Beer O'Clock: Losing Sight of IPAs

I initially planned to make this rant for my Brown Knowser YouTube channel, but I didn't think anyone would want to watch a middle-aged man (almost senior) ramble on about beer without actually reviewing one. Though, I will touch on the subject in an upcoming Beer O'Clock review and I may have more to say in further reviews.

The first India Pale Ale (IPA) that I drank was in The Olde Angel Inn, in Niagara-on-the-Lake, about 25 years ago. My good friend and future brewmaster, Perry Mason, and I were enjoying some beer after a day of volunteering at a wine event—it was our mutual love of wine that brought us together, a couple of years earlier, but beer had been a passion of Perry's for decades before then. Perry ordered beer for both of us, because I knew nothing beyond the pedestrian Labatt's and Molson brews, and they are what had me turn to wine in the first place.

Perry started us off with an English bitter but we then moved on to an IPA. An IPA, Perry said, is what you drink when you don't plan to go to any other style. The bitter hops, he said, will kill your tastebuds for anything else: the same principle as drinking a meaty red shiraz after a gewürztraminer. You'd never be able to taste the fruity white wine.

Perry explained to me that an IPA was developed in the 1700s as a way to preserve a beer in order to survive the long voyage from the UK to the colonies in India. Though the colour is a deep amber or copper, it was paler than stouts and porters.

It was the hops that preserved the beer, Perry explained, and it was also the hops that gave an IPA its bitterness, and its pine and grapefruit-like flavour.

Years later, when Perry created his own microbrewery, the Scotch-Irish Brewing Company, he started with his favourite British-styled ale, a session ale, and then later made his Sgt. Major IPA. It was a huge success for the brewery and became the benchmark for all future IPAs that I've consumed.

Tasty, but not an IPA.

Fast-forward to today, when just about every hopped-up beer is tagged with the famous initials. We have West Coast IPAs; East Coast IPAs; North East IPAs; New England IPAs; session IPAs; black IPAs; milkshake IPAs.

I'm waiting for the day that someone advertises a lagered IPA, and that's when I'll lose it.

IPAs now range in colour, from the traditional, clear copper-amber to hazy, unfiltered versions. There are cloudy versions that look like orange juice. There are IPAs that, mixed with blueberries, have a purple hue. There are cola-coloured IPAs.

The 'pale' element in IPA doesn't seem to fit.

Terms like 'West Coast,' 'East Coast,' and 'New England' make me wonder how India fits into the equation.

Don't get me wrong: I love the flavour profiles of these ales. The tropical aromas and ripe fruity flavours have me craving more. I enjoy the espresso notes of the black ales. I have ordered more of these beers for home delivery, since the pandemic, than any other style of beer.

But they are not IPAs. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm sure that they are ales, brewed at room temperature, but the A in IPA is the only thing that these creations can boast. Depending on their colour, they can sometimes claim to be pale. Blueberry and black IPAs aren't pale.

Unfiltered, but otherwise classic.

It's getting to a point that I roll my eyes every time I see a new release from a brewery with IPA stamped on the label. A few months ago, when I ordered an IPA from a west-end brewery, I was pleasantly surprised when I poured a clear, amber ale into my glass and was met by pine and grapefruit rind. It was a classic English IPA.

I shouldn't be surprised this way. I should be surprised when I pour something that is labelled an IPA but looks and tastes like a creamsicle.

(Again, I love ales with added lactose, so I'm not bashing the brews themselves.)

I have an appeal to brewers: please stop calling your creations an IPA if it's not an IPA. Just stop.

Take the I out, at the very least. Leave India out of it. If your ale is hazy, don't call it a pale ale. Call it a 'haze ale' or 'cloud ale.' And, if your ale is black, call it 'black ale' or 'dark ale.' Black and pale are very different.

I'm not one for overregulation, but there needs to be clear distinctions in the styles of beer that we all enjoy. Germany has its clarity law. A sparkling wine cannot be called 'champagne' unless it comes from that French region.

When you make a hoppy beer and call it an IPA, it should resemble that iconic, 18th-century style. I should be able to see IPA on a can and not be surprised when I open it up and pour the contents into my glass.

Because as soon as you call everything an IPA, nothing is an IPA.