This was the golden age. The air, awash with solvents that burned the eyes and seared the throat, inspired a hunger for

newsprint within this industrial town. Local pubs, thick with the smell of blood pudding and booze, held cynicism between their Beer Hunter-teeth, stoked with the ever-present scintillation of a story about to crack. This was where he belonged. At 16, Jackson initiated a series called ‘This is your Pub’ through the Batley & Morley Gazette. With notebook in hand, he would work the weekly papers in Mirfield and Wakefield before landing a professional position with the daily Huddersfield Examiner, and eventually, Fleet Street in London.

Jackson amassed a personal collection of mentors, both in the physical sense and in his mental reserves: Dylan Thomas and his autobiographical tale Old Garbo from Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog; Faulkner, Joyce, Burns and Hemingway; William Empson’s Seven Types of Ambiguity and Bruce Chatwin’s telegraphic words ‘Have gone to Patagonia’ that scorched The Sunday Times in 1974. Clearly, there was a common thread shared by all – drink. This one key was worth keeping. On assignment, from sexploitation in Amsterdam to civil war in Bangladesh, Jackson sustained a 20-year foreplay with intoxication that soothed the soul and loosened the tongue. As a documentarian, he had yet to assemble a serious journal as a drinks writer. Beer sustained every civilisation in the world, with whisky close at heel. Why, then, were these not celebrated with the enthusiasm of champagne? By 1976, Michael Jackson introduced himself to the drinks community with his book, The English Pub. It was but a small introduction, a whisper in a field of grain. With his 1977 release of The World Guide to Beer, however, he captivated a global community with his words, ‘A man who doesn’t care about the beer he drinks may as well not care about the bread he eats. Beer may have been man’s staple diet before bread was invented, and these two staffs of life are as comparable as they are closely

related.’ It would be another ten years before he would sate aficionados of single malts and blends with Michael Jackson’s World Guide to Whisky.

Wild fermentation in Wallonia and Flanders neared extinction until Jackson’s 1991 book, Great Beers of Belgium, followed by the enormously celebrated ‘The Burgundies of Belgium,’ a sobriquet used in his video-tape series The Beer Hunter. In 1994, he was honoured by Crown Prince Philippe of Belgium with the Mercurius Award. A foodie by nature, Jackson celebrated each new experience, whether eating bere bannocks in Orkney or drinking sahti in Finland. His perspective focused upon every angle of historical record and aesthetic impression. Under his tutelage, French and

Belgian cuisine à la bière achieved prominence at the first Belgian beer luncheon held in America, hosted at New York’s sumptuous Pierre Hotel in Manhattan. These were royal libations, indeed. Major public figures – the Taoiseachs Seán Lemass, Garrett FitzGerald and Bertie Aherne, Rudy Giuliani, the mayor of New York and HRH The Prince of Wales – found it chic to associate with Jackson. He spurnedoverindulgence. His esoteric lectures focused on taste, local colourand artisan craftsmanship. He inspired at venues held by the National Geographic Society and Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC, the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Cornell University, the Culinary Institute of America, the Cambridge Union and internationally acclaimed drink and food festivals, including the Speyside Whisky Festival, Great American Beer Festival, Beer Passion Weekend, International Whisky Festival (Netherlands), and

Salone del Gusto in Turin, Italy. The German Academy of Gastronomy was the first to recognise him in 1977, for excellence in beer writing. He was the

first recipient of the American-based Brewers Association Recognition Award in 1987, and the Achievement Award from the Institute for Fermentation Studies. He won five Glenfiddich Awards and the Glenfiddich Trophy, as well as the André Simon Award. In 1997, his membership in the Belgian Confederatie der Brouwerijen van België/Confédération des Brasseries de Belgique elevated him as the first non-brewer to receive this honour. He

was a Master of the Quaich in Scotch whisky’s international trade society, the Keepers of the Quaich, and an Officer of Honour in La Chevalerie du Fourquet des Brasseurs. His book, Scotland and its Whiskies, received the Jury Grand Prize Golden Laurel by the Swiss organization Historica

Gastronomica Helvetica and was selected Best Book on Spirits in the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards 2001. In 2004, he received the Lifetime Achievement Award from Whisky Magazine. His book Whisky: The Definitive World Guide won five international awards, including the James Beard Award in 2006. After his death, Oxford Brooks University Library at Headington Campus, Oxford, established the Michael Jackson Collection from the priceless contents of his office in London.

Over the course of 30 years, he supported CAMRA in Britain, fuelled the craft beer renaissance in America, ignited the cask ale movement in Japan, and turned new focus on the developing markets of Poland, Italy, and Turkey. Whatever the request, he strove to oblige, whether it be to critique a dram, autograph a book or a breast, or assist a supplicant on the street.

Parkinson’s Disease, complicated by diabetes, chipped at his arduous schedule for the better part of ten years. He described himself as ‘a man who seeks to sustain his spirit in a battered brain and broken body by invoking Yorkshire stubbornness, the belief that Huddersfield will one day get their hands back on the Rugby League Cup (preferably by wresting it from St Helens), the beliefs of Vince Lombardi, and the Jewish survival instinct.’ To an audience unaware of his afflictions (at a time when he

drank the least), he appeared to ‘have a drinking problem’ –garrulous in speech, rocking like Slam Stewart, off balance, or frozen in mid-step. In December 2006, he disclosed his closely guarded diagnosis to his publishers and adherents, proposing to document his privacy in a painfully honest book entitled I Am Not Drunk -but he could still shoot hoops.

On a handful of occasions, Michael would inscribe a few loving words to me in books of his own selection. The last one he addedwas in an anthology of his work, translated into Italian by Slow Food Editore. It was New Year’s Day, 2007. Scribbled onto the first page of Storie nel bicchiere – di birra, di whisky, di vita, he wrote,‘Did John Lennon send you? The next rite of

passage is toasted in Victory’

All too soon, the White Rose of Yorkshire segued into his nextrite of passage.

Our lips lay parched, and we thirst for more.