\u201cAlways offer at least<\/em> a glass of water to your guests.\u201d As a child of immigrants, I understood this simple maxim to be a baseline for good hosting. I learned secondhand that India was a place where unexpected visitors and open-door policies are the norm. I couldn\u2019t have anticipated how these ways of moving through the world would translate within my professional life in the craft beer industry.<\/p>\n I cut my teeth bartending in Seattle\u2019s Ballard Brewery District<\/a>, where converted warehouses and a lingering spirit of maritime culture color the neighborhood with an approachable brand of grittiness. A spectrum of people, from college students to tourists, brewery hop (or cycle<\/a>) in an attempt to complete their Ballard Brewed Passport. Offering a glass of water at the sight of happy, flushed faces felt instinctual.<\/p>\n Access to water is both a basic human right<\/a> and a universally understood sign of hospitality. As I dove into the origins of my learned behavior, I began to wonder whether water service at restaurants and bars in America could be traced to cross-cultural water customs. Water (usually<\/a>) costs nothing to customers, but the unspoken condition for existing in third places<\/a> is that you need to buy something. What happens when the third place no longer fits a guest\u2019s lifestyle? In the context of craft brewery taprooms, water can play a role in creating the sense of belonging and safety intrinsic to building hospitable community spaces.<\/p>\n In a 2005 paper for the Yale Journal of Law & Humanities<\/a>, environmental policy expert James Salzman describes ancient and indigenous water-sharing practices across four different continents. Despite different management approaches, \u201cwater is regarded first and foremost as a common property resource, not as a commodity.\u201d<\/p>\n So-called \u201cRight of Thirst\u201d is observed in traditional Jewish and Islamic water law: Free access to drinking water for community members and<\/em> outsiders was recognized and prioritized over agricultural and domestic water use. It was considered sacrilegious to squander a divine gift from God.<\/p>\n \u201cSharing norms\u201d in Zimbabwe are cautionary: Owners of private water sources defend against literal\u2014and spiritual\u2014poisoning by being open for communal drinking. In Bihar, India, only upper caste members could make use of sacred water sources; lower castes drew from separate sources to avoid \u201ccross-pollution.\u201d In both cultures there is obvious regard for sharing in times of water scarcity, although this behavior seems to be rooted in fear. Australia is the world\u2019s driest inhabited continent, and \u201calways ask\u201d rules within Aboriginal communities respect knowledge of water sources as intellectual property. Almost nobody is turned away.<\/p>\n In Drinking Water: A History<\/em>, Salzman explains the very human origins of the inclination to share: \u201cAny traveler in an arid region could foresee a situation where he or she might need water from strangers for survival. A rule that gave water to those in need might very well one day benefit them or their tribal members.\u201d<\/p>\n We\u2019re all just looking for a place to land. Whether they are part of our community or visiting us from afar, our guests come to us thirsty\u2014and the craft beer industry is changing. Sober-curious bars<\/a> are popping up all over NYC, and Gen Z is reevaluating its relationship<\/a> with alcohol. Tacoma, Washington\u2019s E9 Brewing recognized this shift and installed a kegerator of free sparkling water in June 2020. The production crew and bartenders were early imbibers, but their customers didn\u2019t catch on right away. Around that time, head brewer Shane Johns had cut back his beer intake, too: \u201cWhat we found was that people preferred a flavor. That\u2019s more of a La Croix phenomenon<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n Beer is an acquired taste. As a taproom manager, I am familiar with how exclusive craft beer spaces can be. I\u2019ve lost count of how many times I\u2019ve greeted someone at the bar who halfheartedly begins with, \u201cI\u2019m not usually a beer drinker.\u201d This kind of taproom guest is usually looking for a way to feel included alongside the beer lover they have accompanied. Whether customers have a gluten allergy, don\u2019t like the flavor, or simply aren\u2019t familiar with the landscape of beer styles, building inclusive taprooms isn\u2019t as straightforward as removing the alcohol. Flavored water is a made-in-house option for guests who may not typically \u201cbelong\u201d in the taproom: pregnant people, children, and Muslim friends, to name a few.\u00a0<\/p>\n In January 2023, E9 launched Tahoma Hop Water in two flavors, lemon and lime. A year later, it now produces three additional flavors: passionfruit, grapefruit, and pineapple. Sharing a name with the indigenous Puyallup Tribe\u2019s title for iconic Mount Rainier, \u201cMother of Waters\u201d is made with Mosaic hops from the Yakima Valley and soft, chuggable water that flows from the mountain through the rest of the Green River Watershed<\/a>. It\u2019s an incredibly accessible beverage.<\/p>\n \u201cMy five-year-old daughter drinks it,\u201d says Johns.<\/p>\n Johns noted that hop water is not flying off their shelves, but it is easy to make. It also seems to create a welcoming atmosphere for everyone, from the guys who are \u201cold in the beer game\u201d and those guests who just want to hang out with their friends. Some stick solely to hop water. It doesn\u2019t need to be a bestseller to meet customers where they are.<\/p>\n \u201cI think people feel awkward if they don\u2019t have something in front of them when they\u2019re at a brewery\u2026 Maybe now they\u2019re going to have a hop water in between two IPAs.\u201d<\/p>\n It is telling that in a book about drinking water, Salzman calls out alcohol as a historically trusted alternative in the absence of safe water sources: \u201cIn many cultures, the most effective strategy to avoid unsafe drinking water has been to avoid water<\/em> altogether.\u201d<\/p>\n I wondered: Did pub culture<\/a> emerge in individualistic (versus collectivistic) cultures, in places where hospitality norms were not so clearly defined and travelers still needed safe places to retire? Craft breweries are everywhere now. When I am traveling to a new place, I make it a point to visit at least one because it helps me feel immersed in a local culture. In October 2020, circumstances in my personal life brought me to \u201cVehicle City\u201d\u2014 Flint, Michigan\u2014and Tenacity Brewing.<\/p>\n Here is a city with true grit: A public health emergency unfolded just a few months after Tenacity opened in 2014. The majority-Black city\u2019s drinking water became lead-contaminated when government officials<\/a> switched its water source to the Flint River. Tenacity co-owner Robb Klaty and his team observed wild swings in pH early on: \u201cWe began trucking in water from a neighboring community for months while it got sorted.\u201d<\/p>\nCommon Resource, Not Commodity<\/h2>\n
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<\/figure>\nBelonging, Without Beer<\/h2>\n
Water and Tenacity<\/h2>\n
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