Yes, you heard right: Tod Mott is leaving the Portsmouth Brewery. After toiling for eight and a half years in our little submarine-hull sized brewery, producing a seemingly endless river of fine beers and sharing his deep passion for his craft with an eager and growing audience, he has decided to move on. I enjoy reminding people that I hired Tod Mott at precisely the same time the Red Sox signed Curt Schilling. The Sox thus took a first step towards ending their 86-year World Series drought, and we at the Brewery embarked on a journey that has led us to become one of New England’s premier beer destinations. Tod arrived shortly after the Brewery had entered its second decade in business, at a time when the craft beer industry was picking itself up and dusting itself off after the brutal shakeout of late nineties had flushed a lot of small breweries and crappy beers out of the marketplace.
Peter & Tod in the Portsmouth Brewery's "fishbowl" - 2003
Brewers who survived those dismal times began to dare to think that maybe, just maybe, our ships might actually come in, that small-batch, handcrafted beer might finally emerge from its beer-geek ghetto and draw the attention and appreciation of a wider audience. Tod Mott could not have arrived at the Brewery at a better time. We were looking for a rock star, and he was looking for a stage that fit his big personality and his boundless enthusiasm for fine beer and comestibles, not to mention his magnetic physical presence. It felt like a match arranged by the beer gods. And it almost didn’t happen.
I’ve been trying to remember the first time I met Tod, but the circumstances have become hazy with too much time and too many beers. It was probably in Northampton, Massachusetts, at one of the early Great New England Beer Festivals, which my sister Janet, along with Chris O’Connor, Joanne Francis and I produced, around ’92 or ’93. After four years as Head Brewer at the Northampton Brewery and with the opening of the Portsmouth Brewery, my own brewing career had come to an end, just as Tod’s was on the ascent. Like everyone else who came into his orbit, I was drawn to him immediately. Over the years, we crossed paths at numerous beer-related events, and during his time at Back Bay Brewing I made it a point to stop into that establishment whenever I was near Boyleston Street to enjoy one or two of Tod’s excellent beers.
In 2003, we needed to fill the Head Brewer’s position at the Portsmouth Brewery. After we put feelers out in a number of directions, Dave Yarrington, Director of Brewing Operations at Smuttynose, who had offered to help with the search, suggested that we contact Tod, who was brewing at the Tap in Haverhill, to see if he knew of any qualified brewers we should interview. I thought that this was a fine idea, given Tod’s extensive connections in the brewing community, but I never would have anticipated Tod’s two-word response: “Yes. Me.” Words can’t fully express how charmed I was at the idea of Tod Mott - THE Tod Mott - joining our little family at the Portsmouth Brewery.
During Tod’s tenure at the Brewery a lot has changed. Interest in craft beer has exploded. Closer to home, business in the restaurant, and along with it the demand for beer, has increased dramatically. Sales of bottled beer and growlers has skyrocketed. The number of employees at the Brewery has increased from about 65 to over a hundred. And without an ability to increase the capacity of the physical plant, due to space constraints, Tod has been challenged to keep the beer pipeline filled, supplemented with hand-selected guest beers. He has met that challenge not by taking the safe route of falling back to a shrinking portfolio of safe, predictable beers, but instead has expanded the range of offerings to include a vast array of seasonal, traditional and experimental styles. And that’s not to mention the once-quiet annual release of an obscure beer style called Russian Imperial Stout that has become the phenomenon known as Kate Day.
I’ll be perfectly honest: I could not do what Tod has done every day for all these years. And I am not just talking about his skill as a brewer. My brewing career ended over two decades ago when the industry operated at a very primitive level and standards of quality were, to put it politely, in flux. No, I’m talking about plain physical work. Tod and I are about the same age. What age is that? Let’s just say we were both born during the second Eisenhower Administration and leave it at that. And although he’s a remarkable physical specimen, working in a small brewery is hard, stressful work. That’s a long way of saying that I was not entirely surprised when Tod came to me a few weeks ago and said he was ready to take a break from it. Frankly, I think he’s earned it, though I know he’s not going to sit still. I understand that he and Galen intend to open their own brewery in southern Maine. So far their plans are at an early, formative stage. And that’s about all I know myself, but I can say that I am excited to watch their progress and sample their wares, among which will be his world-class imperial stout, no doubt.
What will life at the Portsmouth Brewery be like after Tod’s gone? Permit me to refer back to baseball again: Ted Williams roamed left field at Fenway Park for nineteen seasons and retired in 1960, hitting a home run in his final at bat as a grace note to his unparalleled career. No one expected that the young man who jogged out to left field on Opening Day in 1961, the man who replaced the Splendid Splinter, an oddly-named rookie born in 1939, the same year that The Kid broke into the majors, would be able to fill William’s shoes. No one could know then that Carl Yastrzemski would earn legendary status himself, playing another two-plus decades in the shadow of Fenway’s iconic left field wall. I’ve been in the craft beer business for 25 years and have seen a lot of changes, both within and outside of the companies I’ve been involved with. If I’ve learned anything along the way, it’s to embrace change and befriend it.
Tod’s successor is Tyler Jones, whom many of you knew as Tod’s long-time assistant, before he left the Portsmouth Brewery and took a position at Smuttynose Brewing in late 2011. Tyler’s credentials are impressive in their own right, but assuming the role of Head Brewer at the Portsmouth Brewery is a kind of homecoming for him. Will he be Yaz to Mott’s Kid? Time will tell, but I’m confident that Tyler will make his own mark at the Portsmouth Brewery, and it will be a fine one, too, and I, for one, am looking forward to it.
Farewell, Tod. Thank you for your excellent beers and even better company. Welcome aboard, Tyler. Left field awaits you.
Peter Egelston
Portsmouth, New Hampshire
July 13, 2012
Like many beer fans, I am an avid reader of Beer Advocate. And if you're reading this blog, and you aren't a Beer Advocate already, you should be. I'm going to leave the room for a few minutes to give you time right now to sign up.
All set? No on to my post...
As owner/operator of two small breweries, I also read Beer Advocate to see what people are saying about Smuttynose Brewing & the Portsmouth Brewery. (Kind of like googling yourself, I guess) This morning, I noticed a post about our Big Beer Series release schedule and felt compelled to weigh in, which I don't do very often. Here's the initial post in the thread:
Smuttynose big beer schedule?
So being a big fan of the smuttynose big beer series I was quite excited to see the line up for 2010 line up. And even more excited to see the first beer sceduled for Jan was a barleywine. So here's the question, needless to say were a week plus into february and I have seen no sign of the barleywine. Am I the only one or has this for some reason just not made its way into VT? Any thoughts?
Followed by my lengthy response:
Peter from Smuttynose here, weighing in on a subject that's near and dear to my heart - our Big Beer Series. First of all, let me say how great it makes us at Smuttynose feel to see how highly sought after these beers have become. It doesn't seem that long ago - back in 1998 when we began the series - that we had pallets of the stuff gathering dust in our warehouse, with wholesalers and retailers alike telling us that "Big Beers in Big Bottles" was a really stupid idea. "Why don't you make beers that are more 'drinkable,' like Corona?" we were told. We didn't agree, and, thankfully, beer lovers didn't, either.
But on to the subject at hand. Our Big Beers appear at different times in different markets for a variety of reasons, several of which have been pointed out above. Let me begin by stating that we offer each new Big Beer edition to every market in which we have distribution at the same time; we don't release in one place and hold back in another. I can't think of a good reason why we'd do that, yet we've been accused of it nonetheless. We have altered our release schedule from time to time, sometimes delaying the release of a particular edition because the previous edition is moving more slowly than anticipated and it is backed up in our warehouse. In 2008, during the worst of the hop shortage, we reshuffled our release dates to match the availability of certain hops.
In addition to that, a number of our wholesalers have the maddening practice of only keeping one edition in stock at a time, not even allowing for an overlap. They wait until one edition has been completely depleted before ordering the next one. That means that an entire market, or even a whole state, can be devoid of Farmhouse Ale, for example, because half dozen cases of Maibock are sitting on a distributor's warehouse floor. This can result in our Big Beers drying up throughout an entire market, just because of those half dozen cases.
Most successful independent retailers, and a few chains actually prefer to feature several editions of our Big Beer Series simultaneously, but it's hard to convince some wholesalers, who are terrified of being "stuck" with unsold stock. In fairness, a growing number of wholesalers are getting more comfortable and skillful at managing multiple SKU's of smaller brands. In that regard, they are becoming more like wine distributors (which some of them are) than conventional beer wholesalers, who have traditionally succeeded by moving massive volumes of boxes at a high velocity, with razor-thin margins. Many retailers are evolving their business models to keep up with changes in consumer demand, as well. This "back to the future" model - smaller volume, slower velocity, higher margins - is an interesting alternative to the Big Box retail landscape that's emerged globally over recent decades.
Remember, too, that the chain of communication in the beer business is complex and fragile, involving as it does management, sales and production at the brewery, and management, warehouse operators, sales managers, and street level sales rep's on the wholesale side. At the retail level, the players involved are purchasers & category managers (in the case of chains), and store-level managers. All of these parts rarely make for a well-oiled machine, especially when you're a tiny supplier like Smuttynose. Sometimes our products don't reach the consumer in a timely fashion because of a simple failure of communication somewhere along that chain.
Our home market in New Hampshire is dominated by three large supermarket chains, which impacts that market profoundly, as they tend to focus on nationally advertised brands and have less focus on small, local suppliers. The handful of independent stores do the best they can, but there aren't enough of them to form a critical mass, and the consumer ends up with far fewer choices than in neighboring states. (At Smuttynose, we are beer drinkers as well as brewers, and we lament that fact as much as any of the rest of you!)
It's worth mentioning that as consumers, we are in the driver's seat. In my view, that is the best thing about the Beer Advocates, they (we) are, well, Beer Advocates who have driven massive changes in the beer industry, which is very different today than when I started 23 years ago. And it continues to change. We're not done yet!
OK, I've killed way too many pixels writing this, so I'll call it quits now. Thanks for listening.
A few days ago, I received multiple copies of a YouTube clip in which Matt Nadeau, owner of the tiny Rock Art Brewing in Vermont, describes the dispute he finds himself entangled in with a corporate behemoth over the use of a trade name. In short, Rock Art produces a barleywine called Vermonster, which Hansen Natural Corp. claims infringes on its Monster Energy Drink line.
Watching Matt, whom I know to be a genuinely good guy who works hard and makes great beer, grimly describe his plight and the very real threat he faces, it is easy to see his justifiable hurt and outrage. Frankly, I hope the masters of Monster Energy drinks can be shamed into backing off, but I am not optimistic. I suspect that once a big corporation has loosed its lawyerly dogs of war, there is no turning back.
Still, in the age of YouTube and social networks, Matt and the good folks at Rock Art have a lot more leverage than they might have even a few years ago. If they succeed in giving Hansen Natural Corp a big enough black eye, perhaps the little guy will prevail after all.
As you might guess, disputes over trademarks are very common in the world of consumer products, where brand identity is everything. Trademarks are the most valuable assets producers of such products own. In fact, when one company is purchased by another, those assets are often the only ones of any value whatsoever. Sometimes a dispute results from a new company unknowingly infringing on an established mark. There are other cases where the infringement is deliberate, where one firm attempts to steal another's hard-earned brand identity. Other times, they arise from one party's overly broad interpretation of the protection their trademark is entitled to. Occasionally, I believe, trademark disputes are a form of corporate bullying, where a large firm with deep pockets threatens a smaller company with endless litigation, even if the claim has little merit.
Where does the case of Monster Energy Drinks v. Vermonster Barleywine fit in? I don't know enough details of the matter to say, but I am reminded of the various trademark disputes my companies have been party to over the years, especially the first one, in which the nascent Smuttynose Brewing Company found itself squared off against another corporate behemoth - Bass Ale.
The year was 1995. We had formed our company the year before and were busy bringing our first two products to market - Shoals Pale Ale and Old Brown Dog. In between more pressing daily matters I attended to various pieces of legal housekeeping, including registering our trademarks with the United States Trademark and Patent Office. I had been referred by our local attorney to a firm in DC that specialized in trademarks and patents, who promptly filed trademark applications for our logo, our trade names, as well as our catchy slogan (which we no longer use): "Make Mine a Smutty!" All this seemed like a fairly straightforward process, and I did not anticipate any problems.
When a new trademark application is filed, it is published for a period of time allowing it to be reviewed by other trademark holders for possible conflicts or infringements. Much to our surprise, during this review period, we received word that Bass Ale was challenging our application with the claim that it infringed on their well-established trademark.
My immediate reaction was "no fucking way!" According to the paperwork that Bass filed, their trademark consisted of a red triangle. It even stated that the color red was an "integral" part of their mark. Our logo depicted the head of a harbor seal framed by a yellow triangle in the background, over letters spelling Smuttynose (in Caslon Antique) Brewing Co. (in Bauer Bodoni and Kuenstler Script). In my view, there was little chance that any reasonable person would confuse Bass's elegant red triangle with our little pinniped.
I am by no means an expert, so take everything I'm about to say with caution, but, like most people in highly regulated businesses, I've become a bit of a jailhouse lawyer by necessity. And here's what I've learned over the years about trademark disputes. The crux of trademark law hinges on confusion. Does an offending mark create confusion in the eye of the consumer to the point where the offending mark benefits from the equity and good will in an already established mark? Or, to put it in the quaint phrase used by a trademark lawyer I once spoke to, "Is someone trying to reap where they have not sown?"
At the end of the day, that is the basic test that the successful defense of a trademark must meet. In some cases, this is pretty straightforward, a matter of common sense. For instance, if I manufactured a new line of baby food, and I selected the distinctive script used by Coca Cola for my branding, I'd certainly be challenged by Coca Cola, and they would have a compelling case because the likelihood that a consumer would associate that style of lettering, and thus my baby food, with Coca Cola is very high. At the same time, Coca Cola would probably not pursue a firm that used that script to market an MP3 player.
A real-life example is the clothing company that blatantly rips off the typeface used for decades by a large airline. Is American Apparel infringing on American Airlines trademark? Evidently not, because the are in completely different categories, which is an important distinction in trademark law. Clothing and airlines are entirely differently animals and are not likely to be confused. Another interesting aspect of trademark law that I learned is that color schemes can not be trademarked. That is why virtually every box or aspirin you see is yellow and brown, a direct imitation of the package of the original branded aspirin, Bayer.
Is there any chance that a reasonable person, when confronted with Rock Art's Vermonster Barleywine, might infer from that name that it is somehow connected to Monster Energy Drinks? I think most people would say the same thing I did when I heard about Bass Ale's challenge to our trademark application: "No fucking way!"
Sadly, however, being right does not always win the day. When I head about Bass Ale's challenge to our trademark application, I wanted to fight them because I felt we were right. But our lawyers gave me what I still consider to be some of the best legal advice I've ever gotten. They asked me, "What's more important to you, being right, or staying in businesses?" They explained that even though Bass Ale had, in their opinion, a weak case against our application, they had the resources to bankrupt us in the process. We could go to the mat over this issue, and we might well win, but it would be a Pyrrhic victory in the end, and it would snuff our little company out before it had even left the cradle.
I thought long and hard about it. Somehow it seemed so wrong to give in. At the same time, as I discussed it with my partner Joanne, who designed the original logo (and all Smuttynose images and packaging since), we decided that we could reconfigure the logo to satisfy Bass's complaint and at the same time come up with an improvement on the original.
Once we became open-minded to this approach, it was fairly easy to convert the original triangle that framed our little seal with a triangular-shaped rock. Bass's lawyers were satisfied with the change, and our trademark application was approved without further challenge.
I've never regretted making this decision. Frankly, I do think the amended version of our logo is an improvement over the original. I like to tell people that Bass might have inadvertently done us a favor by forcing us into this position. It's not a position I would have chosen, and certainly not one I'd wish on anyone else. It feels awful to have your dream and livelihood threatened by a huge, heartless corporation. Sometimes it is important to fight because you are right; other times it is not. You have to pick your battles carefully.
As I said, though, that was only the first of many trademark disputes that we've been party to. Interestingly, over the years, I've become more sympathetic to Bass Ale's position, as I've had to send several letter off myself to companies that I felt had trespassed on our intellectual property. Here are a few examples of other trademark disputes we've had to contend with:
RED NECK BEER v. CHUCK WHEAT ALE
Back in the mid 90's, we introduced a wheat ale that we called Chuck Wheat. Although it's been many years since we discontinued it, the label Joanne designed is still one of my favorites of all our labels. After Chuck Wheat had been on the market for about a year, we received a threatening letter from a law firm representing the putative manufacturers of a product called Red Neck Beer, claiming that our Chuck Wheat label violated their trademark. Accompanying the letter was a set of (unintentionally) hilarious point of sale items, promoting this beer.
Red Neck Beer had not yet gone into production (they were still looking for investors), but according to their literature, they had big plans to market to a Dukes of Hazzard demographic - microbrew for the NASCAR set. Their graphics consisted primarily of an illustration of a red bandana poking out of a blue denim pocket. The letter we received claimed that Red Neck Beer owned the exclusive right to use blue denim in any context related to beer. Leaving aside the audacious stupidity of the entire concept of Red Neck Beer, it was easy to see that this was merely a fishing expedition. We didn't bother responding to the letter, and we never heard back from our friends at Red Neck Beer. Thankfully, the American beerdrinking public never heard from them either.
THE SENSITIVE LOBSTERMAN v. PORTSMOUTH LAGER
A few months after the 1998 release of our Portsmouth Lager we received a letter from an attorney representing a lobsterman who claimed that because we had not sought his permission to photograph his buoy, we had violated his "registered trademark." Furthermore, the letter said, this lobsterman had experienced "pain and suffering" at the hands of his fellow lobstermen who had been ruthlessly teasing him about his buoy being depicted on a beer label. and suggested that he was entitled to some sort of compensation
Where do we start? I started by calling my attorney and asking if I could please, please, please write back to this lobsterman's attorney and tell him to go piss up a rope. My attorney, a wise and affable man, said no, I couldn't - he'd take care of the matter himself, and he did. Here's the deal. The photo on the label depicts a barn door located on a well-traveled road in York, Maine. The door is festooned with colorful buoys. Like many people in this region, the barn's owner had decorated it with lobster trap buoys that wash up on the beach after storms. We did get written permission from the property owner before taking our photograph, and that is all the permission we needed. And while it is true that holders of Maine lobstering licenses must register their color patters with the state, this is merely for the purpose if identifying submerged traps and has nothing to do with trademarks.
As far as the pain and suffering goes, I can't shake the image of this big, tough lobsterman, decked out in his bright orange bib, being brought to tears by the merciless taunting of his mates. Poor man! It truly breaks my heart. We never did hear back from him or his attorney, so I guess he got over it.
SMUTTYNOSE v. NUTFIELD (AS FRANK JONES PORTSMOUTH ALE)
In 2000, our now-defunct cross-state competitor, Nutfield Brewing, formed a partnership with Don Jones, the former owner of Frank Jones Brewing, where Smuttynose is now located, to revive the Frank Jones name. Frank Jones Brewing has a long history here on the seacoast going back to the 19th century; its final chapter ended with their bankruptcy auction in December, 1993, at which I purchased the equipment we used to start Smuttynose Brewing Company. To be honest, I wasn't that concerned when I first read about this new partnership in the Portsmouth Herald - Nutfield's sales were rapidly heading south, and the Frank Jones brand had never gained any traction before, and there was no reason to think it would be different this time.
I changed my tune, however, when I learned that they were planning to market this product as Portsmouth Ale, an historic Frank Jones brand name. There were several problems with this, in my view. First of all, we had registered the name Portsmouth Ale with the state of New Hampshire, though we had not used it in commerce. More importantly, we had been selling a product called Portsmouth Lager for several years at this point, and I was concerned that consumer confusion was a real danger. In addition, this product was explicitly affiliated with Portsmouth: the slogan on the label deceptively stated "First Brewed in Portsmouth - 1899." Brewed in Derry, it was clearly a carpetbagger's attempt to horn into our own home market. It was my opinion that Nutfield was trying to ride Smuttynose's coattails in an attempt to break into a market that they had never had much success in, namely the Seacoast.
But most of all, I was concerned about the potential this product had to damage to my company's reputation. I never held Nutfield's beers in particularly high regard, and the thought that people might think Smuttynose was making Portsmouth Ale made shudder. Nutfield was already beginning the slow, downward spiral that would lead first to its shuttering its plant and moving production to Shipyard in Portland, and later to its disappearance altogether. The Frank Jones partnership was one of the many straws that Nutfield grasped at on its way down the drain.
Over a period of several months I fired several letters off to the president of Nutfield, each worded more strongly than the last. I felt I had a good case against him. Predictably, he responded defiantly, disputing my claims. Just as I was preparing to initiate legal action, Nutfield abandoned its Frank Jones project, and it was never heard of again, so fortunately I was able to avoid suing a fellow craft brewer.
I do hope we never stumble into another trademark dispute. We've been fortunate so far in that we've avoided the courtroom and unpleasant public spectacles. Realistically, though, we've probably not seen the last one. It is part of the business we are in.
Last year, Smuttynose Brewing hosted what we hoped to be the first of many annual St. Baldrick's events. It was a smashing success - 24 intrepid souls volunteered to have their heads shaved, and in one afternoon we raised over $22,000 for childrens' cancer research. This year,
we planned to hold an even bigger event in the middle of Market Street in front of the Portsmouth Brewery on the same day as the Portsmouth Criterium bike race (which requires Market Street to be closed to traffic), with more heads shaved and more money raised.
That was our plan, until I made the decision to cancel the event. A few weeks ago, we were finishing up our list of administrative tasks and were about to launch our big publicity push to kick things off when I received an email from the St. Baldrick's Foundation with the subject line "Welcome to our Background Screening Process." Inside was the following message:
Thank you for volunteering for the St. Baldrick’s Foundation. You have been listed by your Volunteer Event Organizer as one of the key volunteers in a position of responsibility for your event. As you know, protecting the integrity of donations and the safety of our constituents is important to the reputation of the Foundation and its volunteers. Therefore, certain key volunteers are asked to complete a background screening before your event can be made ‘live’ on our website.
To be prefectly honest, I was somewhat taken aback by this; we'd done the event last year and hadn't been asked to submit to a background check. Moreover, I've worked with a number of non-profits and fundraisers and had never seen a request like this - but I went ahead and clicked on the link provided and was directed to a website with this opening screen.
I was just about to start filling out the form when something stopped me cold in my tracks. It wasn't the prospect of being investigated. As a holder of two federal Brewers Notices and a state liquor license, my background has been thoroughly scrutinized. Yes, it was partly the presumption and chutzpah of the demand that I submit to this demeaning and invasive process in exchange for the privilege of volunteering many hours of my time raising funds for this cause. But that wasn't what stopped me.
We live in a world where we are subjected to daily invasions of our privacy by government, by banks, by credit agencies, by employers, and for the most part, we all go along to get along, don't we? This time I just had to say no.
I can certainly see why any organization that depends on volunteer contributions would want to minimize sticky fingers in their collection baskets, but in my opinion this is one of the most egregious examples of lawyerly overkill that I've ever seen. I'm sure the St. Baldrick's Foundation will do fine without our event and that my little protest doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things, but it matters to me. For our part, we'll find other worthy causes to support - Lord knows there's no shortage of worthy causes, maybe even some that don't need to verify that we're moral enough before they take our time and money.
I hope those of you who looked forward to participating this year can understand my decision, whether you agree with it or not. As always, I welcome your feedback.
In July, 2003, my partner Joanne and I took a drive to Newmarket, where our friends Peter Hamelin and John Pasquale were developing their plan to purchase and reopen the famous Stone Church music club. Located about twenty minutes from Portsmouth, Newmarket is an old mill town situated on the Lamprey River, a tributary of the Great Bay. Compared to other thoroughly gentrified communities up and down the Seacoast, Newmarket has always been refreshingly, even defiantly, down-to-earth, populated with a diverse mix of people: folks with roots that go back generations, along with recent immigrants; working-class people, professionals, college students, artists and random bohemian types. It is both well-grounded and artsy in an appealingly unpretentious way.
Although Joanne and I were in Newmarket that day to hear about Peter & John's plans for the venerable Stone Church, the conversation eventually drifted to our own vague ideas for a new facility for Smuttynose. John, who lives in Newmarket and was involved in local politics, asked if we would consider looking at the mill buildings that dominate the center of town. He told me that they were vacant and that the town was actively looking for someone to come in and develop them. In August, 2003, we took our first tour through the old, abandoned mills and we were astonished by what we saw.
Newmarket's mills are a relic of New England's early, water-driven industrial revolution. Built from quarried split granite between the 1820's and the early 1900's, these massive structures were originally used to mill cotton. Later uses included shoe manufacture (Timberland got its start in the mills next door), hydro-electric generation, distilling, and most recently, the manufacture of sheet mica and electrical insulating material, but regardless of the use, they have always been the economic heart of the region, employing thousands at their peak. By 2003, the mills on Main Street housed a single small manufacturer; the mills across the Lamprey River had been converted into residential condominiums; but the bulk of the space - over 70,000 square feet in buildings in a picturesque setting alongside the river - had been vacant for more than a decade.
It is easy to see how seductive the idea was of breathing life back into these beautiful structures, especially with a traditional manufacturing use such as artisanal brewing. Walking through their vast, empty spaces, you can imagine when these buildings were filled with workers operating clanking machinery and pulsed with energy. And although these buildings did not perfectly meet the criteria outlined in the previous post, the notion of transforming these historic mills had an irresistable appeal. John introduced me to the Newmarket Community Development Corporation (NCDC), which owns the mill property on behalf of the town, and we embarked on what would turn out to be a two year-long journey that ultimately did not bear fruit.
plans evolved to encompass more public uses than we have originally envisioned, including not only a new brewing facility and a pub, but other uses that these buildings and their location seemed to call out for - a cafe, office and studio space, and even a small boutique hotel. Conceptually, it all made sense, with all the parts fitting together to form a whole.
But the hard work or making all those pieces fit into the larger scheme of things was just beginning. We had hired an architecture firm in Boston to help us do a feasibility study, and we commissioned some early engineering studies of the site. Over a two year span, I attended countless meetings with various parties who had an interest in our project, and was met with a consistently high level of enthusiasm. Yet, in retrospect, there were clear signs from the very outset that our plans to redevelop the Newmarket Mills were doomed, if only I had been able to recognize them.
One afternoon is the summer of 1995 or '96, my ex-partner Paul Murphy and I drove across town from Heritage Avenue to Islington street and, armed with flashlights and screwdrivers, let ourselves into a vacant mill building with a key that had been lent to us by the building's owner, Joe Sawtelle. We had been warned to beware of rotten floorboards in the upper floors, so we trod very carefully through what appeared to be a 35,000 square foot pigeon coop. (And yes, there are baby pigeons - we saw lots of them that day.)
Although Smuttynose Brewing was still in its infancy - our production was just a few thousand barrels a year- and we did not distribute outside of New Hampshire - the microbrewery segment of the beer industry had experienced explosive growth from the mid-eighties through the mid-nineties, and we were already wondering if we'd need to seek out new digs before long. How Mr. Sawtelle knew that, I have no idea, but he contacted us and encouraged us to look over his building at 1001 Islington, which he said he'd sell for $500,000. But although it was fun to fantasize about building a new facility in an old mill located a stone's throw from downtown Portsmouth, common sense told us that the time was not right and we did not pursue the idea any further than a few self-guided tours through the musty old hulk of a building. Eric Chinburg purchased the building shortly thereafter and converted it into a very nice apartment complex.
Around the same time, we were contacted by the owner of the old Frank Jones brewery buildings, which were located a bit further down Islington Street. This complex of late 19th-century buildings had housed until recently Schultz's hot dog factory. The Schultzes where looking for potential new users for some or all of these buildings and thought we might fit into their plans to revitalize what they called Schultz's Brew Yard. Though the romance of relocating our brewery into the remnants of the historic Frank Jones Brewery was appealing, we did not give it serious consideration, given the magnitude of such a project. Ten years later, in 2005, we would take another look at the same buildings, which had recently been sold on auction and still remained vacant (and still are). But in the interim we had turned our focus to surviving the brutal shakeout that hit the craft beer business in the late nineties. In the meantime, finding a new home for Smuttynose Brewing would have to wait.
In the next post, I'll write about our exploration of the mills in Newmarket. As always, your comments and questions are welcome.
A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from a fellow who has been following the news of our proposed new brewery for quite some time. A resident of Hampton, our future home town, he was writing to ask about the status of the project and pointed out that we were doing ourselves and our fans a disservice by maintaining a sphinx-like silence on the topic. "I was hoping to see construction begin this spring but it looks like there is nothing going on at the site," he wrote. "Rumours are spreading in town that the project has been scrapped due to the economy. If it is hasn't been scrapped you need to get out ahead of things on a PR basis and let your fans know what is going on. The lack of any discussion of the project on your website only fuels the rumours further."
Yes, the writer is correct - a lot of people have been wondering what's going on with Smuttynose and our future home at Towle Farm in Hampton, and here, at last, is our response. The purpose of this blog, with apologies to Mr. Blandings , is to provide not only ongoing updates on our progress, but also some background and history of our brewery and its plans for expansion. The short answer is Yes, we are moving ahead with our plans to build a new facility at Towle Farm in Hampton. We plan to start construction in the first half of 2010 and will be moving in about a year later, in 2011. But getting to that part of the story is actually a rather long and involved tale, so I'll start by asking for your patience and indulgence in advance. I'll post here from time to time in hopes of presenting this in bite-sized pieces. Let's begin with a quick thumbnail sketch of our growth and expansion up till now.
In 1994, the year we opened for business, Smuttynose Brewing owned only the six 40-barrel tanks that we purchased with the assets of the bankrupt Frank Jones brewery. Although none
of these tanks was rated to hold pressure, a previous owner with little money and even less common sense had jury-rigged two of them to serve as pressured conditioning tanks. The brewery, with its small, twenty-barrel brewhouse, had a capacity of about 2,500 barrels a year. Within less than a year, we added four 50-barrel fermenters, purchased from Harpoon, which had outgrown them, two horizontal 100-barrel dairy tanks to be used for conditioning, and two vertical 180-barrel conditioning tanks that we acquired from a brewery in Buffalo which had closed its doors. This tripled our capacity, giving us the potential output of about 7,500 barrels a year. We grew into this capacity within four years.
By 2005, our tank inventory consisted of the original six 40-barrel, nine 50-barrel & one 20-barrel fermenter, plus four horizontal and two vertical conditioning tanks. In 2006, we outgrew microbrewery status when our annual output exceeded 15,000 barrels. That year we purchased our first 200-barrel fermenter, whose 23-foot height required us to build an addition attached to the existing building. We have since purchased two more 200-barrel fermenters, building a new outside addition each time. In early 2006, we leased the other half of our building, adding about 11,000 square feet of warehouse space to our existing 12,500 square feet. We filled that space in a matter of weeks with packaging, raw materials and finished product.
In 2001, we replaced our old 20-barrel brewhouse with a 50-barrel brewhouse purchased from a brewery in Miami that had gone out of business and have since upgraded that brewhouse substantially, adding a whirlpool as well as a new mill and grain handling system. We've replaced & expanded our refrigeration system, and replaced & upgraded virtually all of our bottling and kegging lines.
This year, 2009, we expect to produce about 23,000 barrels, or about 310,000 cases’ worth of beer. To accommodate this growth, we will add two more 200-barrel tanks, a fermenter and a new conditioning tank, early this summer. Since we no longer have room outside the building for more additions, we now must find space inside the building, raising the roof by ten feet and reinforcing the floor to carry the weight of the new tanks (50,000 pounds apiece, including beer). The only spot inside the building with enough space for these tanks is where our hospitality room is currently located, so visitors to Smuttynose this summer will be greeted with a much smaller place to gather for tours. This space will accommodate only one additional tank, another 200-barrel fermenter, which we expect to add next spring. After that, expanding this facility will require a whole lot of creativity.
In my next post, I'll write about some of the early sites we considered for a new facility. As always, your comments & questions are welcome.
Yesterday, Tyler Jones, assistant brewer at the Portsmouth Brewery, made entry in the Portsmouth Brewery Brewers Blog announcing that the very last keg of Smuttynose Portsmouth Lager had been tapped. Several readers asked what will replace that beer when that final keg runs dry, and they surmised, correctly, that it would be the newest Smuttynose offering, Star Island Single. I’m writing today to briefly introduce this new beer, but first I’d like to say a few words about Portsmouth Lager, the circumstances in which we introduced it back in 1998, and why we made the decision to retire it eleven years later.
1998 was a watershed year at Smuttynose. The craft/micro segment of the beer industry was entering the third year of a brutal shakeout phase, and we were taking a beating along with everyone else, having seen close to a third of our sales volume dry up during the previous two years. Small breweries left and right were falling by the wayside, and at the rate we were going, I feared our turn would come soon. Consumers, retailers and wholesalers had lost confidence in the craft segment, which in the early nineties had become flooded with shitty beer and phony knock-off products. Some of the wholesalers in our network had already dropped our brand from their portfolios; others were threatening to do so any day; and most of the rest wouldn’t answer our phone calls. It was a very bad time to be a small brewer.
In retrospect, it was also a time of great opportunity. 1998 was the year we introduced our Big Beer Series, a move that was universally hailed by our wholesalers (the ones that would still talk to us, at least) as one of the stupidest ideas they’d heard in a long, long time. Why were we proposing to make a series of big, exotic-sounding beers, they asked, when the market was moving towards light beers? Any why, they further asked, would we put those beers in a package - 22-ounce bottles - that no one - no one - wanted to buy? I like to tell people that, in the position we were in, we were a little like the mountain climber in the excellent book and film Touching the Void who had fallen down a crevasse and was clinging, broken and bloody, to a narrow ledge. Climbing up out of the crevasse was not an option; the only choices were to die on the ledge or go down, deeper into the darkness. (You really need to read this book or see the movie, at the very least, to see how that decision worked out for the stranded climber.) So, like the climber, down deeper we went, and the Big Beer Series was born. Ten years later, with the extreme beer movement in full bloom, it looks like a prescient decision. At the time, it was folly, an act of desperation.
At the same time, we also hedged our bets and introduced Portsmouth Lager. One of the strategic decisions we made at the time was to pull out of several outlying markets and refocus on our home turf. Portsmouth was due to celebrate its 375th anniversary that year, and I thought honoring our home city with an eponymous beer would be a smart move, in a pandering sort of way. Looking at our portfolio of brands, we believed that it would be a good idea to offer an accessible, user-friendly product that would be a nice counterpoint to our hoppier, heavier and darker ales. We further reasoned that a continental style lager would fit that bill nicely, since it was a style that was under-represented in the world of craft beers (with the notable exception of Samuel Adams Boston Lager).
I believed, naively as it turns out, that the name Portsmouth Lager would enjoy some of the same romance that Sam Adams benefitted from, and that it would be embraced by visitors and locals to our Seacoast region as the definitive “local” beer. This was not to be the case. New Hampshire, despite its puny size (ranked 46th out of 50 in land mass), is one of the most Balkanized states in the country. For reasons that have always eluded me, one of the dinkiest states in the Union defiantly parses itself into “seven distinct cultural and geographical regions.” The result? Well, to quote Gertrude Stein, “there is no there there.” The Granite State is sandwiched between two neighbors - Maine and Vermont - that have done a fantastic job of cultivating their brand identity, yet in between, our own New Hampshire “brand” remains a mystery. Try a word association test: I’ll bet you can rattle off a list of features and products that you associate with the states to our east and west - blueberries, lobsters, rocky coastline, maple syrup, dairy farms, covered bridges, fall foliage and so on. Here in New Hampshire? Velcro, Pitco fryolators, the Old Man in the Mountain (whoops), Segways & tax free shopping (and don’t get me started about that First in the Nation bit). We’ve got our own blueberries and lobsters and dairy farms - tons of ’em - but no one seems to know it. I have come to believe that there is a good reason that New Hampshire, despite all its incredible natural advantages (and there are many), has launched very few successful comsumer products. It’s not an accident that a company that got its start at the Portsmouth farmers’ market - Stonewall Kitchen - moved its operations across the river to York, Maine, so it could benefit from the “made in Maine” cachet. And one of the most widely known consumer products manufacturers in the Granite State, Stonyfield Farms, doesn't mention New Hampshire on its website’s homepage or “about us” page. Back to 1998, when we proudly presented our new Portsmouth Lager to the sales staff at one of our local wholesalers, one of the salesmen said derisively “nobody in Manchester is ever going to buy a beer named after Portsmouth.” Mind you, Manchester is located exactly 46 miles from Portsmouth, but as it turns out, he knew what he was talking about. We had to learn it the hard way, though.
After a slow launch in a down market, and encountering indifference from our local wholesalers and retailers, Portsmouth Lager never gained traction in the market. Cut out of the sets in the supermarket chains, where 80% of the beer is sold in New Hampshire, it became nearly impossible to find in our home state, except on draught at the Portsmouth Brewery, where it has been consistently one of our most popular offerings. People would discover it in a Variety Pack and write to us asking where they could buy it, and we’d shrug helplessly. So while all of our other brands were growing, Portsmouth Lager numbers remained static, buoyed up artificially by the significant volumes that were served at the Portsmouth Brewery and placed in Variety Packs. And the warm embrace we anticipated from Portsmouth's bars and restaurants never happened; most of them remained perfectly content to offer up Boston Lager as their local beer.
Truth be told, we started to discuss phasing Portsmouth Lager out of the lineup several years ago. Our brewers felt that, given our limited capacity, we could not afford to tie up valuable tank space with an underperforming brand that took twice as long to brew. They were correct, of course. So what held up that decision? Me. I was having a very hard time letting go of an old friend. Of the beers we’ve made at Smuttynose, Portsmouth Lager has always been one of my favorites. It’s unpretentious, easy to drink and flavorful - stuff I like in a beer. When David Yarrington took over as Executive Brewer in 2001, one of the first things he did was tweak the recipe, making it more authentically European in its hopping and malt, which, in my opinion, made a good beer better. Finally, though, arithmetic and common sense prevailed over sentimentality.
Joanne and I have speculated that perhaps a different package design or name might have yielded different results. I tend to think that’s true, up to a point, but I also believe that our timing was poor for this particular product. With a few notable exceptions (Victory’s Prima Pils comes to mind), the number craft breweries producing successful lager beers, especially light continental lagers, is relatively small. It’s been a tough nut to crack for all of us, though I believe that this is changing.
At the end of the day, our decision to retire our Portsmouth Lager was based on our belief that we could replace it in our lineup with a beer that will serve a similar role, namely an accessible, user-friendly beer that will complement to the rest of our lineup. For over a year, we’ve been playing around with draft versions of what has finally evolved into our Star Island Single. Some of you may have tried an early iteration, the lamely named TBD Blonde, at festivals and bars that like to play with us. We're very happy with the final product, which we’ll be bottling for the first time on Monday. Let us know what you think.
By the way, since I know people will ask, the spice referred to in the Statement of Composition (“Session ale brewed with spice”) at the bottom of the label is coriander, which we add in a tiny amount, just above the detection threshold, to give the beer a little je ne sais quoi.
Back in May, I sat down over a beer with Doug Bates, President of the Greater Portsmouth Chamber of Commerce. He told me he was Vice Chairman of the Community Committee in charge of organizing and raising funds for the commissioning of the USS New Hampshire, a brand new Virginia Class submarine named after the Granite State. Doug asked if Smuttynose Brewing would be interested in producing a special beer to commemorate and
help raise money to support the event, which was scheduled to take place in late October at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard. I told him that although Smuttynose as a rule does not produce special label beers, this project sounded worthy to me. (Similarly, in 1995, Shipyard Brewing in Portland, had brewed a commemorative ale in honor of the commissioning of the USS Maine, a new Trident submarine.) We discussed the prospect of brewing a special, limited-edition ale, to be made available in the Seacoast's local stores, bars and restaurants during the weeks leading up to the Commissioning, as well as to participants in the Commissioning ceremony itself.
Given the lead times for production of labels (including approval by the federal Tax & Trade Bureau), we knew that a number of things would have to fall into place quickly and smoothly. I was aware that regulations would not permit us to use an official Navy seal or insignia on a beer label, so a special design would be required. As it turns out, the Committee had designed their own logo, as they were not permitted to use official Navy insignia to promote the commissioning, either, and this, we felt, would make a great beer label, too. True to his word, Doug got the ball rolling in short order. The first task was to give the beer a name, a job assigned to the crew of the boat itself, who chose "Granite Ghost Ale." (Granite Ghost, I learned, is the ship's non-classified radio handle.) With the beer's name and the Committee's logo in hand, we approached a local communications firm to design a label that looked good and complied with the various federal labelling requirements. At the same time, at the brewery, we began planning our special batch of ale, one that would be both distinctive and friendly to the palate.
Within a short time, the word went out, and our Granite Ghost Ale project was receiving very nice press coverage in the Portsmouth Herald, Foster's Daily Democrat and the Navy Times. We received emails from active and retired service members all over the world inquiring about how to get a bottle. I even got a call from the office of one of our US senators inquiring about it.
Scheduling was critical. Working backwards from October 25th, 2008, the date of the commissioning, we'd need to have bottled beer ready to ship to our wholesaler during the first week of September. Our label company, which is located in Wisconsin, required finished, approved artwork by the third week of August in order for the labels to be scheduled on the press and completed for an early September delivery date. At the same time we sent artwork off to Wisconsin, we sent in our COLA (Certificate of Label Approval) form to the federal Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) for approval.
A week later, we received the following email from a specialist at the TTB:
I have two concerns with this label. They are based on 27 CFR Section 7.29 (d) which prohibits on malt beverage labels the use of seals, insignias, or decorations that could be construed as associated with the armed forces. My first concern is the text “Portsmouth Naval Shipyard” as it is part of the U.S. Navy. My second concern is the seal on the label and how close it resembles the seal of the USS New Hampshire. Do you have written permission from the Department of the Navy to use the seal and text? If you do, please forward that documentation to me to review with the label application. If not, you need to contact the Navy as soon as possible to get that permission.
Here, for the record, is the passage of the CFR (Code of Federal Regulatons) that the TTB specialist cited:
(d) Flags, seals, coats of arms, crests, and other insignia. Labels shall not contain, in the brand name or otherwise, any statement, design, device, or pictorial representation which the appropriate TTB officer finds relates to, or is capable of being construed as relating to, the armed forces of the United States, or the American flag, or any emblem, seal, insignia, or decoration associated with such flag or armed forces; nor shall any label contain any statement, design, device, or pictorial representation of or concerning any flag, seal, coat of arms, crest or other insignia, likely to mislead the consumer to believe that the product has been endorsed, made, or used by, or produced for, or under the supervision of, or in accordance with the specifications of the government, organization, family, or individual with whom such flag, seal, coat of arms, crest, or insignia is associated.
Given that the beer was scheduled to be brewed and the labels were due to go on press in a matter of days, we needed to act quickly. Doug contacted representatives at the Navy. After several days of back-and-forth, we received an answer from the Navy's lawyers. In short, although they were enthusiastic about the idea of a commemorative ale and applauded our efforts, they refused to provide us with the written permission that the TTB had required for fear that it could be construed as the Navy's endorsement of a Smuttynose product.
At this point, our choices were limited. Contesting the TTB's narrow interpretation of the statute was out of the question. I felt we had a good argument, especially with the precedent set by Shipyard Brewing's USS Maine label. (In 2005, we contested the TTB's rejection of our Wheat Wine label and eventually won, but it put off the release of that beer by nine months. We could not afford that kind of delay this time.) We also considered redesigning the label so that it made no mention of the USS New Hampshire, the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, or the commissioning date. Leaving aside the question of what sort of label we've be left with and the diminished value it would have commemorating the submarine's commissioning, time was still the biggest drawback. Given the time required to (a) design a new label (b) get print-ready artwork generated (c) schedule a new press date and (d) get federal approval for the new design, it was clear that, even in the best of circumstances, we would not be able to produce this beer in time for the commissioning ceremony, much less the weeks leading up to it. I am not opposed to pulling a rabbit out of a hat from time to time, but this would have required extracting entire flocks of bunnies from everyone's hats, with a couple of miracles along the way.
The window for brewing the beer itself was rapidly closing as well, due to our tight production schedule and limited tank space. Faced with these facts, I made the difficult decision to pull the plug on Granite Ghost Ale, which I know will be huge disappointment to the many people who have inquired about it. I was not happy about this decision, but none of us were equipped to do battle with two enormous federal bureaucracies - the TTB and the Navy - at least with the limited time that was available to us.
One could reasonably ask, why was a commemorative beer approved for the USS Maine's commissioning in 1995, when our application was rejected? Welcome to my world. The beverage alcohol business is highly, highly regulated, and those regulations are subject to a wide range of interpretation, resulting, sometimes, in wildly inconsistent readings of the law. Frankly, after being in the beer business for over twenty years, submitting many dozens of COLA applications during that time, nothing surprises me any more. (I'll make this the topic of a future blog post, if anyone's interested.)
Don't get me wrong. This is not an indictment of the folks at the TTB. Over the years, I have become acquainted with the specialist in Washington who rejected our application, and I consider him to be a reasonable and fair-minded individual. I know that he would have wanted to see us find a way to make this work and would have been happy to approve our application if he had received a note from the Navy stating in writing what they told us verbally, namely that they supported our project. The fault is in the way the regulations are written; the people who are charged with enforcing them do the best they can.
For those of you who would have wanted to purchase a Granite Ghost Ale to support the ship's October 25th commissioning, I recommend going to the Commissioning website to learn about other ways to support the Commissioning Committee's efforts. With or without Granite Ghost Ale, the New Hampshire's commissioning is going to be a terrific event, the result of the hard work of a group of dedicated people. Let's raise a toast to them, and a toast to the Granite Ghost!
help raise money to support the event, which was scheduled to take place in late October at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard. I told him that although Smuttynose as a rule does not produce special label beers, this project sounded worthy to me. (Similarly, in 1995, Shipyard Brewing in Portland, had brewed a commemorative ale in honor of the commissioning of the USS Maine, a new Trident submarine.) We discussed the prospect of brewing a special, limited-edition ale, to be made available in the Seacoast's local stores, bars and restaurants during the weeks leading up to the Commissioning, as well as to participants in the Commissioning ceremony itself.
