Like most clichés, there’s a grain of truth in the importance of first impressions.
Be it the first day of high school when the nervous and the territorial exchange conspiratorial glances, vying for social prestige or the impending dread associated with meeting your girlfriend’s parents for the first time and having to explain, “Yes, Mr. Johnson. I’m your daughter’s prospective boyfriend, but I believe there’s more pressing concerns for us to consider first, as I just clipped your mailbox and ran over the cat pulling into the driveway,” the first encounter with the unknown is often a watershed for the future.
Unlike with Mr. Johnson, whose fictional daughter is now distraught over the passing of Fluffy, beer consumers are forgiving if first appearances struggle to impress. One moment, the beverage is sworn off as the purveyor of bad breath and enlarged stomachs — the next, it is the sugary sweet hand-me-down graced to mortals from Mother Nature.
But what about canned beer? Can beer taste good in a can? Can the ancient and delicious interplay of water, malt, hops and yeast transition into the metallic convenience of modernity? To find out, I took my first step into Baxter Brewery, Maine’s newest brewery, and the only facility in New England to offer beer only in cans.
In 1985, DL Geary’s laid the first stones in Maine’s craft brewery foundation, piping the way for similar ale-minded individuals to follow. Today, Maine flows into fourth place in the nation in terms of breweries per-capita with one for every 42,000 people.
The newest to tap into the keg is the Baxter Brewing Company in Lewiston. Operating out of the old Bates Mill Complex, a former textiles factory, Baxter is owned and operated by former beer-blogger Luke Livingston, an Auburn native. Growing up, Livingston never planned to be a brewer and wasn’t even sure he liked beer.
“I remember being a 6-year-old and like every 6-year-old I hated my first beer. I didn’t drink through high school and it wasn’t until college I started drinking anything,” Livingston said. “Even then, I didn’t think about opening a brewery. I still don’t even know what I think about it.”
The sentimental value of establishing a brewery in his hometown wasn’t the only factor in Livingston’s decision to settle north of the beer-metropolis in Portland.
“There are so many production breweries in Portland and it’s a crowded market,” he said. “Even though what we’re doing is different than all the others, it is another face in the crowd. In Lewiston-Auburn, which collectively has the same population as Portland, there are no production breweries. It’s very much a big fish in a small pond mentality.”
As far as impressions go, I knew I was in the right place when the beer was poured and presented to me before the introductions had even begun. The brewery operates a 30-barrel system twice daily to fill the fermentors. After a week in the fermentors, the beer is then blended together into two massive 120-barrel conditioning tanks where it ages for two weeks.
After the beer is carbonated, it has two possible fates: the keg or the can. Though Livingston didn’t admit as much, he seemed to enjoy the latter as he showed off the canning machine.
“It’s the only one in New England and newest version of its line east of Chicago,” he proudly explained.
The brews themselves are solid representatives of classic American-inspired ales. The Pamola Xtra Pale Ale has a light, gold body and pours a nice white head. The addition of North American hops adds fruity notes and the beer is extremely drinkable. Like its pale ale counter part, the Stowaway IPA combines New World hop varieties with American, including Maine-grown barley. A deeper orange than the pale ale, Stowaway has a large hop aroma of citrus followed by subtle pine notes. The body is crisp and refreshing and well balanced by a malt backbone that prevents the bombardment of hops from running away with the beer.
Great beer, it seems, can make the jump from bottles to cans. As Livingston rightfully remarks, a can is just a smaller version of the keg used to serve beer at pubs.
“When people taste how fresh our beer is on draft, even if they’re not sure about cans, they know they’ve had and like the beer,” he said. “They take the leap of faith and buy a 6-pack … and drink the beer and taste that it is as fresh from the can as it is on draft.
“Mainers support made-in-Maine products and that’s all we need, because I have faith in the quality of our liquid,” he said.
Livingston acknowledged that there still exists a stigma that canned beer just isn’t as good.
“I’m surprised that the opposition has been as minimal as it has,” he said, adding that the traditional apprehension to canned craft beer is changing quickly.
There are several advantages to canning. In an age of eco-friendly food, health products and designer clothing, the beer industry is beginning to make the leap into conservational practices. According to the brewery’s website, Baxter’s cans are made with a “minimum of 50% post-consumer recycled aluminum.” Cans also screen out ultraviolet light so that beer doesn’t become “skunked.” The feasibility of beer cans is another plus. Unlike glass, beer cans are compact and portable, allowing flavorful craft beer to expand into uncharted territories.
“Nobody is doing it in New England and [with] the environmental benefits and portability, I asked myself, ‘Why isn’t anybody doing it?’,” he said.
“Everyone still says they like beer in bottles better [than cans] but everyone says they like draft beer the best. My quip every time is, if you like draft beer better than bottled beer and draft beer comes out of a keg, what’s a keg? It’s metal, it’s a can, just a little keg. Everyone’s always like, ‘Ah, s— you’re right.’”
Your first impression of a Baxter Brewery beer may be the tinny exterior, but its draft taste is what stays with you.
A special thanks to Burby and Bates for allowing photographs of their beer.












