There’s something special about passing an afternoon gazing lazily out over an emerald field with a brew in hand. For quite some time, though, beer lovers have been left with few options at their favorite team’s ballpark.

Not anymore. In recent years, parks around the country have begun tilting their selections in favor of craft and local beers. From perennial contenders for the title of best beer selection, like Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia, Miller Park in Milwaukee, AT&T Park in San Francisco and Safeco Field in Seattle, to stadiums with up-and-coming lineups, like Citi Field in New York and Nationals Park in Washington, good beer has arrived at the ballgame. You might have to trek a bit to find it – or have access to high-end suites and club seating areas – but more often than not the beers you crave are there.

Things are hopping for farmers in the state of New York these days, because legislation has been introduced to allow those who raise hops to also brew and sell beer in the same location. The governor’s office, it seems, has noticed a 400 percent increase in the state’s acreage dedicated to hops in the past two years and is looking to create a “hop trail” to foster tourism as well as encourage the agricultural boom already under way.

Meanwhile, in Petaluma, California, the founder of Lagunitas Brewing, Tony Magee, has been tweeting that he’s about to start buying his brewer’s malt directly from farmers under contract – much like the movement he helped start by purchasing hops directly from the source instead of going through a dealer. The farmers talking with Magee will be able to count on steady prices and dedicate more land to the high quality barley needed for brewing.

In the city of San Francisco, there’s also a focus on leveraging the use of land in a manner directly related to the growth of the beer culture, although in this case it’s all about “airable” land. Beer gardens are starting to show up in what are known as stalled development sites – places that have been cleared but are still awaiting new construction as a result of the economic slowdown.

Our story begins as a beer writer – let’s call him Stephen – and his soon-to-be bride enter a tip-of-everyone’s-tongue kind of restaurant in Miami for the lady’s birthday dinner.

Refugees from the Canadian winter, they have discovered that Miami weather even in January can raise a significant thirst, and so our humble scribe is hoping, although not necessarily expecting, that he might find something interesting and refreshing on the restaurant’s beer list.

And lo and behold, he does! To Stephen’s delight and surprise, Michael’s Genuine Food & Drink, a critically applauded spot in Miami’s Design District, boasts a beer menu that marches from the pedestrian (PBR, presumably for would-be hipsters) to the interesting (Köstritzer Schwarzbier and Lakefront Organic ESB) and all the way to the altogether remarkable (Avery Maharaja and Barney Flats Oatmeal Stout). Even more astounding in a well-regarded culinary oasis such as this, the list covers a wide range of styles and tastes – from German pilsner to English bitter and Belgian Trappist – and contains something complementary to most of the restaurant’s main dishes. 

Of course, that was then and this is now. Two years and one global economic meltdown later, and what was then practically ground-breaking is today hardly worth mentioning. Yes, it took the near-complete decimation of the economy to do it, but beer is now more than ever a fixture at North American fine-dining restaurants.

Don’t come to the capital of the Czech Republic to find a Bohemian beer paradise; come to Prague because it’s one of the most beautiful cities in Europe.

Come here to see 10 centuries of perfectly preserved architecture. Or to gawk at those few beautiful locals who haven’t yet left for modeling careers in Paris. Come here to watch a production of Don Giovanni in the jewel-box Estates Theater, where Mozart himself conducted the opera’s 1787 premiere, or come here to walk on the banks of the Vltava River and stare at the spires of the St. Vitus Cathedral, soaring above the very same castle that inspired Franz Kafka. Come here for any number of reasons, but just don’t come for the beer.

Because even though Prague is the capital of the world’s greatest beer-consuming country, I’ve often said I don’t think it’s the epicenter of Bohemian beer culture. I’ve called the city home since the summer of 2000, and a couple of years ago I counted all the Czech beers you could regularly find in Prague. Unfortunately, beers from the most interesting breweries in the Czech Republic were generally not available. Instead, hundreds of pubs in Prague seemed to offer the same two or three brands, most of which were exported internationally anyway.

So where should you go instead?

Hmmmm… Should I choose this Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout, whose logo was designed by Milton Glaser, or instead go with North Coast Brewing Company’s Belgian-style abbey ale, Brother Thelonious, which sports a hand-painted portrait of its namesake jazz legend?

Of course this is far from the thought process that connoisseurs typically go through when selecting a beer, but these days one can’t help but notice how creative beer labels and packages have become. The passionate individuality of craft brewers is certainly on display when one takes a stroll down the aisles perusing the hundreds of various brands. While collectors of vintage breweriana turn their homes into mini museums, beer stores are becoming their own form of modern art galleries.

This is the season of giving, and there is nothing better than giving back to the Earth.  Lately it seems that brewers who create wholesome products from the planet’s resources are particularly committed to programs that ensure sustainability.

In late September, a group of craft brewers, journalists and allied trade members gathered for the first Brewer’s Sustainability Guild UnConference at the Great American Beer Festival in Denver.  The summit – organized by Dan Del Grande, the co-owner of Bison Brewing in Berkeley, Calif., and Dave Rochlin, the CEO of ClimatePath, a global conservation and carbon-reducing consultancy – brought this contingency together in a collaborative effort toward sustainability.  “Virtually every brewer attending had at least one initiative in progress,” Del Grande noted afterward.

Garrett Oliver, the founder and brewmaster of Brooklyn Brewery is one of the most important figures in craft beer. As Brooklyn's website entails, Oliver is known for "his elegant lectures on the history of beer and the art of brewing, his extensive knowledge of movies and literature and his two hats. He is editor-in-chief of The Oxford Companion to Beer, author of The Brewmaster’s Table and winner of the 2014 James Beard Award for Excellent Wine, Beer or Spirits Professional. He’s a world traveler, snazzy dancer and we’re starting to suspect he doesn’t sleep."  

Brooklyn’s Bridge to Brewing Glory

Late last year, following a two-week stay in Japan that included collaborating with one of the Far East’s elite breweries, Kiuchi, the makers of Hitachino Nest, there was one more stop before Garrett Oliver, the globetrotting author, instructor and Brooklyn Brewery brewmaster, headed back to his New York home. Joining forces with the celebrity chef Tom Colicchio at his upscale Craft Atlanta restaurant, Oliver helped set the stage for one of the most extravagant beer dinners the South has ever hosted.

On a balmy Saturday afternoon in early October, a convivial throng of beer connoisseurs stood three-deep at the bar at the Brick Store Pub. Many had traveled from as far away as Alabama, Tennessee and North and South Carolina to spend the day at the Atlanta beer mecca on the occasion of its inaugural Hop Harvest Festival.

Beer-geek banter filled the air, along with the pungent citrus and floral aroma of hops. The crowd shifted in waves, pressing against the burnished horseshoe-shaped bar downstairs and climbing to the more intimate confines of the Belgian bar, tucked into a cozy, loft-like space above a flight of creaky wooden stairs.

For one day only, all 25 of the pub’s taps had been turned over to big, bold I.P.A.s, including eight Belgian or Belgian-style I.P.A.s and several rare one-off casks, prompting discussions that quickly turned to a spirited assessment of favorites and worried questions about what might run out first. By midnight, people were still hanging around, but few were fully aware that another milestone in Brick Store history had been reached.

“Hop Harvest has the potential to be the biggest thing we do,” said the co-owner, Dave Blanchard. “It’s just viral the way it caught on. But that’s what’s happening now. It’s really cool how much things have changed in that way.”

 In Downingtown, Pa., however, there is no question that Pepperidge Farm bread came first – in the former bakery that now houses Victory Brewing Company, makers of the award-winning HopDevil I.P.A. and at least 30 other  popular craft beers in their current portfolio. 

He formulates the brewery’s recipes, which tend toward the strong and hoppy, gives his beers names like Undercover Investigation Shut-Down Ale and the Hairy Eyeball, and seems to delight in confounding the style police.

Magee also clearly enjoys writing the oddly philosophical, libertarian-meets-psychedelic “stories” that appear in fine print on the side panels of Lagunitas labels.

One, titled “A Parable And A Paradox,” references Kafka and admonishes: “Trust your own taste buds, they can not lie to you. Enjoy the beer you like for reasons that are yours and yours alone. Always Think Globally, Drink Locally!”

Those words are a fine guide to visiting the Lagunitas brewery, about 40 miles north of San Francisco in the town of Petaluma, Calif., where surrounding Sonoma County has become synonymous with fine wine, organic farming and artisanal foods.

Situated in a nondescript industrial park on the east side of Highway 101, the Lagunitas offices and brewery are on busy North McDowell Boulevard. But out back, cows can often be seen grazing in a pasture. And there’s a similar contrast between the hustle and bustle of beer production and the laid-back enjoyment of the fruits of that labor.