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This was devastating news for me—and as Deter opened up his back patio area for the gathering, I struggled to find words, to feel at ease. We piled in shoulder to shoulder at a picnic table as samples made the rounds, and soon Jackson was bantering like his old self. Though his eyes were glassy and his head swayed gently from side to side, he was in his element. I felt both profoundly sad and grateful all at once.

There we stayed into the early morning, candles flickering and oozing all over the tables, sampling the beers Dan Shelton had discovered during his journeys. As glasses and bottles crisscrossed the table for inspection, Jackson—ever the journalist—spoke of the Norse tradition of home brewing a beer for your own approaching death, so that your loved ones may send you off in proper style. There was no pathos in his tone, but I detected a glint in his eye as he broached the topic—that of death, and his own, by extension—as he looked around at the brood over his wire-frame glasses perched at the end of his nose. The words ached; I was a little bit afraid of his state. But I didn’t need to be. He had been writing about beer for as long as I’d been alive, and though the eeriness of the moment hovered in the air like smoke—this part, we heard in echoing silence—he wasn’t being maudlin; he was doing what he always loved to do the most: talk about beer, drink, and laugh among old friends.

It’s a bitter irony that in his final years, like the beverage he loved, Jackson was often misunderstood. Many mistook the effects of his illness for excess. He joked that his next book was going to be about Parkinson’s: “I’m Not Drunk,” he thought of calling it.

It was the last time I ever saw him; Jackson died five months later, on August 30, 2007, in his home. Shelton called me to tell me the news while I was out in New Mexico visiting old friends and colleagues at Outside magazine. It was a teary phone call for us both: Dan was one of the lucky people who was able to spend a lot of time with “The Bard of Beer,” and even filmed a set of extraordinary interviews with him in England. In September, as shock surrendered to sorrow, beer lovers, including at D.B.A., participated in organized tributes worldwide. It’s an annual tradition for me on his birthday (March 27) to salute the man and what his efforts have inspired in me and in so many others. As a beer lover, writer, and friend, I will always owe him the world.

Acknowledgments

THIS DREAM PROJECT REQUIRED THE WILLING WORK AND GRACIOUS assistance of many, many people, more than I could possibly recall, but I will try. From friends, family, brewers, beer bar owners and beer writers to chefs, servers, and myriad others who work in the craft beer industry across the country, I’m truly grateful for having had the chance to meet and learn from so many inspiring people. I could never, ever have done this without their help. THANK YOU ALL.

A special first thank you to my joyful parents who have believed in me and in this book forever; and entire loving family, especially my brothers, Michelle, and Laura and Richard: thank you. To the late writer Michael Jackson, for his shining example of scholarship, wit, and wisdom. Thank you for taking me in that day back in 1996 and helping light the way every day since. You are sorely missed. Jonathan Miles, for the life-changing recommendation to top all others—I’ve got the next round, and the one after that. To McCormick & Williams and Alia Habib, my brilliant, tenacious agent, who stood side by side with me to create this book and to whom I am eternally grateful for advice, insight, support, and inspiration. To Jennifer Kasius, for expertly and efficiently bringing this book to life with Running Press, Monica Parcell, copyeditor, for her wit and élan, Ryan Hayes for his cool jacket design, and Nicole DeJackmo for working hard to promote it. To Garrett Oliver, for writing the elegant preface and believing in this project at first word. To Nancy Newhouse, for years of warm and caring hospitality, guidance and sage advice