D.G. YUENGLING & Son made it through the Civil War, Prohibition and untold skirmishes with the giants from St. Louis and Milwaukee. But those were nothing like the challenge it faces in the age of endless choice.

These days, the shelves are filled with everything from Lime-A-Rita to triple IPA. Samuel Adams has a TV commercial boasting that it makes more than 60 styles.

Yuengling, meanwhile, is still plugging away with a portfolio of just seven full-time brands and three seasonals.

“We hear it a lot: the newer, the better, the funkier, the more local, whatever,” said Jennifer Yuengling, the family-owned brewery’s plant manager and one of the next-generation of daughters who will someday run America’s oldest beer maker.

So, with more than 8,000 different brands on the shelves and tap handles in Philadelphia alone, how does Yuengling grab the beer-drinker’s attention?

This year, it answered that question in simple, yet surprising fashion: Yuengling Summer Wheat.

The new brand is Joe Sixpack’s 2014 Beer of the Year.

It deserves recognition on two fronts:

First, as is always the case in evaluating beer, this one tastes great. I don’t mean “tastes great for Yuengling” or “tastes great for its price point. ” I mean Summer Wheat tastes like an authentic imported Bavarian hefeweizen, smooth and refreshing, with that classic banana-and-clove aroma you’d expect in a tall, cloudy glass from Germany.

Second, the beer – the first true ale in Yuengling’s modern history – shows that America’s most traditional brewery is still relevant in today’s changing sudscape.

“We don’t want to be recognized as a seasonal brewer,” Yuengling told me. “We’re very reliant on our sessionable beers: Lager, Light Lager, Black & Tan and so on.

“But we felt we needed to get our toe in the water, so in 2009 we came out with our Bock in the winter, and [in 2011] Oktoberfest for the fall. Then we had to fill the gap in the summer. “

She continued, “We had a general idea of where we wanted to go with it. You know, with the success of shandies and even radlers that we’ve been seeing, we knew we wanted something that was off-base from what you’d get from our existing portfolio. “

Risky business

To produce the complex flavor profile of a classic wheat beer, though, the brewery would have to use something other than the standard Yuengling house yeast.

“We knew we were going out on a limb,” Yuengling said. “Any time you introduce a new yeast to the brewhouse, you have to be concerned with cross-contamination. . . . We had a lot of confidence in our brewers. We did a lot of research and preplanning to decide which tanks we’d use, which lines we’d isolate. It entailed a lot of additional work, with the cleaning and the processing. “

Not to mention the usual difficulty of brewing with wheat, which tends to clog the runoff of extracted wort in the lauter tun.

But brewing the beer was just the start.

For a company of Yuengling’s size, the introduction of a new brand is not so casual as a spur-of-the-moment brewpub one-off. It involves a range of logistics, from packaging to distribution to sales – details that were complicated by the brewery’s decision to limit production of Summer Wheat to just one of its three plants.

“We weren’t sure what the volume numbers would be, and we didn’t want to expose more than one brewery to the new yeast, so we had to play it safe,” said Yuengling.

Playing it safe is a core value of Yuengling, one that clearly has served it well over a 25-year period in which it built a second brewery in Pottsville, purchased another in Florida and expanded production 20-fold through steady, disciplined growth in just 15 states.

But that conservative approach can seem out of step in the modern craft-beer era of quickly changing tastes.

For example, the Brewers Association, the industry group that represents small American breweries, wouldn’t even define Yuengling as a true “craft” brewery because it uses corn in its recipes (though not in Summer Wheat). Never mind that Yuengling has brewed with corn since its founding in 1829; the association viewed the grain as an impure, “nontraditional” adjunct ingredient that cheapened beer.

The association finally got around to changing its definition last February, so Yuengling is now part of the craft club.

As usual, the lesson here is that Yuengling didn’t change.

Nor does Summer Wheat represent some great shift at 501 Mahantongo St., in Pottsville.

“I can pretty much guarantee we’re not going to go crazy with too many seasonals. . . . We don’t want to be known as the beer of the week. That’s not who we are,” said Yuengling. “We just need to be patient and realize that consumers are going to come back to what tastes good.

“For us, it’s just a matter of being true to ourselves.

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IT’S JUST A WAFFLE, but Brian and Andrea Polizzi’s newest product is the next step in the maturation of American small brewing.

The couple’s 13-month-old, West-Chester-based company, Waffatopia, last month unveiled Sweet & Stormy, a ready-to-heat waffle flavored with Victory Storm King Imperial Stout.

The waffle is sweet and chocolaty and, even if it doesn’t contain a trace of alcohol, it’s probably not on my breakfast diet. But that’s not the point.

What catches my eye is the waffle package’s familiar, blue-and-red V-for-Victory logo – a sign that, after successfully carving a niche in the beer biz over the past 18 years, the Downingtown brewery’s brand is strong enough to carry more than sixpacks.

And it’s not just Victory who’s stepping out of the brewhouse.

• Both Boulevard Brewing, of Kansas, and Gordon Biersch, of Tennessee, have lent their logos to sausages made with their popular beers.
• Troegs Brewing, of Hershey, shares its brand with nearby Keswick Creamery for several beer-washed cheeses.
• California’s Firestone Walker sells mustard made with its popular Double Barrel Ale.
• And you can find Dogfish Head’s logo on an entire menu of bratwurst, chowder and pickles.

Yes, it’s just waffles. But it’s unmistakable evidence that craft brewing – an industry sector that barely existed 20 years ago – is such a recognizable part of the consumer landscape, it can sell more than just suds.

Or, as Julia Herz, craft beer program director for the Colorado-based Brewers Association that represents small breweries, observed: “The beer that we’re enjoying today is not just something we purchase and forget about. It’s part of our lifestyle. “

Indeed, co-branding is largely about playing off the reputation and image of one brand to boost the image of another. Think Taco Bell’s promotion of Doritos Cheesy Gordita Crunch. It’s a way to snag consumer attention with a highly recognized logo that implies bold flavor.

The same goes for the use of Storm King.

While the rich, espresso-like character of the stout adds to the waffle’s flavor, it’s primarily Victory’s branding that brought it so much attention.

“We wanted to use one of Victory’s beers that was available year-round and popular, for customer recognition,” said Brian Polizzi. “When we launched the product, we immediately saw the excitement. The focus was very much on the beer. Victory is a national name, so we got a lot of attention from the beer community. They were very excited that someone had made a beer-flavored waffle. “

Beyond the admittedly glorious achievement of fusing hops with maple syrup, the collaboration marks an important development in the small-brewing industry. In the past, most of craft beer’s co-branding efforts have gone the other way: An established nonalcohol company lent its brand to a brewery.

Thus, we saw the likes of Broadcaster Brown Ale, a one-off that Philadelphia Brewing branded with WXPN’s World Cafe Live. More recently, Rogue teamed with California’s Huy Fong to brew Sriracha Hot Stout Beer, and New Holland collaborated with Michigan’s Carhartt work-clothing manufacturer to make Carhartt Woodsman barrel-aged pale ale.

This time, a craft brewer is lending its credibility to a fledgling company.

Victory co-founder Bill Covaleski said the step toward food is a natural progression.

“We’ve been in the flavor and hospitality business for our entire existence,” Covaleski said, “so when we start packaging collaborative food products and taking them to a larger retail setting, it’s just an extension of what we’ve always done. “

While other breweries have long dabbled in gimmicky beer-infused products, like lip balm and air fresheners, Victory is making a serious stab at expanding its foodie footprint. It hired a merchandise coordinator to develop and oversee partnerships. In addition to waffles, its food branding has included ice cream, pasta, beef jerky, pickles, chocolates, hot sauce and cheese spread.

The effort underscores craft beer’s growing relationship with good food, a key element of the industry’s growth.

Covaleski pointed to his brewery’s partnership with Home Sweet Homegrown, a Kutztown vegan hot-sauce maker. Together they make Punch Drunk Chocolate Ghost Pepper Hot Sauce with Storm King.

“It takes a lot of planning and work to find the right partnership,” Covaleski said. “There has to be some synergy. . . . In this case, there are people who love hot sauce and people who love beer. Both companies gain. “

So, what’s next?

“I have a hard time speculating where this can go,” Covaleski said. “There might be some obvious foods, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be another great idea. “

Today, Storm King waffles – tomorrow . . . HopDeviled Eggs?

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BEER ENTHUSIASTS are so easy to buy gifts for. As long as it comes in a sixpack, we’re happy with whatever you give us.

And we’re even happier with a little more imagination on your part. Look no further than Joe Sixpack’s Annual Ultimate Gift Guide.

For the DIYer

Local home-brew shops offer all-in-one starter kits for kitchen brewmasters. Or head to Northern Brewer, an online home-brew supplier, for one of its holiday-inspired kits, including Festivus Miracle Holiday Ale ($49.99), a blend of orange peel and holiday spices. Homebrewing is the gift that keeps on giving. Northernbrewer.com

For the snuggler

Dogfish Head Brewery has an entire collection of soft and comfy Woolrich apparel, including a button-down shirt and ladies shirtdress (both $89.50). Its soft wool blanket ($145) pairs well with a bottle of World Wide Stout. Dogfish.com

For the clumsy

Worst beer nightmare? Dropping a pricey bottle of a favorite brew out of one of those flimsy cardboard holders from your local bottle shop. The solution: The PuzzlePax sixpack carrier (from $22), a lightweight personal wooden carrier printed with a variety of logos.

Puzzlepax.com

For the foamless

Second-worst beer nightmare? Flat beer. Those half-gallon growlers filled with takeout draft suds usually lose their fizz in a couple of days. The solution: Phsssh CO-2 To Go ($49.99), a nifty gadget that removes oxygen from the bottle and re-carbonates the beer.

Thegrowlerguys.com

For the ring bearer

Neighborhood Map Coasters ($36 for set of four) not only save your coffee table from water rings, their attractive, laser-engraved Philadelphia nabes will show you where you live. Uncommongoods.com

For the art lover

Alaskan artist Scott Clendaniel challenged himself to paint a beer portrait every day in 2014, and he’s just a few days from living up to his challenge. From a can of South Dakota’s Pile O’ Dirt Porter to Pennsylvania’s Mad Elf Ale, his artworks will liven up any man cave or office. Framed originals at $140, limited-edition prints $40. Realartisbetter. wordpress.com

For openers

There are a million different, very cool bottle openers out there, for beach sandals, dog collars, smartphones, TV remotes and more. Most breweries sell them online, and you can even order custom key-chain openers from Vistaprint.com (starting at $4.24 each). My favorite this year: The Trailer Hitch Diamond Plate Opener ($34.95), a perfect accessory for tailgaters. Craftbeerhound.com

For the tongue

The Beer Tasting Tool Kit ($20 at Local 44, 4333 Spruce St., 215-222-2337, localbeer44.com) is a fun way to improve the palate and learn about beer. The package includes a 48-page tasting guide by author Jeff Alworth, paper bags to conceal the identity of bottles and notepads. Grab some friends and put your tongue to work.

For the head

Got a pal who can’t get enough of hops? Does he have greasy hair? Atlantic Farms Hops Shampoo ($24 for 8 ounces, Urban Outfitters, various locations, urbanoutfitters.com), made with organic hops flower essential oils, is the perfect gift.

For the mind

There’s no shortage of great beer reading material. Here are a few highly recommended titles:

• Goodnight Brew ($16.95, Bailiwick Press), a parody of the classic kids book Goodnight Moon, by the preposterously named Ann E. Briated, is a fun read with fine illustrations.
• We Make Beer: Inside the Spirit and Artistry of America’s Craft Brewers ($24.99, St. Martin’s Press), by Sean Lewis, is a well-reported look at the people behind the beer.
• The Complete Beer Course: Boot Camp for Beer Geeks ($24.95, Sterling Epicure), by Joshua M. Bernstein, is the textbook they never assigned in college.

For the mailbox

Though it’s still illegal to purchase beer by mail in many states, several shippers now openly ignore the rules and will deliver beer to Pennsylvania and New Jersey end-drinkers. CraftBeerClub.com will send a dozen 12-ounce bottles ($39/month, free shipping); last month, they sent me bottles of Geary’s and Saint Arnold. The Rare Beer Club ($32.94 plus shipping for two 750-milliliter bottles) specializes in high-end exclusives, at a considerably more costly price tag. beermonthclub.com/the-rare-beer-club.html

For the world traveler

Next holiday season, beer enthusiasts can bend an elbow with Joe Sixpack while casually floating down the Danube. I’ll be leading a river cruise in December 2015 from Nuremberg, Germany, to Budapest, Hungary, with visits to great European breweries and wonderful Christmas markets (from $1,907 per person).

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GUINNESS is one of the greatest, most valuable brand names in beer. From its familiar harp logo to its stenciled typeface to Arthur Guinness’ famous signature, everything about it is immediately recognizable. Even its bubbles have a trademark look.

You think of Guinness, you think of rich, dark, smooth Irish stout – the biggest-selling, most famous dark beer on the planet.

The problem is, that’s the only thing you think of.

As good as Guinness is, it’s really only good for one thing. Anheuser-Busch, by comparison, sells everything from Bud Light to Clamato Chelada under its brand name. Heineken successfully leveraged its famous brand into sales of light beer, dark lager, even a pilsner.

Guinness? Well, the whiz-bangs in the board room at Diageo – the multinational booze conglomerate that owns the brand – are seemingly working their way through a box of Crayolas. Over the years, they’ve rolled out a procession of largely frustrating, unimaginative failures: Guinness Gold, Guinness Red, Guinness Black Lager. Maybe the latest, Guinness Blonde, will take off.

Meanwhile, I’m more interested in the decidedly highbrow approach under the brand’s new, so-called Guinness Signature Series. The first bottle, released last month, is called The 1759, named after the year that Guinness signed his famous, 9,000-year lease at St. James’s Gate, in Dublin.

It’s described as a “limited edition, ultrapremium amber ale . . . a luxury beer best for sipping and fine dining occasions,” one that “offers more style, sophistication and elegance to better beer drinkers in the U.S.”

I polished off a bottle while lounging on the couch in my BVDs, munching potato chips and watching Daryl slaughter zombies on “The Walking Dead. “

The 1759 is an excellent beer, one that can stand with any dark ale I’ve ever tasted.

Rather than an amber, I’d describe it more accurately as a brown ale, one with a bit of smoky peat in the nose and a medium body with none of the roasted bitterness of Guinness’ beloved stout. Its caramel flavor grows more pronounced and complex as the glass warms, but it’s never sweet; it finishes dry with more of that peaty smoke. Even at 9 percent alcohol, it’s smooth and quaffable.

I’d have to agree with Guinness brand director Doug Campbell, who told me that he thought The 1759 “will surprise people in a positive way and show them that Guinness as a big global brand can do small, special brews like this. “

But what confounds me is that Guinness opted to go all Mr. Fancy Pants on us and package it in corked 750 ml bottles at 35 clams a pop.

Campbell told me that Guinness believes it “occupies that upper echelon space, in terms of quality and distinctiveness, and by being brewed by people with passion. . . . “

He continued: “Honestly, all we’re doing is pushing the boundaries on what people might expect from the brewery. If anything, the question has been: ‘What took you so long? ‘ “

Perhaps, but Guinness is not Johnnie Walker, to name another brand that Diageo has successfully upscaled. This is beer we’re talking about, and even high-priced brands do not claim to occupy a “luxury” niche.

Instead, the wallet-busters tend to be unique, high-alcohol blends (Sam Adams Utopias, $190 bottle), storied Belgian imports (Cantillon Lou Pepe Kriek, $28) or limited-production, barrel-aged cult beers (The Bruery Black Tuesday, $50).

“Luxury” means nothing in the world of beer, other than slick, mendacious corporate-speak for “overpriced. “

As good as it is, The 1759 is not so precious that it needs to be corked. It ought to be sold in 12-ounce bottles for no more than $10 each.

Yes, I’m sure there are plenty of jerks out there who will scoop up one of the 90,000 bottles of The 1759 and pour it, as the news release suggests, “chilled in a 6-ounce stemless flute. “

But this beer deserves better than that.

And so does Guinness.

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LOOKING BACK on the takeover of a tiny Oregon brewery last week by Anheuser-Busch InBev, some years from now we may remember it as a turning point.

Or maybe we won’t remember it at all.

But right now, it feels like the Day the Music Died – the day when craft brewing took the inevitable step from the adolescent innocence of selfless idealism to the maturity of just another bottom-line business.

The moment came, fittingly enough, with the posting of an Internet video showing the owners of 10 Barrel Brewing, in Bend, Ore., gleefully announcing that they had sold their 8-year-old brewery to ABI.

This was not the first small brewery to be gobbled up by the international conglomerate. ABI purchased Goose Island Brewery in 2011, and Blue Point Brewing Co. last February.

While there was some passing protest about those sales among the breweries’ fans, it hardly matched the outrage sparked by the 10 Barrel purchase. On Facebook and Twitter, the owners were called turncoats who’d “sold out” to the “Great Beer Satan. “

No one voiced the outrage more sharply than Seattle-area beer blogger Steve Body, who charged, “If you care about craft brewing – about the community of people, not corporations and not abstract legions of faceless laborers – then you do NOT, under any circumstances and for any amount of money, sell your craft brewery to a company whose stated objective is to bring about the ruin of that community. “

I asked Body why the sale had struck a nerve.

“Well, Blue Point is in New York, and Goose Island is in Chicago. Big cities,” he said. “This one is in Bend – it strikes us as creeping evil in the heartland. “

Indeed, you could make a case that Bend – or, at least, the Pacific Northwest – is where the craft-brewing sector’s true, vibrant heart began beating. Although microbrewing was born in California, it was in Washington and Oregon that it took on the aura of a counter-cultural lifestyle.

It was in the woodlands of the Willamette National Forest, along the shores of the Columbia River and in the shadow of Mount Olympus that microbrewing developed its character as an honest, principled craft manifested by environmental consciousness, workplace fairness and social justice.

Yes, these were businesses trying to earn a buck, but profits were not their driving force.

Even if you didn’t buy into that hippie nonsense, the guiding ethos of craft beer as a blessed alternative to the blandness of Big Beer nonetheless built the burgeoning industry. Craft beer thrived specifically because it was the anti-BudMillerCoors.

The lines have blurred in recent years.

MillerCoors, through its 10th and Blake unit, brews everything from fruit beer to India pale ale. ABI is on the road to becoming the world’s largest producer of barrel-aged ales – those high-alcohol, bourbon-like stouts that get the highest ratings from critics and online rating sites.

It’s no wonder that, as some railed about the 10 Barrel sale, many more shrugged and said “Who cares? Who cares who makes my beer as long as it tastes good? “

I’m tempted to play the Hitler card, but I won’t – and not just because more than a few of my favorite German breweries have a shady back story.

No, it’s pretty clear that many Americans don’t much care who makes our everyday products (see Exxon Mobil, Monsanto, Nestle). To many, it’s just business. When I asked visitors to JoeSixpack.net about their opinion of the sale, a solid 40 percent said 10 Barrel shouldn’t be blamed for making a buck.

“This has been the worst kind of revelation, to see that so few people care about it,” Body said. “The thing that drew me to craft brewing in the first place, in the late ’80s, was the sense of community. In the last 40 years, the American craft-brewing scene has been blessedly free of a–holes.

“But now they’re sneaking in. “

There are still another 3,000 independent breweries to choose from, of course. But for Body and others, that’s not the point.

For when we think of craft beer as just another business, it’s not the aroma of malt and hops we’re savoring. That’s the stale smell of money.

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DID YOU ever drink a pint that tasted so good it left you wondering if you had just swallowed a work of art?

You heard the flavor speak, you welcomed the body’s warmth, you smiled, you cried, you sighed at the rush. Something struck you at an emotional level. Not just an appreciation of a well-crafted beer, not just the alcohol. But an expressive, visceral experience that touched your soul.

You felt it the same way you might feel a Pablo Picasso or a Thelonious Monk – something deeper than a series of well-executed brushstrokes or piano notes.

Not to get all esoteric on you (it’s “just” beer, ain’t it?), but I can still taste the last mouthful of Deschutes Twilight Summer Ale I enjoyed late one afternoon in August while lounging in the shade on my front steps.

It’s more than a lingering memory; it’s a moment of sublimity that makes me wonder: Is it possible for a beer to be a work of art?

The question arises for me this week as, for the third year, I’ve brought together a group of area brewers for a beer tasting at the Philadelphia Museum of Art’s annual Contemporary Craft Show.

The gathering tomorrow evening is an opportunity for the brewers to speak about their craft in the midst of a spectacular show featuring nearly 200 of the nation’s finest craftspeople.

Typically, before the four-day show, which opens today, I wander the aisles of the Pennsylvania Convention Center in awe of the displayed works – ceramics, jewelry, leather, metal, paper, every imaginable medium.

I’m particularly struck by the woodworks because it’s a hobby of mine. There are beautifully carved vases, sculpted bowls, intricate inlays, pieces that take hours upon hours of meticulous effort. I appreciate a perfectly assembled set of drawers because I’ve sweated out my own hand-cut dovetails.

I admire the technique and the skill of the craft.

But on occasion, something catches my eye – something that touches me the same way that Twilight Summer Ale did.

Maybe it’s the perfect proportions of furniture maker Jo Roessler’s end tables, or the swirling, burled curves of sculptor Norm Sartorius’ spoons.

Whatever, I’m struck by the parallels between these artisans and those who brew the beers we savor. Both are skilled craftspeople and inspired artists, it seems, producing unique objects that sometimes evoke emotion.

So I asked a handful of participants in the show and beer tasting: Do you see yourself as an artist or craftsperson? I was struck by the similarity of their replies. (They’re posted at my website, http://wp.me/p4TC9V-OA).

One said, “I am always a craftsman in that I am skilled with my tools and techniques. I am only occasionally an artist, however. In the course of working I sometimes enter the realm of ideas, expressing those ideas using my craftsmanship. “

Another said that his creations were both “an art and a science . . . requiring equal amounts of creativity and precision. “

You wouldn’t know from simply reading the words that the former came from a sculptor, Sartorius, and the latter a brewer, Luke Bowen, of Evil Genius.

Most of the artisans who replied agreed that they see themselves as craftsman and artist.

Which means the answer – can beer be art? – is entirely subjective, and one dependent on time and place and being.

Andrew Grosse and Joe Fazekas, the brewers at Broken Goblet, in Bristol, observed in a jointly written email that “it comes down to who you are as a person.

“[Co-owners] Mike LaCouture and Jay Grosse have songs that immediately make them cry, or laugh, or whatever, because their musical background has tuned their emotions to react this way. There are many, however, who can listen to a beautiful piece of classical music, or a modern phenom, and have zero response.

“It seems to be the same with beer. We watched a guy try our Fall of Ryesengard, a black rye ale, get goose bumps all up and down his arms. He was literally going crazy over the beer. Others can drink the best beer in the world, and have zero attachment to it other than, ‘Yeah, I like that. ‘

“We don’t judge either way, but we certainly have more fun with the former group.”

The 38th Annual Philadelphia Museum of Art Contemporary Craft Show runs today through Sunday at the Pennsylvania Convention Center, 12th and Arch streets. Tickets are available online and at the door.

The Handcraft Beer Tasting Event, held within the show, is at 7 p.m. Friday. Beers will be presented by brewers from Broken Goblet, Evil Genius, Conshohocken Brewing, Neshaminy Creek and Saint Benjamin. Tickets are available online at pmacraftshow.org for $45 and include admission to the craft show.

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YOU SAY you’ve got mad beer-making skills and you’d go pro if only you had the time to step up your game?

Send the old ball-and-chain out of town.

It worked for John Wible, who went from a complete noob to head brewer at 2nd Story Brewing, in Old City, in just five years.

He looked almost sheepish as he recounted the story Monday afternoon, as the first customers streamed into his new brewpub, operating out of the space that Triumph Brewing had occupied for the last seven years.

“My girlfriend went to Vancouver for school,” Wible said. “What can I say? Without a girlfriend in town, you have a lot of time on your hands . . .

“I had been drinking craft beer for only a couple of months at the time, but I called a friend and said, ‘We should try homebrewing. ‘ I worked about a half-hour from Keystone Homebrew Supply [in Montgomeryville], so I bought a kit. We brewed one batch and I was hooked. “

He soon found himself brewing every chance he got, experimenting with every beer style he could think of. He bought decent equipment, moved from simple extracts to more complex all-grain recipes, and was soon winning prizes. His friends loved his beer.

Wible’s girlfriend eventually found her way back home, but her return hardly killed his hobby. In fact, it only made this story better.

The two got married. It was on their honeymoon at the Omni Hotel, two blocks from Triumph, that Wible discovered that the brewpub was for sale.

Wible mentioned it to his new mother-in-law, Debbie Grady, who owns and works a 90-acre farm in Pottstown. The mother of six was ready to move onto something new, and a restaurant seemed to be the ticket.

So, here we are, five years after he gave homebrewing a try, and Wible – a former IT professional who never had any formal beer-making schooling – is pouring me a glass of ale he cooked not on his kitchen stove, but in an imposing, 15-barrel, stainless-steel, steam-heated brewhouse. And not just an average beer, but a very fresh, delicious, toffee-like English mild that, at just 3.7 percent alcohol content, can be guzzled all night without sending you headfirst down 2nd Story’s open staircase.

What inspired him to make this ale, called Five-Mile Ale, I wonder. Adnams? Batemans? Some other famous English-style mild?

“Believe it or not,” Wible said, “I’ve never even tasted a classic British mild. The only ones I’ve ever had are American interpretations, like Yards Brawler. . . . I mainly just read the BJCP [Beer Judge Certification Program] specs and designed it the way I thought it should taste. “

Now, Wible is hardly the first person to open a brewery without formal training. Sam Calagione, the inventive founder of Dogfish Head Craft Brewery, is a prime local example of a successful, self-taught professional brewer.

Still, Wible’s speedy rise from hobbyist to head brewer is a bit mind-boggling. I asked him if it was a daunting challenge, opening 2nd Story.

“Surprisingly,” he said, “I was not all that worried. I knew I’d be able to figure things out. “

Sure, there was a bit of confusion at first.

He had to mark the brewery’s plumbing fixtures with a Sharpie to remind himself where various hoses should be attached. And Patrick Jones, one of Triumph’s former brewers, briefed him on brewhouse operations.

But Wible said that brewing on a professional system is easier than homebrewing, where the biggest challenges are temperature control during mashing and quickly chilling the boiled wort for fermentation. Homebrewers typically use rudimentary equipment that can make precision difficult.

In a brewhouse, both are achieved with calibrated equipment and push-button controls.

“It’s a huge advantage to be using a larger system,” he said.

No doubt there will be bumps along the way. Me referring in print to Wible’s wife as the “old ball and chain” might be one of them.

But right out of the gate, the nine beers I tasted – from a nicely hopped Tilted Barn farmhouse ale (named after Grady’s farm) to an outstanding, strong (7.5 percent alcohol) Colonial Porter made with rye and molasses – are an excellent addition to the city’s beer scene.

By the way, if you’re interested in making your own beer and following in Wible’s footsteps, mark Nov. 1 on your calendar. It’s Learn to Homebrew Day, a nationwide event in which homebrew shops share brewing tips, recipes and other resources with newbies.

Even if you’re not looking for a new career, it’s still a fun hobby that will improve your appreciation of your favorite adult beverage.

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THE GREAT American Beer Festival awards are such a tease. Like brazen tarts, the judges tempt us time and again with medals for seductive, mouthwatering brands that just beg you to take a drink.

But we can only look, never taste.

These award-winners are one-offs. Brewpub seasonals. Special blends.

They come and go, peeking out at you like a Maxim magazine nip-slip.

Beers like Two Brothers Sour Beer #2, from Illinois, named the best wood-aged beer in America.

I’m sure it’s a fine beer; it outpolled more than 100 other entries in the category. But other than the lucky ones who enjoyed it at the three-day Denver festival last week, I’m not sure anyone has ever had it in his mouth.

There’s no sign of the beer on the brewery’s website. It has never been reviewed by any blog or online rating site. Untappd, the smartphone beer-tasting app, shows a grand total of 17 people have registered the sour – all of them apparently at one of the GABF’s public sessions.

Two Brothers brewed so little of it, they didn’t bother to give it a real name.

And so it goes with so many others.

Oddball beers, like Dogfish Head Choc Lobster, a silver medalist made with cocoa and lobsters that’s available only a few weeks each summer in Rehoboth Beach, Del.

Or rare releases, like Broken Tooth Darth Delirium, a bold, Belgian-style strong dark ale that you’d taste only if you had a dogsled and a team of Huskies that could make it to Anchorage in the middle of February.

“It’s kind of frustrating,” said Gene Muller, founder and general manager of South Jersey’s Flying Fish Brewery. “It’s like, ‘Hey this beer just won a gold medal – and you can’t have it! ‘ “

Which makes this year’s Philadelphia-area award winners an exception. Most of the region’s 15 medalists are either widely distributed or available year-round on tap, offering beer enthusiasts a no-holds-barred, full-frontal view.

Three in particular are so exposed, in fact, many of us no doubt take them for granted. Their awards this year are a sign that they deserve a new look.

Flying Fish HopFish: Gold medal, classic English-style pale ale.

The top-selling brand at Flying Fish is not one of those in-your-face California IPAs, Muller readily acknowledges. “We don’t make any pretensions that it has any kind of West Coast hopping, so don’t stand it next to a Sierra Nevada Torpedo or Stone IPA. “

Instead, judge it as a more traditional, balanced English-style IPA, with an American, English and German malt bill and generous dry-hopping for delicate aroma.

The medal was no surprise to me, and not just because the ale also won a bronze medal at the World Beer Cup last spring. Flying Fish has stepped up its game across the board since moving to its new facility in Somerdale, N.J., with all of its brands exhibiting more depth and complexity.

Muller predicts that it will only get better as head brewer Barry Holsten continues to fine-tune the facility’s high-tech equipment with lab-quality analysis of samples.

Victory Golden Monkey: Gold medal, Belgian-style tripel.

A skeptic would guess that Monkey is Victory’s No. 1 seller because it appeals to young drinkers seeking a big bang for their buck. A 9.5 percent alcohol cortex cleanser at 12 bucks a sixpack is a darn good bargain.

But is it really that good?

A medal in the always competitive tripel category – one that attracts the likes of Weyerbacher Merry Monks, Allagash Tripel and Russian River Damnation – should put doubts to rest. While it may be a bit boozy for some, its fruity sweetness is complemented with a peppery bite and relatively dry finish.

Remarkably, this is Victory’s first medal for an ale. Its previous honors came to a pair of lagers, Prima Pils and Festbier, which are closer to the brewery’s German roots.

Troegs Troegenator Double Bock: Gold medal, bock.

Troegs owns this category with seven – yes, seven – medals since 2006. Outside of Alaskan Smoked Porter (which has been around since the invention of smoke), I can’t think of any single brand that has dominated so thoroughly at GABF.

If you’re from Philly, it’s easy to take Troegenator for granted. So step back and consider:

1. Troegenator is the Hershey brewery’s second-biggest seller (behind Perpetual IPA). In these hop-centric days, it’s a rare brewery that depends so heavily on beer drinkers’ demand for a malt bomb. (And that includes Spoetzl, of Texas, whose Shiner is a bock in name only.)

2. It’s available year-round. The rest of the world has to wait till spring to enjoy double bock. We don’t.

3. It comes in 16-ounce cans. Pounders. That’s just unheard of for a beer of this quality.

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