Beer Beatdown

it’s official： the Chinese love beer， or pijiu （啤酒）. Anyone who has ever visited the Middle Kingdom will know that downing a liter bottle or two of the amber nectar seems to be a staple part of Chinese culture. However， it should be noted that beer is actually rather novel to most Chinese and it wasn’t until the 80s that the beer industry began to prosper. You would be surprised to find how many petty stores and restaurants serve their beer at room temperature or even hot. Things are changing， though： for those who are not satisfied by merely a few nips of Tsingtao （青島） or Yanjing （燕京）， craft beer might be the answer.

Home-brewing as a middle-class pastime （or mid-life crisis） over the past few decades has become a staple part of Western suburban existence； Uncle Bob wiling away the hours in his science lab of a home brewery. This is a relatively new concept for ordinary Chinese. While the popularity of craft beer（produced by small， independent brewers） continues to rise around the world， China has begun to pick up the pace at a hop-ping speed， especially in its capital city.

From hotel bars and top-tier restaurants to taprooms and beer bars tucked in the narrow hutong alleys， the last five years in Beijing has seen a growth in demand for high-quality craft beer， attracting expatriates yearning for a taste of home， as well as adventurous locals.

Breweries and bars， however， are not just about business. Being the comfortable place to relax and chat， these social sites are also largely about people. As a microbrewery is an inherently western establishment， the cross-cultural challenge of attracting both foreigners and locals is an important topic to address. In the process， there are inspirational and exciting moments， as well as frustrating， disappointing ones： they all， ultimately， bring to light some insightful truths on craft beer， business and life in China.

As the only Chinese owned and run microbrewery from the handful of western ones that have sprung up over the past year in Beijing， Jeff Ji’s Malty Dog sits well among the city’s hipsters in Beiluogu Xiang（北鑼鼓巷）， a trendy hutong in Beijing’s Gulou （鼓樓） area. Jeff is enthusiastically confident that the tide is turning for Chinese tastes and that stronger， heavier and more flavorsome brews are just waiting to breach the light-bodied lager monopoly that holds strong among Chinese.

Jeff， from Shandong Province（home to Tsingtao， China’s brewing Mecca）， began his foray into micro brewing upon a friend’s suggestion that he open a bar and brew his own beer. Jeff would utilize his sharp business sense and creativity—he had already opened Mai Bar， a cocktail establishment just down the road. As his famous （or infamous） mixology skills prove， he is prone to mixing flavors and ingredients that would ordinarily make the strongest of stomachs heave. Lemongrass， blueberries， chilies and even basil have all weaseled their way into his beer， scintillating the taste buds of even the most discerning punter.

A lot of Malty Dog’s home-made beer is actually brewed in the pub， or more specifically behind the bar. The equipment， capable of brewing 40 liters of ale at a time， looks like a snapshot from the current season of “Breaking Bad”. Hidden away behind the bar， tubes and pipes sprout from every corner， while Jeff， ever the crazy scientist， oversees the entire operation.

While the notion of craft ale naturally lends itself to locally sourced， organic ingredients， in reality， some of Jeff’s specialty malts are imported， such as his signature chocolate malt. This is because the quality of local Chinese malt is variable； sometimes it will be peppered with grit or pebbles， and unsuitable for such a precise science as brewing.

Jeff is positive about the future of his business and his relative baby in the market. Malty Dog seems to be roaring with expat and local punters alike， but alcohol content may be a problem， with most craft ales clocking in at between 5% and 7%， some even more. If you’re only accustomed to local blends， you need to prepare yourself. But this should be no problem. “Beer is healthy， beer is good for you，” Jeff jokingly emphasizes， perhaps to the chagrin of local physicians and hospitals.

“We do not promote our beer as American beer just because most people think American beer is Budweiser，” said Chandler Jurinka， co-founder of Slow Boat Brewery （悠航鮮啤 Y4uh1ng Xi`np！）， a 1，600-square meter microbrewery located in Changping District in Beijing. Having recently opened their own taproom in the hutong area of Dongsi Batiao （東四八條）， the Slow Boat Brewery provides 12 different kinds of craft beer with the Captain’s Pale Ale as their flagship beer， a medium-bodied American pale ale. Chandler works with malts from Germany and over 20 different hops from the US. “It’s really hard to make one good beer： imagine what it would be like with 12！” said Chandler. In 2009， when Chandler met with brewer Daniel Herbert， they discovered their mutual passion for beer， which soon turned into a promising business plan： a micro brewery. From the very beginning， the dynamic duo spent time on market research， raising funds， finding the right place and applying for the various licenses that are required for running such an establishment in China. Two years later， their business was launched in a flurry of excitement and interest. Slow Boat is now the primary provider of quality beer to over 10 high-end bars and restaurants in Beijing and Shanghai.

Slow Boat’s large variety of beers is their selling point， but they still have to make a real effort to educate local customers about it. Because of the monopoly of light-bodied lagers over the beer market， Beijingers have a hard time understanding the differences between beers. Potential customers are not the only ones confused by the new concept； so do local equipment manufactures. “They kept selling us one tap； we said we needed 12， and they said， ‘why on earth do you need 12 taps？’” Said Chandler：“nothing in China is prepared for this kind of beer！”

Like many new and edgy hangouts， Slow Boat is located in a hutong， where one can still find people living in the traditional Beijing lifestyle. Bear in mind that it is a neighborhood of conservative and often senior residents： how does it manage to fit in？ According to Chandler， this was a critical question for the future success of the taproom.“The acceptance of locals is almost as important as the liquor license，” said Chandler. “If they are angry at us and constantly call the gongshangju （工商局， Industrial and Commercial Bureau） or jingcha

（警察， police）， then we can’t operate.”

Therefore， Chandler and his coworkers strive to maintain a good relationship with the neighbors and be part of the community. “I think it’s very different from what most westerners would have done—we constantly talk to the neighbors and told them about our plan. We also tell them to come to us if they have any problems，” said him， “Now， we open up the taproom during the day， when we are just working there. We let them come in and just sit around. It’s nice and warm inside： even if they don’t have any beer， they may just sit there and hang out.” The efforts have paid off. Though the grandpas in the neighborhood may never understand the difference between ale and IPA， they still hold Chandler in high regard.

Of course， it’s not like the Slow Boat has never come close to being grounded， so to speak. The whole idea of doing business in China is difficult for foreigners because of differing cultural backgrounds. Chandler raises the example of contracts： “In the states， signing a contract means the end of negotiations； in China， that may not happen. There may be more negotiations.” His suggestion is to stop saying “it should be this way”. In other words， accept the local ways of business. Of course， “it’s a lot easier said than done，” says Chandler. “I am still learning.”