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2005 News Alert
You might want to switch to wine.
People who drink beer and spirits face a far higher risk of colorectal tumors, while those who sip a glass of wine with dinner actually have a lower risk, Reuters reports of new research from Stony Brook University, New York.
The study: Of course, alcohol isn't the sole cause of colorectal tumors; genetics also plays a big part.
Still, the data are eye-popping.
Led by Dr. Joseph C. Anderson, the team investigated how regular alcohol consumption affected the development of colorectal tumors in 2,291 patients who were undergoing a regular screening colonoscopy.
Heavy drinkers were defined as anyone having more than one mixed drink or one beer a day.
The results: Those who were heavy drinkers of beer or mixed drinks had twice the risk of developing significant colorectal tumors, compared with those who abstained or drank in moderation.
However, those who drank wine in moderation faced half the risk of the tumors as did those who never drank alcohol. Other risk factors included being older than 60, smoking and obesity.
The study findings were reported in the American Journal of Gastroenterology
Craft beers are challenging the status quo
The refrigerators at Bierkraft (www.bierkraft.com), a specialty grocer on an ever hipper stretch of avenue in Brooklyn, New York's Park Slope neighborhood, are stocked with more than 650 brands of beer.
Among the domestic choices, nary a one is made by the big three, for the craft industry hinges on a connoisseur's sophistication that snubs those larger brands as decidedly artless.
"We wanted to bring beer into the gourmet consciousness," explains owner Richard Scholz.
Scholz belongs to a defiant fraternity of people who accommodate drinkers in possession of a more refined palate.
These aficionados reject the flavorless beers made from corn or rice in favor of craft beers that are made entirely from malted barley, or that include a portion of malted rye or wheat, for sweetness, and hops, which offer a bitter balance.
Experimenting with these ingredients and adding others—fruits, for example—or fermenting in oak barrels accounts for the vast number of choices now available.
But it wasn't always thus. Over roughly the past 30 years, the microbrew industry—generally defined as craft producers yielding less than 15,000 barrels a year—has, after a fashion, exploded.
In the late 1970s there were fewer than 50 breweries in the United States, down from the pre-Prohibition era, when estimates suggest there were nearly 3,000 breweries nationwide.
These days there are about 1,400 microbreweries, many of them brewpubs selling obscure local brands—Flying Dog, for instance—following in the footsteps of larger craft brewers, such as Sierra Nevada Brewing Co.
All told, craft brews account for just over 3 percent of industry market share. Put another way, of the 205 million barrels of beer that Americans pour down their throats every year, only about 6 million of them are craft.
But making big bucks is hardly the point for maverick brewers.
"We want the ability to innovate and experiment, and we want to be able to pay our bills by doing what we want to do, not what we have to do," explains Sam Calagione of Dogfish Head Craft Brewery (www.dogfish.com) in Rehoboth Beach, Del.
While he was in graduate school, the 34-year-old entrepreneur worked at a Manhattan bar that sold microbrews.
His appetite sufficiently whetted, Calagione decided to open his own brewpub on the eastern seaboard to counter western dominance in the microbrew microcosm.
Delaware was among the last states to repeal Temperance-era bans on home brewing, whose reversal elsewhere, starting in 1978, facilitated the recent boom.
The intact ban, Calagione realized, meant no local competition.
So in 1995 he drafted legislation to change the law, and after it passed he opened the state's first brewpub, making a modest 12 gallons of beer a day. Now his operation produces a daily quantity of 4,500 gallons.
The output includes limited seasonal brews and 10 year-round favorites, such as Raison D'Etre, with raisins and beet sugar, and Midas Touch Golden Elixir, which Dogfish came up with after accepting a challenge from University of Pennsylvania archaeologists to re-create the hopless beer that mourners swallowed at the 700 B.C. funeral feast for King Midas in Turkey.
A popular seasonal beer is the WorldWide Stout, with an atypically high alcohol content of more than 18 percent.
The renegade spirit of microbrewers, akin to that of independent filmmakers or musicians, often defines them in opposition to mass producers. Greg Koch, CEO and cofounder of Stone Brewing Co.
(www.stonebrew.com) in San Marcos, Calif., recalls that until he tried a craft brew in the late 1980s, "I thought beer was just this flavorless liquid that had a little bit of alcohol in it."
Now, the label on Stone's hoppy Arrogant Bastard Ale warns away the type of drinker he once was: "… stick to safer and more familiar territory—maybe something with a multi-million-dollar ad campaign aimed at convincing you it's made in a little brewery, or one that implies that tasteless, fizzy yellow beer will give you more sex appeal.
His Double Bastard Ale goes further still… your feeble palate is far too simple to justify your imbibement of this liquid glory. Instead, stick to what you know, which should be easy as it is certainly not much."
Koch shrugs off suggestions that this is a shrewd gambit at reverse psychology. "I don't want to waste people's time," he explains.
The masses tend to go toward bland and no character.
But the abusive tactic appears to work; over the past seven years, Stone has been the fastest-growing brewery in the country. "If you're that good, and quite frankly we are," Koch declares, "the word will spread.
And it has—especially with the help of the Internet. Web sites, such as BeerAdvocate.com, include customer ratings that bolster Stone's prominence and provide both primers and advanced instruction on the nuances of the craft industry.
Brewery sites include information on beer's history and distribution. Less polished but equally informative sites similarly flourish.
Beerme.com, for example, offers a forum where drinkers all over the world can discuss, among other things, what beers are available should you find yourself at an airport in, say, Nadi, Fiji.
Dogfish's unofficial slogan is "off-centered ales for off-centered people," Calagione tells me.
As brewers, we're trying to satisfy our own palates first, and we're hoping there are enough people out there to share that."
Right now it appears that there are.
When John Cornwell graduated from Duke University last year . . .
he landed a job as software engineer in Atlanta but soon found himself longing for his college lifestyle. So the engineering graduate built himself a reminder of life on campus: a refrigerator that can toss a can of beer to his couch with the click of a remote control.
It took him 150 hours and $400 in parts to modify a mini fridge into the beer tossing contraption. It will launch 10 cans of beer from it's magazine before it needs to be reloaded.
With a click of the remote, fashioned from a car's keyless entry device, a small elevator inside the refrigerator lifts a beer can through a hole and loads it into the fridge's catapult arm.
A second click fires the device, tossing the beer up to 20 feet.
Click HERE to see the website. You can even watch a video.
Pretty cool eh?
Wouldn't it be nice to have this on Superbowl Sunday?
You'd never have to leave the couch!
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