The following beers had excellent repute in 1980s America, all from national or large regional brewers except Anchor Brewing’s Liberty Ale:
- Augsburger from Huber in Monroe, Wisconsin
- Rhomberg from Dubuque/Pickett’s, Dubuque, Iowa
- Andeker of Pabst Brewing, Milwaukee
- Erlanger of Schlitz/Stroh
- Stroh Signature, Stroh, Detroit
- Anchor Liberty Ale, Anchor Brewing, San Francisco (not a craft brewery as such given its 19th century origins)
- Michelob from Anheuser-Busch, as then termed
- Christian Moerlein from Hudepohl in Cincinnati
- Maxiumus Super, from F.X. Matt Brewing in Utica
- Labatt Classic Lager, an all-malt Canadian lager
- Henry Weinhard’s Private Reserve, Blitz-Weinhard, Portland, Oregon
- Lowenbrau, a licensed version that used grain adjunct
All were American made except the Canadian beer noted.
As a class they were meant to offer superior taste, and termed by beer marketers “super-premium” to reflect their higher quality and price. “Premium” class was just below, e.g. Budweiser. “Standard” followed, say Busch Beer, and finally “Price” or budget class.
Price beer used less barley malt and a large percentage of cheaper adjunct grains or syrups. It was often termed “7/7” beer, meaning seven days to mash, brew, and ferment, seven days to age, then out the door. Michael A. Weiner’s 1977 The Taster’s Guide to Beer used the term, noting by contrast Pabst Andeker was aged over 30 days.
Most super-premiums were not all-malt, but a couple were: Erlanger by all reports, and Christian Moerlein. Where not all-malt they generally used a high percentage of barley malt, and all- or a high percentage of imported hops.
1980s North American large-scale brewing had not quite forgotten its all-malt roots, and the onset of craft brewing sharpened the memory. But all- or high-malt brewing did not guarantee a generous body and taste. That depended how much extract remained in the beer, and on the quality, amount, and brewing method for the hops. The Erlanger and Moerlein beers, by my own memory, were decent but not especially malty, and the same for most other super-premiums.
North American brewing in 1975 could easily have spawned a beer revolution with all-malt, high-hopped beers of character, restoring in other words an earlier phase of North American brewing. Yet, large brewers did not see their mission in this direction.
Why were they so fixed on limiting the taste capacity of beer? In part it was simply the weight of tradition – beer had gotten ever lighter through the 20th century, especially since World War II. It was done in part for cost reasons, but also brewers were ever-trying to grow markets. It was thought women and younger persons shied from impactful beer flavour, and in general beer should be light, crisp, “crushable”, as we say today for drinkability.
Since almost all consumer products have a high end, North American brewing did make made a better range of beer. This was the position the super-premium class occupied. It sought a middle ground between traditional European taste and the lightest form of American adjunct lager.
The compromise resulted in an imported-type taste, short that is of the real thing due to pushing the fermentation limit of beer and holding back its hop character. From a connoisseur’s standpoint it sounds less than ideal but brewers saw this as the way to success, at least in niche terms.
In the 1960s Hamm Brewery in Minnesota dubbed this compromise stance the “Third Taste”, a phrase it saw with promotional promise. Its Waldech brand was the herald, a German-allusive name as were many super-premium brands, meant to suggest European, therefore, top-quality.*
(Source: Life magazine archive, Google Books).
This 1964 print ad states frankly the third taste was European but lightened for the American palate. So, it was neither a standard bland American profile, nor full-bore European, but something in between.
Hamm touted use of German Tettnang hops and two-row Hannchen barley, implying Waldech was all-malt. It is doubtful though the beer had the heft of a Sam Adams Boston Lager or Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, craft landmarks introduced in the 1980s. It seems still to have been pretty good, Michael Weiner typed it as:
A good, strong-bodied beer. Pleasant aftertaste. Easily as good as many continental lagers.
He gave it five mugs in his rating system. His top rating (“world’s best”) was seven, earned by famous Czech Pilsner Urquell. Whitbread Pale Ale (U.K.) got six mugs, as did Dortmunder Kronen from Germany. So, good as Weldech evidently was (I have no taste memory of it) it did not equal Europe’s best, by this authority.
For more background on Waldech see the useful notes of American brewing historian Jeff Lonto in his blogpost of November 17, 2021 in the Analog.
In theory the Third Taste should have kickstarted a revolution, at least a minor one, but it did not. North Americans did not want a compromise taste, we can see increasing retrospect, or not enough did to make a difference.
Through the 1970s and 1980s, heyday such as it was for the super-premiums, reputed imports like Heineken and Beck’s Bier dominated the quality segment. Countless others sold well in lesser quantities, including British and Belgian beers. It was the onset of domestic craft brewing that finally superseded the Third Taste.
And when the craft beers came in they went full-Monty in flavour, equaling or even topping in character famous imports, territory American industrial brewers always shied away from.
When the big brewers finally turned to craft brewing they did it mainly by buying craft brewers, for the credibility of the funky, hipster-sounding brands. It was never in their heart to originate, make and promote such beers, a few exceptions aside such as Molson-Coors’ Blue Moon, a Belgian-style wheat beer.**
See Part II.
…
*Jeff Lonto, mentioned below in the post, states ancestors of Hamm’s 1960s president hailed from a German town called Waldech. There is indeed such a town, in Hesse. But the name clearly was also meant to suggest German beer character and by implication, high quality. A name like Andeker was more contrived, a la Häagen-Dazs, but whatever their specific origin, most super-premiums were meant to suggest a German or other European lager quality.
**This post and the next two in the series were edited for concision and style April 5, 2024.
Jesus, I forgot all about Brador!! Any time anyone went to Canada we required them to bring it back home. And yes, you are correct about Maximus, though many became attached to it for nothing more than the higher abv.
Gary,
I appreciated this post, the comments by Sam K. and your reply. I tried most of the beers in your list in the 70s and 80s. I’d like to add a couple of candidates. I tried Coors Herman Joseph in about ’83, and thought is was excellent, very similar to a German lager of the time. It may have been a test market (and possibly a test product). Hibernia (Walter, Wi) brewed Eau Claire All-Malt. I never found it, but I’ll attest that their Dark Wheat lager was excellent. I agree with you that perceived malt body doesn’t track well with all-malt ingredients. Another comment: In those days I would agree with Weiner giving Pilsener Urquell seven mugs. I tried one recently and I’d give four or five mugs.
I think part of the problem encountered by the older breweries in selling their super-premium products, at least in the US, was due to the distribution system. Anheuser Busch were the first national brewery in the market, and could influence their distributors to carry and promote it. For everybody else, distribution and promotion was spotty. Today, I believe the larger regional and national craft brewers are encountering similar problems. Their products may not be represented well. Of course, Ontario has brewery controlled retailers, so no excuses for the big companies there.
Thanks Arnold, a good counterpart to Sam’s reply. I do recall Herman Joseph and would not have placed on a par with good German lager, but it was distinctive. There was also George Killian’s Irish Red, but it became less distinctive as the years went by.
Restrictive distribution may have been a factor for the less successful super-premiums. Michelob’s post-1950s growth, which I wrote about earlier, surely was built in part on A-B’s extensive distributor network, itself powerful due to Budweiser. But still I think part of that success was based on the legend of Michelob Draught, the only form available up to the 1960s.
Of course there were other very good beers – Prior Double Dark for example, and an ale here and there. But they never had much penetration, and with the winnowing of small brewers became ever-fewer.
Re those ales, maybe Little Kings Cream Ale, also of course Ballantine India Pale Ale. Perhaps too Rainier Ale, aka “the Green Death”, on the west coast, but the last time I had it 10-15 years ago it was awful.
Little Kings, yes! I get at least six cases each time I go through Cincinnati!
The “green death” I remember was Haffenreffer malt liquor from New England. Yikes!
The other Green Death was out on the West Coast, Rainier Ale. I have meant to write its history, it was a stock-type IPA back in the Thirties that became less distinctive although keeping a higher strength.
Or did I write it already…? I’ll check. 🙂
Yes, Prior Double Dark, another one worth searching out back then. When Schmidt’s closed in the ’80s I bought six cases each of that and McSorley’s Ale and enjoyed them for years. And though not necessarily a premium product, Yuengling’s Lord Chesterfield remains a distinctive choice, though its hoppy character is now overshadowed by the phalanx of the various compulsory IPA styles that now rule the taps.
And now, the once-vaunted Michelob brand lives primarily to represent a flaccid, adjunct-laden ultra-light beer. And so it goes…
Thanks I did know those, all excellent. Lord Chesterfield had a distinctive hoppy nose. The last time I had it it didn’t seem as good, but memory can play tricks sometimes.
Prior was a legend in American beer-making back then, a star as I discussed earlier in New York Wine & Food Society beer tastings in the 1940s.
It needs to be revived, the pale version too.
Gary, while we’re still on this subject, I think you’ll like this, compiled by PA brewery historian Rich Wagner regarding the surprising link between Pilsner Urquell and the original Prior from Adam Scheidt in Norristown, outside Philly.
https://pabreweryhistorians.tripod.com/ScheidtPriorCzechStory.html
Thanks Sam, I may have seen it, if not, or in any case, may comment soon. All best.
Gary
Hi Gary! It’s been a while, but you have touched on a subject dear to my heart. I lived through those heady 80s drinking years too, and was captivated by the super-premiums offered then. I’m curious as to the source of your list. Is it a personal listing or one found elsewhere?
I ask since it contains a couple anomalies. For one, I never considered Maximus Super as anything but a high-malt, high-alcohol cheap drunk. Then there’s that damn domestic Lowenbrau, which I always considered a poser, in that German Lowenbrau was a far superior product.
The only brand on the list I was not able to explore was Joe Pickett’s Rhomberg. Though I had access to Stroh products, I actively avoided them because my dad worked for Jones Brewing in SWPA and Stroh was eating the little guys’ lunches all over the place; no reason to patronize the Dark Lord. Andeker was a good beer, one that I admired. Same for Liberty Ale, though it was always a class above the rest, in my opinion. Augsburger and Moerlein came in light and dark versions, both pretty good.
There are a couple of MIAs on the list, as well. National Premium from Baltimore was one of the very best American lagers I’ve ever enjoyed, and I miss it still. Heileman’s Special Export was another I liked immensely when it was still Heileman-brewed. After the sale it was not worth drinking.
The late 70s introduced me to Molson Export ale, one of the best of the Canadian brands at the time. Then came the amazing rise of the uninspired Molson Golden, and its rise pushed Export out of the market for decades.
Ah, the fickle nature of the beer business! I continue to follow and hope you’re well.
Sam
Great to hear from you Sam. Always appreciate when you write, and your well-thought out remarks.
Didn’t know your dad worked for Jones, that’s cool. Jonesy who founded it was a big guy from Wales, if memory serves!
I put the list together, mostly from personal memory but after some reading too. E.g. I don’t recall tasting Rhomberg, I must have read of it somewhere. In Part II I will drill down more on the super-premium class with some references.
I have to differ with you for Maximus Super. At least in the 70s and 80s it was considered, albeit a malt liquor, an impressive product. Michael Jackson spoke of it highly in early writing. I think perhaps the image changed in later years. The last I heard, Matt’s was still making it just for a local market in Utica. Even in lesser form I’d still like to try it, but in its prime it was a well-flavoured, good beer.
National Premium and Heilman’s Special Export were indeed of high calibre by my memory, but I’d have typed them premium, not super-premium. To some extent these categories are fluid of course. And to be sure, I didn’t mention all the super-premiums, but I did capture I think among the best-known.
Molson Export Ale was imo a much better beer in the era we are discussing than today. It just doesn’t taste the same now, it had a characteristic, earthy taste that is missing. Golden was okay. Even Labatt Blue was better then, and Labatt 50, those beers had specific tastes that have been ironed out since, imo.
Molson Canadian is still pretty good though.
I guess I could have included Brador as a Canadian super-premium. It was very good in its early years in Quebec, but at the end, when six percent abv as sold in Ontario, not so much.
But I never liked Labatt Classic – too wimped-out. It inhabited the more timid side of the The Third Taste!
Thanks for writing.
Gary