Thoughts on Becoming a Certified Cicerone
The certificate came in the mail today. “I need to get this framed,” I thought, and not just because I accidentally made a slight tear in the side when I ripped open the envelope. I was proud of this moment. It was a reminder that I belonged in the craft beer community; it was a reminder that the place I am opening is not meant to be just another craft beer bar.
"The Cicerone Certification Program hereby attests that Jordan Elpern-Waxman has through rigorous written and tasting examination demonstrated the knowledge and skill required to be admitted to the office of Certified Cicerone. They shall henceforth be a party to the privileges and responsibilities thereof, including a tireless effort to provide consumers with the highest quality beer and accurate, informative beer information."
A lot is made in the beer world of avoiding the stuffiness of the wine world, and rightly so. But it is a mistake to conflate a lack of stuffiness with a lack of service or a lack of attention to detail. “You should drink your beer at whatever temperature you like” and “you should drink your beer with whatever food you like” are true statements, but it would be a mistake to think that temperature and food pairings don’t matter. Ever drink a Pilsner with chocolate cake? It’s possible but it’s only a few steps above orange juice and toothpaste.
More importantly, even if there are many combinations that work – and there are many, because beer is an infinitely versatile beverage – does that absolve us from doing our part to come up with those that are the best? Does the mixologist say, I’ve stocked the bar with great spirits and mixers, now I’ll just see what combination the customers order? Does the chef say, I’m going to serve this gazpacho hot, because people are used to hot soup?
The answer to the above is of course not, but that’s exactly what we do with beer when we serve it at 38° and without regards to our menu. Nothing drives me crazy more than the phrase, “It’s just beer.” Maybe it’s just beer to you; I’m fully aware that to most people it’s “just” beer, the way, for that matter, it’s “just” a glass of wine to most people – and there’s nothing wrong with that – but it’s ridiculous to think that we’re setting out on a mission to elevate and enhance the craft beer experience, putting in the late nights of reading about esters and phenols, or incurring debilitating migraines to be able to keep tasting in the run-up to the exam* only to have to be bounded by it being “just” anything.
“It’s just ______” is an excuse. It’s a failure of imagination; a defensive expression we use to avoid the responsibility of having to grow up and take ourselves seriously. As Andy Crouch recently wrote in Beer Advocate, it’s time for the craft beer movement to grow out of its awkward adolescence and embrace that there is no upper boundary that we have to impose on ourselves simply because our product is made from malted, mashed, and fermented grain rather than from grapes.
This takes me back to the snob question: is it possible to take something seriously, and yet not be a snob? I believe it is. The documentary Somm was very instructive for me on this point. Somm follows a group of friends as they embark on their quest to become Master Sommeliers, an elite group with less than 200 member admitted in the 45 years since the designation was created by the Court of Master Sommeliers. It is the model on which the Cicerone Certification Program and the Master Cicerone level were built on.
Master Sommelier is the pinnacle of the wine world. The top of the top. So you would think, it would be very snobby, right? If you were a Master Sommelier you could look down your nose at pretty much everybody, and who could say that you weren’t justified?
It turned out, these guys were pretty humble. The exam was almost designed to beat it into them. There was a scene in which one of the guys is shown practicing for the service part of the exam. It’s a fully equipped mock serving environment, in which two of the current Master Somms, are, for last of a better word, hazing him. They are acting like the worst possible customers, demanding their wine be served as cold as possible, despite that clearly not being the way the style is intended. The student does his best to chill the wine to their demands, but he can’t do it fast enough. They continue to berate him for his sloth in their eyes. Still, he never says, “You guys are a bunch of idiots. You’re not supposed to drink this wine ice cold.”
Around the same time I watched Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the story of the best Sushi maker in the world. In his late 80s, he still comes to work every day, 365 days a year. It is a story about craftsmanship and dedication, not sushi. In the opening line Jiro says, “Once you find your profession you must dedicate yourself to mastering it. This is the secret of happiness.” The story traces not only Jiro’s journey but that of Tokyo’s greatest restaurant reviewer; its greatest fishmongers, etc. All of these individuals are financially successful, but they are first and foremost dedicated to their craft. They shun glamour and attention, although sometimes prestige seeks them out.
Seeing the success, the dedication, the enjoyment of these individuals, and the realization that being a guide to beer - or wine - could be one such vocation to master - was the moment that made me want to become a Certified Cicerone. This was the moment when I realized that excellence doesn’t have to mean snobbiness. That you can be a guide without being condescending. That being a guide was what I loved.
So that’s it. Here I am, certificate in hand, pin on shirt. A Certified Cicerone. A guide to helping you elevate your craft beer experience, not telling how you have to have it. Like the friendly clothing store staff who helps you decide whether the clothing looks good on you, or together, but won’t make you feel bad if you insist that you want it your way. Will the Master Cicerone be next? Maybe, but it's a ways off. First there is business to build, customers so service, people to educate.
Proust!
-- * I may hold the unfortunate distinction of being the only person ever to spend the months leading up to the exam getting migraines from the slightest amount of alcohol and still passing. Luckily I was able to take a $50 acute treatment every time I “needed” to drink to study, and about a month after the exam I found a preventative treatment that so far seems to be working (two weeks and counting, knock on wood).
