Most of us find nothing more satisfying than going to a new town and finding a brewpub that serves a good, well-made beer in style. The first thing we notice is the beer menu. The names might be playful or subdued, and the beers they represent might be precocious or classic, but regardless of the particular brewery's flair we recognize the styles and have a good idea what to expect. Usually, somewhere in the beer descriptions or in other promotional literature we see the words "classic style," "true to style," or "brewed to style." Those are good signs. The brewer cares about style. There is, after all, nothing more satisfying than a well-made beer in style.

Unless, of course, you're in the United Kingdom. There, style is generally overlooked as a point of discussion. There, style is merely a vague approximation of what a beer might be like. There, a style's relevance is sketchy at best.

I visted England recently for the Great British Beer Festival, sampling real ales and talking with brewers and publicans. My shocking introduction to British views on style came the first night. Sitting in the good company of Mark Dorber, Peter Haydon, Clive La Pensee, James McCrorie, and others at the prestigious White Horse on Parsons Green, I found myself in the middle of a conversation that left me stupefied. A thorough shaking-up of one's preconceptions is a great way to begin an experience of foreign travel. I was off to a good start.

I had come to the United Kingdom hoping to find, among other things, answers to many of the finer questions of British beer styles. I had heard so much conflicting information in the States about ESB, for example, that I thought I would sample it in its native land to determine the exact stylistic criteria of that beer. When I asked what they had on cask for "extra special bitter," the barmaid stared at me with a quizzical look, trying to figure out if this was a trick question. After several moments of confusion we finally resolved that I was not, in fact, asking for a bitter that was somehow extra special, but that I was asking for a beer by the name of a style that did not exist as such in that land. (It does exist as part of some brand names, as in Fuller's ESB, but brand identity is the only meaning taken.)

The problem became more unsettling when I shared this relevation back at my table. Not only does ESB not exist as a style, per se, but neither does pale ale. But that was of little consequence anyway because the style label itself was unimportant in the scheme of things. What seemed more important at the taps was alcohol content. As I had noted at the bar, the beer engines are labeled by brewery and beer name, with the alcohol content (%ABV) - not the beer's style - prominently displayed. Would you like a 3.4, a 4.5, or maybe even a 5.4?

British beers in fact exhibit very little stylistic rigor, very little conformity to objective stylistic definition. As I pushed the point with my colleagues, all that could be said was that general agreement held that porters and stouts were dark and that IPAs were perhaps a bit hoppier than a standard bitter. Beyond that, it was quite an open field.

To the British brewer, style is relatively unimportant because it is least among the concerns British consumers bring to their selection of beer. The question is ultimately one of drinkability - "Will I have another?" That is the issue that will make or break a brewery - does the consumer like the beer enough to order it, and keep on ordering it?

In the United States, we espouse stylistic integrity as one, if not the ultimate, criterion on which to judge beer quality. In our competitions, we sample excellent beers and mark them down because they're not "to style." We take note when we order a pale ale and find it a shade too amber. As brewers, we devote much energy to "nailing the style."

Our preoccupation with style harbors great good. It shows a studied concern for quality, a dedication to brewing to objective standards, an aspiration to attaining ephemeral (archetypal) qualities, and even a search for historical roots and a commitment to cultural continuity. And the power of style has not been lost on the marketing department, where stylistic integrity is proffered as a benchmark of fundamental quality.

Fighting as they are to retain what they can of a dwindling market share, our brewing brethren across the ocean offer an important perspective for us: First and foremost, it is beer quality that matters. "Will you have another?" When I hand my money across the bar, I want substance, not verbiage. There is, after all, nothing more satisfying than a well-made beer. Period.

Stephen Mallery
Publisher