Jeff and Cathie Williamson could tell they were onto something at July’s Taste of Minnesota event. The founders of St. Paul–based Flat Earth Brewing spent several days feverishly filling plastic bottles with their beer to sell at the Taste. They were able to fill about 200 cases (4,800 bottles), and hoped they wouldn’t have to take too many of them home. They didn’t—both varieties sold out quickly.
As Cathie Williamson notes, “People are thirsty for local beer.”
So it appears. The Twin Cities region has become a beer nirvana, as brewpubs and specialty bars proliferate across the metro. St. Paul’s Summit, now the Twin Cities’ oldest brewer, was the pioneer 20 years ago. Summit rode the first wave of interest in microbreweries in the 1980s. Most of those brewers created products that fell into a handful of styles—typically pale ales, amber lagers, and fuller-bodied versions of the basic American pilsener. While Summit has thrived thanks not only to the quality of its products but also to its marketing smarts, many other small brewers have come and gone, largely because their beers weren’t particularly distinctive from those of other micros. (Also, for many, the romance of being a brewer got in the way of basic business blocking and tackling.)
Flat Earth and another local newcomer, Brooklyn Center–based Surly Brewing, are part of the new wave of brewers—call it Microbrew 2.0—that have been developing more unusual beers. Flat Earth’s first beer, simply called Flat Earth, is a Belgian-style pale ale. It’s similar to Summit’s flagship pale, particularly in color, but it’s a bit less hoppy (i.e., bitter) and perhaps a touch sweeter. Jeff Williamson notes that Belgian pales emphasize the spicy, peppery characteristics of Belgian yeasts, while English ales tend to be built upon malts, and Americans upon hops.
“We wanted to come into the market in a different niche,” he says. “There’s no fresh Belgian-style pale ales. You get them imported from Belgium, or maybe a brewpub has one on for a couple of weeks, and then it’s gone, and maybe that beer won’t return again for a year, if ever.”
New-generation microbrewers also typically bring out several beers, rather than focusing on just one or two styles—contemporary brewheads crave variety. So shortly after introducing its flagship, Flat Earth came out with Element 115, named for ununpentium, a synthetic chemical that UFO geeks claim is used to fuel alien spacecraft (long story). Element 115’s style is called “California Common,” a smooth lager with some of the flavor characteristics of an English ale. Fans of Anchor Steam will recognize the palate.
Flat Earth also is introducing an organic ale called Angry Planet. “Organic beers are huge,” Williamson notes. “Distributors are importing as much as they can from Europe, and they’re selling out.” This fall, Flat Earth will bring out a “Triple,” a Belgian style that combines alcoholic strength with a delicacy of flavor, called Bermuda Triangle. Later, the Williamsons plan to produce a “Flanders Red”—a brick-colored Belgian specialty with a refreshing, quenching sourness.
Flat Earth Brewing is a hobby that got out of hand. Jeff Williamson was a special-education teacher, Cathie a clinical microbiologist at the University of Minnesota Medical Center, when they got their first taste of beer that was more distinctive than the standard yellow barley pop. Cathie then bought her husband a home brewing kit, and he was a goner. He soon quit teaching and got a job at the Town Hall brewpub in Minneapolis. Last year, he decided to strike out on his own. Cathie became the new company’s president (though she hasn’t quit her job at the U). Flat Earth Brewing made its first batch of beer in February, on Super Bowl Sunday.
Jeff Williamson now brews once a week, on his wife’s day off. The rest of the time, he works on their building and brewery equipment and handles paperwork. He brews close to 15 barrels a week (a barrel comprises 31 gallons). That’s a drop in Budweiser’s bucket, but the Williamsons prefer to stick to the growing local market. “We want to be a part of the fabric of St. Paul, just like Mancini’s or Hamm’s,” Cathie Williamson says. Or, one might add, Summit. But Flat Earth won’t copy its nearby neighbor’s products.
“We chose beer styles that aren’t commonly found here, and I think people are thirsting for them,” she adds. “I think they appeal to a lot of different people. They’re not just for beer snobs, they’re for everybody.”
