By mining Web sites, interviewing brewers and assembling rough calculations, he's produced the world's first comprehensive guide to nutritional values of beer, "Does My Butt Look Big in This Beer?" (Gambrinus Media, $10).
Besides calories, the book details the carbohydrates, alcohol by volume and Weight Watchers points of 2,000 beers from around the world.
Personally, I don't give a spit how many calories are in my beer. I drink it for purely hedonistic enjoyment; the last thing I want while draining my bottle is to glance down and see one of those nanny labels wagging its finger at me.
With that caveat, Skilnik's book is an eye-opener, especially for calorie-counters who believe all beer is created equal.
Pull a bottle of Victory Prima Pils from the fridge, and you're enjoying a hoppy, full-flavored lager for just 171 calories. Reach for Victory Golden Monkey instead, and you're looking at 281.
Care for a stout? A bottle of Guinness is just 125 calories. You could drink three of them before you reach the 400 calories in a single bottle of Bell's Expedition Stout.
Those obsessed with Weight Watchers points are going to love/hate this book. The all-sacred points are easy-to-remember, trademarked numbers that are the product of a food's calories, fat and fiber. (Daily total point intake depends on weight and range from about 20 points for women to 26 for men.)
For years, franchised diet gurus have instructed their followers that a 12-ounce serving of "regular beer" equals 3 points, as if there's no difference between a pale ale and a Belgian-style tripel.
Jean Nidetch, allow me to introduce you to Sam Calagione, the brewer at Dogfish Head whose 120 Minute IPA rings in at nine - yes, nine - points. A single bottle equals, um, lunch.