INSIDE THE JUDGES’ CHAMBERS AT THE GREAT AMERICAN BEER FESTIVAL
The phone call came on a warm, Indian summer day in Portland. The caller offered me a chance to go where no intrepid reporter had gone before; to tread boldly, but very quietly, into ground zero at the Great American Beer Festival.
I then learned the full breadth of the assignment. I would be joining a handful of other journalists in crossing the threshold into the festival’s inner sanctum.
There, we were to observe a group of judges as they decided the fateful course of a group of beers and, consequently, those of the corresponding brewers and their breweries.
The beers approved by this group could potentially move on to win a medal at the festival. We would be witnessing a part of history in the making.
The exercise had a dual purpose. Journalists were going to be given a chance to watch some of the most respected beer judges in the world in action.
In exchange, we were to show these supposedly media-skittish judges that having reporters in the room would not breach any security measures or serve as an interruption. In other words, we were to be on our best behavior. Not an easy task for a ragtag bunch of writers.
The big event started early, as it had for several days already. With a record 2,902 entries from 472 breweries, the Great American Beer Festival needed 127 judges this year — from 11 countries — to do the job.
A festival representative escorted us deeper into the belly of a downtown Denver hotel. Inside each room we passed, there was a single, large round table with a handful of people sitting around it. Inside some rooms, people were laughing and chatting, while in others, it was as silent as, well, judges’ chambers. Some already had gotten to work.
We entered the last room at the end of what seemed to be a milelong hallway. Each reporter quietly took one of the seats that flanked the ubiquitous round table, where seven judges were determining how to handle the large group of strong and old ales they were to be critiquing that morning.
The group decided to split into two smaller ones — one with four judges and the other with three. With that direction, two stewards left the room to set about gathering the beers.
The discussion among the table was light and friendly, the kind of fun bantering that colleagues might enjoy. But it got so quiet you could hear a hop drop as soon as the beers arrived. It occurred to me that it’s usually the other way around; people become more animated when beer arrives. But this was important work.
During the next 45 minutes or so, judges swirled, twirled, sniffed and sipped more than 20 beers, scribbling their comments and observations on official score sheets. But they said nary a word. Finally, one group began a discussion about the beers they just tasted. The other, smaller group shortly followed suit.
Referring only to the numbers assigned to each beer, the judges began talking about what they tasted. They agreed. They argued. One judge even whipped out a pocket-size beer-color card to show the others in her group why she thought one beer’s score should be lowered because it was an incorrect color for the style.
The goal was for each group to send to the next round no more than three beers — for a total of six or fewer from the whole table. Those beers again would go under similar scrutiny until medalists were selected.
Shortly after 10 a.m., the judges reached agreement and readied themselves for the next round of beers. We journalists were escorted out of the room.
Another session, another beer category for the judges. But a morning of watching others taste beer had made me thirsty. I hit the streets of downtown Denver, and unsuccessfully tried to walk off an overwhelming desire for a breakfast beer.
