A couple of weeks ago, I met a friend at a local taproom. When I arrived, a glass of something transparent and fizzy was sat in front of her. Hard seltzer.
“I don’t like beer” she had explained previously.
Before you write me off as a somewhat selfish date, let me clarify that I’d chosen the taproom because I know that they typically have a couple of ciders available. Instead, she’d opted to give the seltzer a whirl.
Hard seltzer has been gaining popularity in taprooms across the country, or so I hear. I have nothing against hard seltzer as a drink, but there’s not much I like about it either. It’s bland, and the fizzy-ness without any depth of mouthfeel just rubs me the wrong way. That said, I can certainly see how having something a little lighter and healthier might appeal to some drinkers from time to time.
What I am concerned by is the culture of seltzer as a beer substitute. If it becomes a taproom staple, it makes it easier for people to perpetuate the claim that they just don’t like beer. Call me belligerent, but I’m just not ready to take all of those people at their word, 100% of the time.
In a recent Twitter conversation, a brewer told me: “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a husband and wife walk into the taproom and then leave because there wasn’t something the wife wanted.”
More than just the gender stereotypes (true as they be in the case) make me dismayed at this statement. I wonder how long it will be until taproom managers just ‘give up’ on asking pertinent questions to match the reluctant guest of a beer lover to something that might actually wind up knocking their socks off. Seltzer could be a substitute for that conversation. But should it be? Does anyone actually legitimately ‘love’ hard seltzer, or is it usually ordered as a last ditch choice, by the poor wife in the brewer’s anecdote, or by my friend whom I dragged to a microbrewery with me?
Shortly after my friend and I ordered our second round – another pint of fizzy alcoholic water for her, a beer for me – I slid my glass across the table to her. She sniffed at the dark mauve liquid inquisitively. I encouraged her to take a sip.
“It’s a fruited wheat beer”, I told her, explaining how the wheat produced a creamy mouthfeel. It was a beautiful pint too; fruity, tart, and perhaps importantly in this case, with no detectable hop flavor.
“That’s really nice” she exclaimed, seemingly surprised, turning back to her sparkling pint of transparence with a somewhat lackluster gaze.
I have a feeling she’ll be trying something different next time.