At the end of the year, it will be nine years that I have written this column. I have had many wonderful opportunities to showcase beer, where it’s made and where it’s served; I’ve had a platform to vent frustration and educate; and I’ve had an excuse to taste some of the best beverages around.
So there is something I can put off no longer … I must submit. It’s time, gentle reader, for me to wade into the American light-lager category—but I will not be touching lips to glasses containing craft-beer versions of the aforementioned style. Nay, I will only be trying the kind of beer people in my dad’s generation would have reached for (except that my dad is Canadian and drank Moosehead). Today, I’m only trying the stuff made by the large conglomerates dedicated to pumping out the exact same experience for everyone, everywhere.
First, some history is in order. This style was originally brewed by the former Rheingold Brewery of Philadelphia in the 1960s, with marketing promoting the light lager as “diet beer.” Perhaps predictably, it failed. In the 1970s, along came Miller Brewing Company, which purchased the recipe from Rheingold and devised a much-cleverer marketing strategy: The beer was sold as Miller Lite, with a campaign, featuring athletes, advertising a “less filling” beer. If you’re of a certain age, you can likely remember any number of commercials with people arguing between “tastes great” and “less filling.” It was obviously a success. Other breweries followed suit.
Which brings us to the present. While the style has taken a little dip due to many factors (chief of which seems to be an increase in non-drinkers), you can still find it almost everywhere.
I have to be honest here: It’s hard to get excited about a style with descriptors in the Beer Judge Certification Program’s guide such as “designed to appeal to as broad a range of the general public as possible. Strong flavors are a fault,” and “very light (sometimes watery) body. Very highly carbonated with a slight carbonic bite on the tongue.” That said, I promise I will do my best.
One quick note: I tried everything that follows by pouring the beer into a cold mug, because these light lagers are almost universally served ice-cold. As part of my Cicerone certification, I learned that cold numbs taste buds. Coincidence? Since it is the summer, the beer naturally warmed a little so I could actually taste it.
Miller Lite seemed like the most logical place to start. I got an aroma of crackers (not unlike saltines) and a taste that was slightly sweet, and a little rice-like, with a finish that was bone-dry. As it warmed a little, the rice flavor left, but everything else stayed pretty similar. It’s hard to be offended by such light flavors—and that is entirely the point, I suppose. An inauspicious beginning, but when you don’t expect much, sometimes you can be surprised.
Bud Light was the best-selling beer in the U.S. until the culture wars found a target and took it down a couple of pegs. Let’s forget the mindless political tribalism and try the actual beer. I’ll just put what I wrote in my notes about it here: “Honestly, I’m having a hard time tasting anything. This is as close to a seltzer as beer gets maybe, with a very faint grain aroma and a slightly bitter finish, faintly sweet, and somewhat crisp. When not as cold: a little corn flakes note, but still not much flavor. Maybe a hay quality, but it’s faint.” It’s really hard to see what anyone would actually like about this beer, but that’s why these huge beverage conglomerates spend a shocking amount of money on marketing—they have to.
Michelob Ultra is the current best-selling beer in the U.S.—which makes the culture-war controversy very amusing, because it is owned by Bud Light’s parent company, AB InBev.
Michelob Ultra is the current best-selling beer in the U.S.—which makes the aforementioned controversy very amusing, because it is owned by Bud Light’s parent company, AB InBev (with the AB standing for Anheuser-Busch). In 2002, Michelob practically launched this as a low-carb sports drink, and they still market it this way. Now, don’t get me wrong—I have imbibed more than one light beer in my life. I recently had an English-style dark mild named Tradition at Smog City Brewing, which came in at 3.5% alcohol by volume but had a somewhat porter-like flavor and a beautiful, rich mouthfeel. I even brewed a lager many years ago in collaboration with two friends—we split up and fermented it using different yeast strains. Mine ended up at 3.8%, but we all agreed it was the best one. I do not expect the Ultra to thrill me similarly, but let’s give it an honest try.
As with all of the others in this category, the color is very pale, like straw. However, they somehow managed to fit more flavor into this than all of the others I’ve tried. We’re not talking about anything major here—it’s still a light lager, after all. But if your taste buds squint hard enough, they can get a German malt flavor. You may even get a decent sense of a bitter backbone (although this is generally from the lack of sweetness, not necessarily any extra hops). This one does, however, fall off the hardest when the temperature rises. The heat allows one to get a good gander at the “wizard” behind the curtain, not unlike when you try fast food at any temperature other than hot.
Thus concludes my look into a world that I don’t really visit often. These fall under the heading of beers that I would not choose to have willingly. I’d rather have a Modelo if we’re talking about something not as light, but not heavy, either, and containing much more of that German malt flavor that I so love.
If this will serve you as a guide, however, then cheers to you—and may your light beer never become warm.
