Always Try The Witch’s Brew

            If you’re like me, your parents taught you from an early age to not trust any food or drink given to you by a stranger. While this made restaurants a very confusing experience, I did my best to adhere to this rule. My parents were especially insistent if that stranger was a green-skinned lady living in the woods with a broom and black cat. Not only was that person a stranger, that person was probably a witch.

As it turns out, my parents didn’t know what they were talking about. Not because there are no such things as witches and I should have been playing hide-and-seek with the other kids instead of learning how to ward a house against daemons, but because witch’s brew is pretty friendly. Witch’s brew is beer.

Like making bread and butter, brewing used to be a standard domestic chore of any housewife. In fact, those that got particularly skillful at it were called Alewives. Water was hard to sanitize for most of history, so different cultures kept a steady supply of alcohol. In the 14th century, this meant Alewives learning to homebrew. If a home didn’t have a brewery up and running, they knew someone in the neighborhood who did.

While the men were out warring, hunting, and trying to live past the age of 40, women were at home, stirring a black cauldron with an ale-stake, a long branch with twigs at the end, like a broom. When they had made a large enough batch, some Alewives would lean the ale stake against the cottage door so that any weary traveler on the road would know they could stop by for a refreshment.

Alewives would often have a cat to both keep them company and to protect the grain and hops from vermin. Whether from the odd fumes in an enclosed space or from sampling the product, many alewives were said to have a green complexion. Standing over a boiling pot and harvesting all of the ingredients to toss in it before there was indoor plumbing would cause havoc on anyone’s skin.

Alewives that were particularly prolific would march into town (presumably with their cat at their ankles) and sell their leftover brew. They would also sell their leftover bread and cheese which is just smart salesmanship. It’s the same reason bars have peanuts and popcorn. In order to attract attention and rise above the crowd at the town square, these women would wear tall, pointy, black hats.

It must have been a wonderful time. Not only could women kind of run their own business, but every alewife brewed a little differently. The variety of beer must have been overwhelming.

At some point in the 15th century, men decided they wanted to be brewers as well. They quickly started forming guilds and pushing the cottage industry (literally) of Alewives out. Men had scale and the patriarchy on their side to aid in their hostile takeover of the brewing industry. Combine that with the various supernatural panics of the time, and the smart, strong, independent women known as alewives got a new name: witch. Enter the fires, hangings, and Arthur Miller play.

So, next time you’re at Generations, Wishful Acres, Lena Brewing, Pig Minds, or any of the other fine local establishments, enjoy their particular brand of magic. And if you’re feeling bold, see if you can spot the cauldron, black cat, or broom leaning up against the door.

And this Halloween, anytime you see someone dressed up as a witch, demand that they give you a beer. It’s the historically accurate thing to do.