I come to you all today, my four to five loyal monthly readers, with a heavy heart. The reason for this is simple: I will no longer be writing a monthly beer column for this esteemed website. My days of doin’ Doin’ Beers have come to an end.
Cue up OK Go’s 2010 classic “This Too Shall Pass,” or if you’re feeling more sentimental (I am), you can always go back to that old standby—you know the one—“Good Riddance” by Green Day. More likely, you can just shrug and go about your day. Didn’t you hear craft beer is dead? Breweries are closing left and right. Gen Z doesn’t drink; millennials don’t leave the house anymore; Gen X is in a mad dash to sort out their retirement accounts in the wake of economic upheaval; and alcohol doesn’t play nice with boomers’ meds. You’re still here? It’s over. Go home. Go.
Craft beer has been a love of mine since I turned 21 and immediately started quaffing Schell’s Dark and Bell’s Oberon while playing trivia at Patrick’s on Third in St. Peter, Minnesota, and I started brewing my own beer not long after. We’re talking 18 years of craft beer—including its explosion and a variety of inflection points along the way. I’ve gotten to spend the last three years being the only monthly beer columnist in the great state of Minnesota—and probably one of a small handful across the U.S. That’s a pretty rad high note to go out on. I want to thank my editor Em Cassel, and the rest of Racket, for making that possible. Racket is run by super cool people, and I desperately want them all to be my friends. [Ed. Note: WE ARE FRIENDS, NISSA.]
I wasn’t the first Doer of Beers, and I hope I won’t be the last. Because here’s the thing: Craft beer isn’t dead. It’s changing, sure. The bubble has burst. The days of your uncle Jeff writing up a business plan and getting investors for a taproom based on the IPA he made in his garage last month are over. However, beer has been with us since right after we figured out how to make bread, and it’s not going away anytime soon.
I took over writing Doin’ Beers when Jerard Fagerberg moved to Maine, and I’d like to think I brought some new and innovative things to the role of “beer writer.” For example: “the inability to grow a beard,” and—even more alarmingly—“having boobs.” Women aren’t supposed to write about beer, and moms definitely aren’t supposed to write about beer. But having been imbued by the power of lesbianism while watching Xena Warrior: Princess as I child, I managed to break through the pint-glass ceiling with a humble carabiner and a penchant for the dumbest possible jokes.
When I took over Doin’ Beers, I decided that if I was going to do it, I was going to do it right. I’d have a theme every month, and I’d do my best to guide readers to the best of the best. I repeatedly found myself standing in front of liquor store coolers asking myself, “but what’s the hook?” as I attempted to find a pattern or theme to latch onto for the month.
A couple months in, I had tried 19 different beers trying to identify the five best Oktoberfest beers in Minnesota. I spent more on beer that month than I got paid for the column, and I felt good about it. I did this a few more times throughout the years, borne forward by my love of the game and commitment to doing right by Racket’s readers. I got better at right-sizing my efforts to my compensation over time, but I have remained stubbornly committed to the idea that Doin’ Beers is special.
That commitment got me on MPR to talk about stouts at one point, and it gave me an outlet for all my silly jokes and references to beers that are like goth girlfriends (or in that last case, beers that could have been like a goth girlfriend, but were actually more like '80s German pop sensation Nena).
However, that commitment to making Doin’ Beers special has come up against a couple things that have made it harder for me to continue writing Doin’ Beers. One of those things is familiar to all of us: lack of time. The other is also probably familiar, despite many of us not wanting to admit it: Alcohol is bad for you.
I’ve never abused alcohol. I’ve always been someone who “drinks it for the taste” in an embarrassingly earnest sense. However, like many people, my drinking increased during the pandemic. A couple beers on Friday and Saturday nights slowly turned into a beer every night—ocassionally two. This habit made writing Doin’ Beers a lot easier than it would have been otherwise because I had plenty of opportunities to try beers, and I could spend a few minutes here and there reviewing things without feeling like I was “working” that hard.
But, after some hard looks at the research around alcohol and its impacts—even for “moderate” drinkers like me—I personally can’t justify drinking like that anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suddenly a teetotaler. I still have a drink here and there. That probably won’t ever change. But “here and there” is not a strong foundation for a monthly column. So, I’m stepping away.
You might see me pop back up time and again, especially for the new State Fair beers—a gauntlet I take an almost perverse pleasure in running. But otherwise, this is it for me and beer writing. I’ve loved every minute of it, and appreciate all my fellow Racket readers for engaging with my nonsense and chatting with me over the last few years. It’s been a blast.
