The inspiring night with my iranian friend
How introducing a friend to craft beers becomes an exploration of tradition, flavors, and the art of brewing.
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of spending an evening with an Iranian friend who, until now, had almost no exposure to the world of beer—let alone craft beer. Her knowledge was limited, but her curiosity was infectious, and I decided to introduce her to the vast and nuanced universe of real beer.
We started our journey with something familiar and accessible: a can of Cambodia Light, a typical industrial beer. This beer, like many mass-produced beverages, is crafted using industrial processes inspired by German brewing methods. It is pasteurized and microfiltered, designed to withstand the logistical challenges of mass distribution, such as storage in hot warehouses or prolonged exposure to light. While these treatments make the product stable and functional for large-scale markets, they strip away much of the soul of what beer traditionally represents.
Industrial beers, in their essence, are designed to be consistent and efficient—a blend of water, syrup, and alcohol that bears little resemblance to the rich, millennia-old tradition of fermented beverages. But there’s no war to be waged against the giants of the industry. These beers exist for a reason: they serve a purpose in the context of global distribution and convenience.
After establishing this baseline and providing her with a reference point, we headed to a local pub owned by a friend of mine. There, I introduced her to two handcrafted beers: a golden ale from a respected brewery in Siem Reap and an IPA brewed in Phnom Penh.
As we sipped, my friend struggled to describe the flavors she encountered. She repeatedly claimed that both beers tasted like plums. While her observation wasn’t entirely off—some yeast strains can indeed produce fruity esters resembling dark fruits—it was clear that her palate had yet to experience the diverse world of beer descriptors. I gently guided her to notice nuances of bread and white flowers from the malt, the citrusy tang of grapefruit, the resinous notes of pine, or the freshness of cut grass, all of which are hallmarks of specific hops.
This exercise turned into a delightful conversation filled with laughter, exploration, and the camaraderie that only comes from sharing good beer.
At one point, I reflected on my own journey. Part of my formal brewing education was dedicated to tasting and sensory analysis. My instructors—judges at numerous national competitions in Italy—taught me how to identify the subtle contributions of different hop varieties, the phenolic character of Belgian yeasts, the earthy notes of Brettanomyces, and even potential flaws stemming from subpar ingredients or flawed brewing techniques. These skills, layered atop years of personal experience, gave me a deeper appreciation for beer.
Last night, I realized how many people stepping into the craft beer world are unaware of what awaits them. The sheer scope and diversity can be overwhelming without guidance. That’s why I’ve decided to dedicate a series of articles on this blog to the key ingredients of beer—malt, hops, yeast, and water—and how they shape the final product. I’ll include practical examples drawn from the beers we craft at Amara Beer Lab, making it easier for readers to connect the dots between theory and practice.
Craft beer is a journey, and everyone deserves a guide to help them appreciate the incredible complexity of this ancient beverage.