Beyond taste, what else is there to know about beer?

Byline: LEWIS TAYLOR The Register-Guard

Starting sometime, oh, I guess it was around last Hanukkah, I first began to hear radio ads for the KLCC Microbrew Springfest, which took place March 29 and 30 at the Lane County Fairgrounds.

Sure, the early hype made sense because it was coming from the same radio station that was sponsoring the event, but, then again, I remember thinking, how much advance notice does one really need for beer-drinking?

When attending the Springfest, it's best to avoid the whole drinking and driving thing - and that includes bicycles. So, on a glorious Friday afternoon, far too beautiful to be cooped up in space normally reserved for livestock, I set out on foot toward the fairgrounds.

Earlier that day, I had heard radio announcer Tripp Sommer taking a tour of the Wild Duck Brewery to find out how beer was made. I listened intently, hoping to gain some insight into the brewing process, but I found myself just as dazed as I always get when someone tries to explain a process I don't really care about.

Don't get me wrong, I love beer - drinking it, that is. I just don't need to know how to make it any more than I need to know how to make my own television set, which is something I also enjoy almost as much as beer.

The last brew-fest I attended, I had vowed to overcome my blissful ignorance in the ways of beer-making. I asked every brewer I encountered how they made their beer, and, somewhere along the line, I think I gained a pretty good understanding of the process. I say, "I think" because, whatever brewing knowledge I gained, went right down the urinal with the rest of the assorted bocks, stouts, pilsners and pale ales I consumed.

This time around, I vowed to actually learn something about the beer I was drinking. To prevent any microbrew memory loss, I'd bring a notebook with me; and, lest my handwriting get too "swervy" to decipher later, I'd even have a tape recorder.

After making my way past a table full of KLCC volunteers, who weren't allowed to drink beer but looked like they could use some, I found myself inside the glorified gymnasium that is the Lane County Fairgrounds. It was 4:30 p.m., and the room was filled mostly with home brewers, many of whom had already somehow managed to taste all five dozen of the beers being offered.

Feeling a bit like the kid who arrives at the high school dance too early, I made my way to the first brewery table that caught my eye and struck up a conversation with one of the brewers. He offered me a "slightly hoppy, bitter beer that finishes smooth," and I asked him to translate what he just said.

Like many brewers, the man had a gravity-obeying physique that was similar to E.T. the extraterrestrial's frame (skinny-arms with pot-belly). But he was intensely passionate about beer, and he hardly balked when I asked him my softball Mr. Rogers question, "How do you make beer?"

In the hopes of understanding what separated an IPA from an ESB, a Dunkel Weizen from a Hefeweizen, I asked this question to virtually everyone I met, and it drew different responses from each person. Some offered detailed explanations, telling me more than I needed to know about International Bittering Units, Carny kegs and organic brewing standards. Others grew impatient with my brewing ignorance and abruptly walked away from me while I was talking.

One brewery representative either did not know how beer was made, or was too pickled to tell me. After describing beer as "a stew" made of malt, barley and hops, he quickly dismissed himself and headed toward the backstage area, where, apparently, all of the out-of-town brewers were holding some sort of beer summit.

The most patiently delivered explanation came from the owner of a local home-brew store. Pointing to baskets of malt, barley and hops, he took me from whole grains to "wort" to fermenting tank. I asked him the question that had been gnawing at me all day, which was, "How do you brewers avoid becoming drunks?" The long and short of his answer was, "Some of us don't."

The strangest conversation I had about beer was with a brewer who brought a terrible, no good, very bad beer made with ginseng. Very politely, I asked the woman what had possessed her to put a Chinese herb into a German malted beverage, and she explained that her herbalist recommended ginseng as a natural stimulant and you could party until 5 a.m. with a keg of her brew.

This still didn't explain why the beer tasted like a Listerine cocktail, but I figured that just as there are people who eat cheese out of aerosol cans, there are probably those who enjoy this particular beer.

Eventually, I grew bored with my continuing beer education, and I settled back into the familiar routine of just drinking the beer. While sampling the "collaboration brew" made in honor of the late local brewer David Andrews, I struck up a friendly conversation with a pair of bearded beer drinkers who seemed to be operating at just my speed.

"Who would have thought," one of the men said with a chuckle, "That we'd all be standing around like this talking about beer like it was wine."

I'll drink to that.