They take their coffee seriously at Gran Caffe L’Aquila.

The Chestnut Street cafe and restaurant operates its own second-floor roaster, its co-owner is a medal-winning bean man, and the entire place has been modeled on the stylish grand cafes of the owners’ homeland in the Abruzzi region of Italy. On most mornings, the place is a popular destination for Italian expatriates sipping cups of espresso and speaking with an accent you don’t often hear on the streets of Center City, yo.

It’s not exactly known for beer, however.

Which is a shame, because among the cafe’s short list of taps is a brew that reveals the pleasant things that can happen at the intersection of coffee and beer.

Sometimes, coffee-flavored beers are nothing more than that: beer that tastes like someone dumped a half-cup of Joe into your pint while clearing the table. There’s no real thought about how the bitterness of roasted beans is going to play off the flavor of malt and hops.

Gran Gianduiotto gets it right. It’s a rich, dark stout from West Chester’s Levante Brewery, a small, young brewery that ought to be getting a lot more attention from locals.

It was inspired by the Italian chocolates known as gianduiotto. If you had a grandmother who lived in a rowhouse south of Washington Avenue, you’re already familiar with these small, pyramid-like hazelnut-flavored chocolates. They’re the ones wrapped in silver tinfoil that she used to give you after Sunday dinner, remember? If not, think Nutella.

Yes, hazelnut, vanilla, cocoa and coffee is a mouthful when it comes to beer, and it’s worth every glorious moment you’ll spend nursing a glass. None of those flavors dominates by itself; instead, they swim together across the palate in melt-in-the-mouth goodness.

At 11 percent alcohol, this is no morning cup. I’d pair it with a cannoli.

And then consider some of the many other coffee beers on local shelves.

For example, Terrapin Brewing out of Athens, Georgia, is pushing the whole coffee-and-beer thing to a new level with its newly released series of Single Origin Coffee Brown Ale. You’ll find it in mixed four-packs with bottles featuring four different coffee types from Costa Rica, Indonesia, Ecuador (my fave) and Kenya.

With a minimally hopped brown ale as a base, the coffee flavor really steps forward. This is a beer for java junkies.

Other recommended coffee beers:

Joe Coffee Porter from Philadelphia Brewing—the coffee plays off the malt nicely in this easy drinking beer made with fair trade beans.

Stone Enjoy By Coffee & Chocolate—a rare coffee-flavored IPA, released in time for Valentine’s Day.

Ballast Point Mocha Marlin—a coffee-and-chocolate-flavored porter, it’s smooth with a hint of vanilla.

Victory Java Cask—a massively strong (14 percent alcohol) bourbon barrel-aged coffee stout flavored with just a hint of smoke.

Sly Fox Oslo Porter—a London-style porter made with espresso beans from Brooklyn-based roaster Oslo Coffee. Now available on draft in area bars.

Double Nickel Belgian Brown with cascara—made with the skins of coffee beans, to produce a flavor that seems closer to tea than coffee.

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We made America great last week.

A populist upheaval swept aside decades of control by elitist power brokers who reaped the rewards of government while the people had borne the cost. But last week, the carnage stopped right here and it stopped right now.

That’s right: Pennsylvanians can now buy a sixpack at a beer distributor.

Amid all the commotion in Washington, D.C., and on the streets of so many American cities, the antiquated beer laws of the Keystone State were changed almost without notice.

For the first time in nearly a century, Pennsylvanians could actually purchase their favorite adult beverage in a serving size that is somewhat smaller than might be needed to sustain a fraternity house. A mere six cans.

Until last week, state regs enacted after the Prohibition required that distributors sell beer by the full case. That meant 24 bottles, or under the inanely precise rules laid out by Harrisburg, 264 ounces. (That law was amended in 2016 through a bizarre loophole to allow for the sale of 12-packs.)

But sixpacks? The most popular form of malt-based liquid containment in America? My own personal namesake? Illegal in the state’s beer distributors. Sad!

Yes, you could buy a sixer-to-go at a bar. But that always felt like an act of late-night desperation, where you were apt to pay 15 bucks for six bottles of ordinary Yuengling – about the price of a full case if you had actually planned ahead. Never mind that dopey two-sixpack limit (still intact) that had you running back and forth to your car, trying to stock up enough brew for an afternoon of widescreen football.

The complex rules eventually spawned a charade exploited by some grocery stores, in which sixpacks are sold separately from bread and milk at a special cash register in an in-store “restaurant.” In the case of Acme, I use that term loosely. The sixpack ban was lifted under a law signed last fall by our governor, who is a communist. Let that sink in.

Which led me to Worldwide Beverage last weekend.

This neighborhood beer distributor, located in a former post office on Green Lane, has been serving the thirsty citizens of Roxborough for many years. It’s not uncommon to see double-parked cars out front, their trunks open for loading.

On this day, I walked.

“You got sixpacks?”

It was like asking for an illegal onesie at the 7-Eleven.

The guy behind the counter nodded to a small rack against the wall. There wasn’t much of a selection – maybe 15 brands. It’ll be a few more months before distributors can furnish their stores with proper coolers and display cases.

I grabbed a sixpack of New Belgium Voodoo Ranger, a strong (9 percent alcohol) imperial IPA that was a bargain at $11.49 plus sales tax. Speaking of which, unlike bars, delis and grocery stores, beer distributors do not collect Philadelphia’s 10 percent drink tax. It’s another one of those odd loopholes – one that I expect the city will close any day now.

But this day was not about negativity. Yes, it was gray and rainy outside (is it my imagination, or has the sun been absent from the sky since the Inauguration?), but for the first time in my life I left a Pennsylvania beer distributor with a mere sixpack under my arm.

It was the bright dawning of a new world. And it couldn’t have come at a better time because, frankly, in the next four years, we’re gonna need a lot more beer.

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Philly Beer Week, which marks its 10th-annual celebration this June, announced this week that it’s evolving into a year-round organization called Philly Loves Beer.

The new organization is “devoted to raising Philadelphia’s global profile as a destination city for beer tourism… independent of a brewer’s guild or business association,” and will be the nation’s first nonprofit business league “dedicated to beer appreciation,” according to a recent press announcement.

The change comes as the organization has sought to stay relevant in the region’s craft beer trade, where competing interests among breweries, wholesalers and restaurants have frequently put Philly Beer Week at odds with its own participants. Though the nation’s first beer week remains vibrant, paid participation has slacked off in recent years as local breweries have grumbled in particular about the number of events promoting out-of-town beer makers.

Meanwhile, some bar owners have declined to participate because of the difficulty in drawing crowds and recouping their participation fees during beer week.

Disclosure: I was a founder of Philly Beer Week and was its first executive director, a post I left in 2014. To me, this is a welcome step because it gives businesses who’ve left the organization a reason to return. Craft beer enthusiasts, meanwhile, should see even more beer-soaked fun and creativity throughout the entire year.

While Philly Beer Week will remain its largest annual festival, Philly Loves Beer said it plans to expand its influence by promoting educational seminars, networking events, beer festivals and promotional support for its participants.

Philly Beer Week is June 1-11. Meanwhile, the organization in a typically off-beat beer-minded gesture announced it will host its first fundraiser on Feb. 19 at Heritage (914 N. 2nd St.): A flannel “fashion show” featuring members and supporters and judged by a panel of local female beer celebrities.

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Now soda slurpers know how the rest of us feel.

And by the rest of us, I mean beer drinkers – adults who enjoy grown-up beverages. Beverages, by the way, that are taxed way more than the city’s newly imposed penny-and-a-half surcharge that Mountain Dew addicts are griping about.

A quick primer:

If you drink one 16-ounce Coca-Cola – or Gatorade, Monster, Starbucks Double Shot or…the list of sweetened crap is endless – per day, it’ll cost you an additional $87.60 a year under Philadelphia’s new beverage tax. By comparison, if you drink one 16-ounce glass Coors Light (or something better) per day, it costs you an additional $182.50 under Philadelphia’s liquor tax – a tax beer drinkers have been paying for more than 20 years.

And that doesn’t include federal and state excise taxes, or the additional price that retailers charge to recoup the cost of their liquor licenses. The Beer Institute, which lobbies lawmakers on behalf of breweries, claims about 40 percent of the cost of beer is taxes.

So, why do we pay so much for a cold one?

Because, as much as you may venerate the glory of malt and hops, alcohol consumption is still generally treated by the government as a vice. And in America, we tax the hell out of vices. So-called sin taxes are levied on goods that can cause harm, to repay their social damage and to tamp down their consumption through higher prices.

According to the Association of American Physicians, annual healthcare expenditures for excessive alcohol consumption are $22.5 billion a year. But guess what: Obesity, some of it brought on by those Big Gulps, costs more than 10 times that much – more than $315 billion a year in health care expenses, according to a study at Cornell University.

Whether these taxes have any impact on consumption is questionable. The evidence shows it was the enactment of tougher drunk driving laws, not higher prices, that drove down alcohol intake. As for soda, I suspect sugar addicts won’t give up their daily fix as long as they can easily stock up on the other side of City Avenue.

But let’s not get bogged down with a debate over social engineering through the tax code, because that’s not the primary benefit cited by proponents of these taxes. Both were enacted ostensibly to fund childhood education.

Which is damn worthwhile.

But education benefits everyone, and its cost shouldn’t be borne inordinately by those who happen to enjoy soda or beer. If the schools or pre-K programs need more money, the city (and the state) ought to be funding them more fairly through wage or real estate taxes. Unfortunately, that’s a non-starter in a city trying to attract new residents and businesses.

So, here’s another way to look at it:

That $182.50 a year you pay in Philadelphia drink taxes is a drop in the bucket in a city that spends $2.8 billion for its public schools. Consider it your civic duty. If it’s a make-or-break number for you, cut out just one drink a week – that will more than pay for the cost of these annoying taxes.

As for you soda drinkers, well, take it from this beer drinker: Suck it up.

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Here’s some of the cool, new stuff to look for in 2017.

Bavaria comes to Philly

Imported German beer is often a dicey proposition because so many of the nation’s traditional styles – especially pils and Helles lager – are quick to deteriorate before they hit American shelves.

However, Liquid Projects, a new Brooklyn-based company, is giving it a try – and the first batch it brought to Philly is mighty impressive. The company has put together a collection of styles from five separate German breweries under one brand name, Reinheits Boten, which translates roughly as “purity delivery.”

The samples I tried last week at Brauhaus Schmitz, the excellent German bar on South Street, were all quite fresh and included some unusual styles.

Among them: Zoller Hof Zwickel, an unfiltered lager whose smooth body and malty sweetness make it the perfect complement to those big Bavarian soft pretzels on the Schmitz menu. Friedenfelser Zoiglbier, an old and rarely seen type of unfiltered lager whose roasted malt gives the beer an amber color. I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve tasted zoigl, which takes its name from the German word for the sign of a star (one which had a very similar look to the Star of David, actually) that medieval farmers and brewers would hang on doors when they had beer for sale. Riedenburger Organic Emmer Beer, made with a type of spelt that historians and archeologists believe is the first grain cultivated for beer and bread. It has a nutty, rustic character that is unique among German beer.

I recommend all of these beers, especially for those who are looking for something other than hopped-out IPAs. These styles emphasize malt, whose character is particularly overlooked in American craft beer circles. But I wonder how long they’ll survive. As I mentioned previously, artisan German beers – especially unpasteurized varieties like these – don’t always travel well.

Liquid Projects owner Lars Dahlhaus told me the beers are transported across the Atlantic in temperature-controlled containers, and that they’re pre-sold, which in theory means they move through distribution channels faster. The larger challenge, he said, was bringing competing breweries under the single Reinheits Boten brand together.

If his business plan works, look for other new collaborations throughout the year.

New destinations

A couple months ago, I mentioned more than a dozen new breweries were headed to the city. Unsurprisingly, the opening of many of them has been delayed for the usual issues: licensing, inspections, balky equipment, etc.

But several are now open, including:

• Brewery ARS, 1927 W. Passyunk Ave, South Philly. It opened the week before Christmas with limited hours, so check out Brewery ARS’ Facebook page or website before heading down Broad Street. It’s pouring two saisons and a porter (bring your growlers) and serves up some pretty good BBQ.
  Wissahickon Brewery, 3705 W. Schoolhouse Lane, East Falls. It held a couple holiday open houses and doesn’t yet have regular hours, so consult its Facebook page for details. This is a production brewery; don’t expect typical brewpub ambiance (or food), just yet.
  Flying Fish Crafthouse, 1363 N. 31st St., Brewerytown. This spot opened with little fanfare just before the holidays. Located nearby the old Red Bell plant (nee F.A. Poth Brewery), it’s not actually a brewery. Instead, all of its beers are made over in Jersey by Garden State craft brewery. Among ales made exclusively for the taphouse: LoveFish, an abbey dubbel infused with cherries; and Duffified Ale, an English-style amber ale named after Brian Duffy of the cable TV show “Bar Rescue,” who also runs the kitchen.

New beers

It’s impossible to keep up with the hundreds of new beers hit the shelves every week. But here’s three that recently caught my attention:

• Conshohocken Brewing Ghost Bear. Say it quickly: Ghost Bear…GhostBear…Gostisbehere. This new golden ale, smartly packaged in a black-and-orange can, has had Flyers fans lining up for cases since its debut in December. Oh, and no, it has not been endorsed by the Flyers’ young defenseman sensation, Shayne Gostisbehere.
• Shmaltz Pastrami Pils. Yes, a pastrami-flavored pilsner. It’s a collaboration with Barcade, the fun Fishtown beer-and-arcade bar, available on draft only.
• Levante Brewing Gran Gianduiotto. An imperial hazelnut mocha stout made by the Levante Brewing of West Chester with beans from Center City’s Gran Caffe L\’Aquila coffee bar.
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Man should not live on one beer alone, and in 2016 I found many other exciting, new brews worthy of attention. These are the runners-up for Joe Sixpack’s Beer of the Year.

Slack Tide Bell Buoy: This sweet, zesty, spicy Belgian blond ale is worth the ride down Rt. 9 to the small Cape May County brewery. It also won deserved praise in Inquirer food writer Craig Laban’s annual Brewvitational awards.

Starr Hill Last Leaf Maple Brown Ale: The Virginia brewery ditched its pumpkin ale and introduced this smooth, maple syrup-infused brown ale.

Dogfish Head SeaQuench: Though the Delaware brewery got a heap of publicity for its gimmicky (and quite tasty) scrapple-infused Beer for Breakfast, it was this sour blend made with lime and sea salt that had me reaching for a second glass.

Conshohocken Pumpkin Ale: In a year when so many turned their backs on spicy autumn brews, Conshy utterly nailed the style with a pleasant balance of cinnamon and nutmeg in a wonderfully smooth body.

Firestone Walker Luponic Distortion No. 001: The first in a series of wheat-based ales made with experimental hops was a marvel for both its complexity and utter refreshment.

Troegs Nimble Giant: I thought the Hershey brewery had already gone all-in on the hops with its Perpetual IPA, but this once-a-year specialty amps it up with a smooth-drinking, boozy/fruity double IPA. Look for it in cans again next summer.

Anything from Tonewood and Bar Hygge: About a dozen new breweries opened in the Philadelphia area this year, and these two newcomers impressed me greatly. Tonewood makes expertly crafted styles, including a coffee-flavored porter, that have finish quality you wouldn’t normally expect from a rookie. And Tom Baker (Earth, Bread + Brewery) is just amazing, producing a spectrum of both conventional and unusual varieties, including gruit, smoked beer and saison, at his new Bar Hygge in the Fairmount section of the city.

More noteworthy new beers of 2016
Yards Rival IPA, Troegs Barrel-Aged Troegenator, River Horse Hippotizing IPA, Peak The Juice, Voodoo Man Bear Pig, Penn IPA, Victory Java Cask Rye, Straub Doppelbock.

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‘You wouldn’t know there’s a brewery down Forked Neck Road in Shamong, N.J.

Nestled against the pines of Wharton State Forest and hidden behind a private home, the small, unheralded facility is dwarfed by its big brother, the Valenzano Winery, nearby on busy Rt. 206. There is no tasting room or tours or visiting hours. There is no place to fill up a growler.

If you want to taste its beer, you’ll have drop in at one of the dozen or so tap houses and restaurants in Burlington and Camden counties that take its keg deliveries.

Like I did one November afternoon, when I was stopped by the Blue Monkey Tavern in Merchantville, N.J., and got my first taste of Brotherton Brewery’s Imperial Oatmeal Porter.

By the end of my visit, I knew this would be my 2016 Beer of the Year.

Dark and smooth and creamy, it is a perfectly rounded mouthful of sweet and roasted barley malt whose mild flavor of black cherries and currants and chocolate hint at the complexity that lays, deceptively, beneath this simple and basic brew.

This is not another one of those trendy cult beers that attract lines of whale-hunting geeks. It is not a palate-numbing hop monster or mouth-puckering sour ale or barrel-aged this or that. There are no gimmicks. Instead, it is the product of superb ingredients and expert brewing skills, a beer that demands to be quaffed in long pulls that leave foam on your upper lip and a deep, satisfying ahhhhh in your throat.

Yes, it is brewed in Joisey. You got a problem with that?

The Garden State – especially South Jersey – has lagged far behind the American craft beer renaissance. Though Flying Fish and River Horse have ably held down the fort over the past 20 years, substantial growth was thwarted by costly liquor licenses, incomprehensible licensing regulations and short-sighted Bud-centric tavern owners.

It was only in 2012 when the state allowed breweries to sell beer by the glass in on-site tasting rooms (a visitor attraction that generates much-needed capital) that startups finally began opening their doors in sizable numbers. In 2016, more than 20 breweries opened in New Jersey, mainly in small towns like Medford and Pitman and Woodbury.

And in this case, Shamong.

Oddly, Brotherton Brewery is holding off on the tasting room until it gets a foothold in bars. Owned by family members of the neighboring Valenzano winery, it’s a tidy operation operating out of the same rustic garage warehouse where the family once bottled its varietals. Today, it is equipped with a compact 15-barrel brewhouse with just four fermentation vessels. Brewing twice a week, it’s capable of producing fewer than 3,000 half-kegs (about 375,000 pints) a year.

The man at the helm is Steve D’Eva (above), a 31-year-old who is not exactly a familiar name among local brewing circles. He started his career as a cook (Tinto, Amada) and was the original executive chef at Tired Hands Cafe in Ardmore.

“I wanted to brew the whole time I was at Tired Hands, but that just wasn’t going to happen,” D’Eva said. “I really wanted to brew in the Philadelphia area, but there were not many jobs open where you didn’t have to start at the very bottom, scrubbing out kegs for two years before they let you touch the brew kettle.”

D’Eva told me his story while we sampled beers in the 44-degree chill of Brotherton’s cold box. Swapping out sixtel kegs and pouring fresh ales into plastic cups, he told me that he wrangled his first brewing job at Grand Canyon Brewing in Arizona in a long-distance phone call without even a single visit. He learned the ropes, but quickly discovered that “brewing mainly pilsner and amber ale six days a week was soul-crushing.”

Seeking more creativity, he moved onto Urban Family Brewing in Seattle, a well-established beer town where competition is fierce. He earned a few medals for his saison before being lured back East. At Brotherton, D’Eva expects to have the freedom to brew a wide variety of ever-changing styles with no real flagship brands.

“Hopefully, if we can produce beer of high quality, that will help shepherd along a top-quality beer scene in the area,” D’Eva said.

That’s a worthy ambition; given the South Jersey beer-making scene has been stagnant for so long, any new brewery seems like progress. Just open the taps and the people will belly-up to the bar, right? Wrong. The locals are not noobs; they know a bad beer when they taste it, and they’ve already begun calling out some of the lamer local efforts. (A porter from one Burlington County newcomer, for example, was not-inaccurately described in an online review as tasting “like it was filtered through a new shower curtain.”)

I’m inclined to give startups a chance to hit their stride. But there’s no reason to wait for Brotherton. Its Imperial Oatmeal Porter is the real deal.

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It’s only 4 p.m. and already there’s 100 or so outdoor folding chairs that line the sidewalk on Cricket Terrace, a short, yet winding street in Ardmore.

The chairs—and all their vibrant colors—face the street as if awaiting a parade snake for a block, then turn a corner and continue down an adjacent street.

Almost all of them are empty.

Nearby, a handful of guys stand in a small group, waiting.

“You should’ve seen it last week,” says one, in a wool cap. “It stretched all the way up to Lancaster Avenue, then back into the parking lot. Must’ve been 600 of them.”

“Eight hundred,” says his friend.

Just another Wednesday afternoon outside Tired Hands Fermentaria, the trendy Main Line brewery. The seats are set up by hardcore beer enthusiasts—both locals and out-of-towners who drive all night to get here, drawn by the brewery’s once-a-week sale of canned one-offs. At exactly 5 p.m., the brewery’s rear door opens, and the throng will eagerly shell out up to $24 for a four-pack of Tired Hands’ notoriously cloudy, hops-heavy pounders.

“Yeah, I guess it is a little crazy, I’m not going to lie,” says Ashley Clemas, 32, of Manayunk, who heard about the release from a Beer Nerds Facebook group. “But it’s my hobby and something I love to do.”

Even if you’re familiar with the practice of standing in line for special beer releases, the scene around Fermentaria is unique because—until that back door opens—you’re likely to find few people actually in the line. Instead, starting around noon but sometimes earlier, they claim their spot with a cheap folding chair, then wander off. Some head into the brewery’s restaurant for an extended liquid lunch; others stay warm in their parked cars, juicing up their iPhones; others go home, leaving behind a buddy to watch the chair.

“I bring my laptop and spend all day in the restaurant, writing computer code,” one 47-year-old tells me. “One time my whole company was in here. I get more work done here, waiting for the beer, than in the office.”

One or two neighboring businesses have complained about the chairs, but Tired Hands sends out workers to keep things orderly, and for the most part Ardmore seems to take the whole thing in stride.

More curious to me, though, is how it is that Tired Hands draws this crowd. The fans in line will tell you that it’s because the beer inside the small brewery are so good, it’s worth the hassle.

“Their IPAs are incredible,” Clemas says. “I, personally, sway that way: The hoppier, the better. “The quality, the flavor—there’s just nothing else like,” adds Bo McClain, 35, of Skippack.

Yet, in truth, other local breweries do make beer that’s every bit as good, every bit as hoppy.

But they’ll never draw lines like this.

Odder still, more than a few beer experts grouse that Tired Hands’ beer is not all that great. It has never won a major judging competition in five years of operation, some of its unfiltered one-offs have been known to go bad within weeks, and many purists deride its cloudy, sediment-filled IPAs—no matter how tasty—as “snow globes.”

Yet, the hype is undeniable.

Last spring at the Craft Brewers Conference held in Philadelphia, I watched in amazement when professionals lined up 20-deep for a small plastic cup of the brew. Though the keg was running slow and foaming like crazy (a sign something might’ve been wrong with the beer), and even though lines were open for two other excellent beers from Yards and Troegs, they waited—and waited—for Tired Hands.

Back on Cricket Terrace, some of those in line acknowledge they’re fishing for “whales”—hard-to-find brews that serve as trade bait for other impossible to find brews. McClain, who joins the line at least twice a month, says a can of Tired Hands can easily attract the likes of Tree House or Trillium, a pair of New England breweries whose IPAs are especially popular these days.

At the head of the line, Eric Everett, 32, is sacked out in a folding chair, holding a place for a friend. “We got here around noon,” he says. “We get lunch, hang out. I’m mostly doing my buddy a favor because he’s the one who likes the beer.”

How about you? I ask.

“Honestly, not that much. The others in line make fun of me, but I’m more of a Coors Light guy.”

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Not to harsh your mellow, but beer is suddenly getting some serious competition from cannabis.

Seven states and Washington, D.C., have legalized recreational weed, and 20 others allow its so-called medical use. An estimated 40 million Americans now enjoy marijuana on a regular basis.

And I do mean “enjoy,” in the same way that people enjoy a good brew. Which means that responsible adults are increasingly torching, vaping, dabbing and munching marijuana instead of cracking open a cold one.

That’s right: This bud’s for you.

In a sobering presentation at last week’s Brewbound craft beer industry gathering in San Diego, beverage, tobacco and cannabis analyst Vivien Azer warned attendees that their customers are already toking up.

Her blunt assessment: “I think it will negatively impact alcohol consumption.”

Sales of cannabis in legal states have topped $6 billion a year. This pales in comparison to beer, which is worth $100 billion in annual sales.

First, marijuana consumption is no longer simply a matter of rolling a joint with ordinary skunk weed. Just as craft beer brewers have attracted new enthusiasts by diversifying a stale, old commodity with appealing new flavors and styles, cannabis growers are broadening their market with new strains that induce a range of buzzes.

But weed is just getting started, with flavors like kush being the new IPA.

Compared to alcohol abuse, the long-term health impacts of marijuana are inconsequential and cannabis is increasingly viewed as being safer than beer. There are no hangovers. Thanks to new smokeless delivery devices that include vape pens, edibles, ointments and even transdermal patches—cannabis can’t even be called harsh.

And with legalization, marijuana smoke is publicly seeping into quarters that were once the domain of suds. For example, check out the tailgate scene outside the appropriately named Mile High Stadium before a Denver Broncos game and you’re apt to see fans toking up, thanks to a half-dozen dispensaries within walking distance of the parking lot.

In short: marijuana has lost its deviant stigma. It is on the verge of becoming a mainstream consumer product that can compete on a level playing field with alcohol.

This comes as booze consumption among millennials is on the decline. A study commissioned last winter by Heineken showed that three-quarters of people between the ages of 21 and 35 (prime drinking years) now limit their consumption on most occasions in which they drink.

That’s mostly because, according to the study, they don’t want to lose control in a social setting—a finding that suggests young people aren’t necessarily switching from beer to pot.

Nonetheless, the threat is real.

“I wouldn’t say it’s time to panic, because the anemic volume trends have been in place for a long time,” Azer said, as beer has long faced even bigger competition from spirits and wine.

The beer industry seems uncertain what to do about it, responding with a mixed message at best. For years, big beer fought cannabis with political contributions to conservative lawmakers and heavy-duty lobbying against legalization. More recently, craft beer has welcomed it with gimmicks, including playfully subversive brand names (Magic Hat hI.P.A., Sweetwater 420), a hop-forward ale with distinctively dank aroma.

Azer suggests beer makers can fight back by focusing on underserved markets, especially Hispanics and women.

My suggestion, brew masters?

Focus on what cannabis can’t offer, that classic but distinctive beer flavor that will always pair well with good food.

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IMAGINE THAT, 40 years ago, Coors brewed a beer called Down With Queers. Or that 60 years ago Falstaff had a beer named Whites Are Supreme.

It never happened because, though both breweries held some strong political views, neither advertised them on beer cans.

Which is why the widely publicized campaign against North Carolina’s anti-transgender law by a group of Tar Heel breweries is a remarkable step down an uncertain path. For, while brewery operators – like any business owner – hold personal opinions, they typically don’t wear their politics on their sleeve.

Or, in this case, the label.

But that’s what 40 small breweries did in April when they jointly brewed a beer called Don’t Be Mean to People: A Golden Rule Saison. The beer was named in protest of HB-2, the North Carolina law that discriminates against gay and transgender people by prohibiting them from selecting public restrooms based on their gender identity.

“We just felt it was something we wanted to do to show the rest of the world we’re not all like that in North Carolina,” said one of the protest organizers, Erik Lars Myers, CEO and head brewer at Mystery Brewing in Hillsborough, N.C.

For Myers, the decision to protest the bathroom law was a no-brainer. As he and co-organizer Keil Jansen of Ponysaurus Brewing in Durham wrote on a fundraising website, “We didn’t feel like the law that was passed represented us as constituents, entrepreneurs, or business owners. We wanted to do something in response. But what? What do two brewers talk about doing when faced with a world in which they want to make a change? ”

Now, brewing a beer in support of a liberal cause might not seem like much of a stand in a niche industry where experts say the majority of the producers and the consumers lean to the left.

But Myers said that not every like-minded colleague was ready to take a public stand when the pair approached them to join the protest.

“I heard from a lot of people who support this,” Myers said, “but they told me they couldn’t because of where they’re located in the state – that not all of their customers would support them. ”

Indeed, North Carolina is a sharply divided so-called “purple state,” with liberals in blue corners in Asheville, Charlotte and Raleigh, and red-staters in wide, rural swathes.

But the state’s demographics are hardly unique. After all, the majority of Americans now live within 10 miles of a brewery, and if you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly all on the same page.

So, when a businessperson takes a political stand, an opponent will almost surely threaten a boycott.

In Wisconsin, for example, New Glarus brewery owner Deb Carey was lambasted as a “raging libtard” when right-wingers noticed her sitting with Michelle Obama at the president’s State of the Union address in 2013. Some bar owners refused to buy her beer.

The same year, labor leaders called for a boycott of Yuengling after owner Dick Yuengling urged the state to enact a right-to-work law that would make it more difficult for unions to organize.

Coors was hit with boycotts in the 1980s because of its family’s right-wing politics (Joseph Coors founded the conservative Heritage Foundation think tank) and employment discrimination against women, gays, Hispanics and blacks.

In the 1950s, Falstaff faced a boycott from segregationists who charged the brewery was supporting “the mongrelization” of America when it purchased a membership in the NAACP for one of its salesmen. Falstaff immediately backed down and repudiated its support of the civil rights group.

But none of these breweries, as I mentioned above, put their politics onto a beer label.

That’s changing in 2016.

A handful of small breweries have named beers in protest of Donald Trump’s White House candidacy. Meanwhile, Budweiser temporarily renamed itself, “America” – an act that many viewed as an attempt to climb on Trump’s “Make America Great Again” bandwagon. Anheuser-Busch said it was merely being patriotic.

So far, the pushback against the North Carolina breweries has been minimal, Myers said. That’s probably because of its touchy-feely “Don’t Be Mean To People” label; I mean, who’s going to protest kindness?

“We wanted to keep our message positive,” Myers said. “That’s why we didn’t go with the original name for the beer. ”

And that was?

F.U. HB2.

Goodbye, Joe

Twenty years ago this summer, I pulled the greatest scam in Daily News history by convincing my editors they should pay me to write about beer. If they thought I’d run out of ideas soon enough, well, they underestimated my thirst.

But it’s time to move to a new bar stool. Starting next week, you’ll find me at JoeSixpack.net and in community newspapers produced by Broad Street Media.

Before I go, though, here’s a tip of the glass to my beloved People Paper and the characters who have populated its pages. To Phantom Rider, the Marquis of Debris, Millennium Man, Hydro Cop, and Buck the Bartender: Next round’s on me.

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