TrePA - West Norway in a Glass

Inspiration

I admit, I was buzzing a bit from the HBC when I planned my only brew for the year. Stan Hieronomous had new book called Brewing Local, about expressing a sense of place in beers, and the founders of Scratch brewery gave a lovely talk on using various tree parts in beer.

These were things I was thinking about already. Not necessarily using foraged ingredients, but ways that brewers can create styles that reflect their homes. I always ask those I interview about ways they show their nationality through beer. Few have given a satisfactory answer despite agreeing that there is an over-homogenization of beer styles in the world.

Norway has hundreds of years of brewing traditions and it's shouldn't be a surprise that many of the antique styles use forest ingredients. I called my first Norwegian homebrew En Skarp Grein (“A Sharp Stick”) which was a juniper/spruce IPA. I thought the pine notes worked well with the style, but that shouldn't be a shock.

The very night I arrived this summer, my father in-law was talking about trying to brew gruit ales and that seemed like some sort of sign. When I awoke the next day, I flipped through a book of local edible plants, cross-checked them with the glossary from Brewing Local, and headed into the forest to see what I could find. My reconnaissance yielded a plethora of options. It seems the whole hill behind my in-law's home was edible. One side was a field of blueberries (or rather bilberries as these are known in US), the other was a continuous sheet of bog myrtle. The latter I had to confirm with the family, which they did by its distinct aroma. I also found tons of juniper and lingon berry plants, though no berries were ripe yet. The spruce tips were also still young enough to be soft and non-resinous.

I'd been quite taken by tropical NEIPA's lately, having tried as many juice bombs or milk shakes or whatever people are calling them, while I was in America. I wanted something nice and drinkable that would be ready to drink quickly. I was heading back to Hungary in two short months.

For those beer lovers who've not heard of New England IPA (NEIPA), it's a style that's becoming super hip worldwide at the moment (it's been very popular for a couple years in the states). The typical American IPA is defined by a high, clean bitterness and an up-front hop aroma and flavor, usually with New World hops featuring citrus, pine, or tropical fruit flavors. It's a polarizing style and many find the extreme bitterness to be off-putting. NEIPA is still a celebration of hops, but takes the focus off bitterness, instead making the fruity qualities of hops the center point.

Hop flavor/aroma and hop bitterness are not the same thing. It is possible for a beer to be hoppy, but not bitter. The bittering compounds in the hop plant are utilized and “locked” into the beer through exposures to high temperatures, usually through a sixty minutes of boiling. In NEIPA, the hops are usually not boiled (or only a small amount gets boiled). Instead, everything is added to the wort after it begins cooling or during fermentation. The same heat that bonds the bitterness to the flavor also degrades the essential oils and aroma compounds of the hops. So in the end, you have an IPA that is less bitter and more aromatic. They are often very hazy (due to lack of filtering, the chemistry of the water, yeast strains that don't flocculate/settle well, and the insane amount of hops used). They end up having the taste and consistency of a glass of juice. It's a friendly style, easy to like.

Many people think that style lacks depth, especially in the bitterness. I didn't want to add leaves and sticks to my beer just as a gimmick (though, in a way, it was) and NEIPA is surely not the proper palate to express the lovely aromas of these plants. So instead, I wanted to use the resin notes to provide depth of bitterness to the beer and to provide some earthier notes to a very bright style. Essentially, I'd be using the forest elements instead of bittering hops, because the intense aroma of the hops would dominate. That's what bog myrtle and juniper were used for before hops became prevalent.

Excursion

This is Bergen, so I awoke on brew day to a ton of rain, yet if I ever let weather prevent me from going into the forest, I'd spend far too much time at home. I threw the collars on the in-law's dogs, grabbed a pocket knife (fine, it was a wine opener), and set off.

I noticed right away one of the first problems with brewing using seasonal ingredients. Plants are living things. The perfect spruce tips from two weeks before had darkened, become normal spruce needles. From my own experiences, once they darken, they loose their soft bitterness, the bit of sweetness and become mostly just tar-bombs. I cut the lightest ones I could fine and also a few juniper sticks that were still quite light with white, unripe berries.

The bog myrtle involved a bit of a hike. The hill behind the house had none, but the next hill over had a ton. I descended into the marshy valley and once the swamp began, so did the bog myrtle. It shouldn't have surprised me that I'd find tons of it is a place called Myrdal (bog valley). The leaves were tiny and I rubbed some between my fingers and sniffed. I could tell why it was so prized for beer making in the past. It was a bit piney and spicy, nothing like hops, but an obvious match for beer. I took a nibble and though it had a nice herbal bitterness to it, it quickly became astringent and green. Perhaps these leaves were too young and small. In my head, I remembered the leaves I'd collected earlier from the other side of the valley were much better.

Myrdal, more than just an inviting name.

So crossed to the next hill and began climbing the steep incline to the meadow of bog myrtle. No matter how many plants I found, none of them had the larger leaves I was hoping to find. I occasionally tasted more, but all had that sharp flavor. By the time I'd found plenty of large leaves, I was a good distance from home. My forage had become a hike, which is not the worst of problems, except when you have a timetable.

I'd actually never been this far along the hill before, but there was a path heading back in the right direction. Somehow, I got disoriented, found myself in a different place of the forest than I thought, even though I'd been in that very spot many times before. Once I realized my folly, I took a short cut I knew straight down a small cliff, ending up in a little pocket that received very little sunlight. There was a single spruce tree with bright yellowish green tips, shining. The lack of sunlight delayed its development. Getting lost became a blessing. I cut a large handful and tossed it in my bag.

I took the long way back, passing by my secret chantrelle spot. I wasn't expecting much in mid-July, but I was rewarded with a small patch that would go in my lunch.

On my trip, I also found a few meadow sweet flowers. I wasn't 100% sure I was correct, but they had a lovely aroma that would taste great in malty styles or mead (the Norwegian name is Mjødurt or Mead-herb). In the next couple weeks, the flowers had taken over most of the swampy meadows of the area. I figured I'd make another beer with it, but sadly, by the time I was able to do another batch, the bloom had ended. Maybe next year I'll try something with it.

Execution

(This is a detailed description of my brewing technique, which will be covered again in the recipe. If you are not interested in brewing, just the effects of these plants on the flavor of the beer, feel free to skip this part.)

It's usually not wise to try too many new things at the same time, but I'm clearly a bit more relaxed about operating in uncertainty than many. I had a new style of beer with a whole new process, using an ingredient I'd never used before (and wasn't well-covered online), plus, I was brewing on my father-in-law's Grainfather brewing machine for the first time.

None of this proved to be an issue. The machine is easy to use, just input your recipe with temperatures and time, and it does the rest, using pump-recircuclation to keep it all going.

My grist was 95% Maris Otter and 5% Munich malt. There was meant to be some oats in there, but I forgot to add it to the mash. I really love the malty backbone Maris Otter gives and just a bit of nutty richness from the Munich Malt. Recently, I've been reading articles about using shorter mash times, with little sacrifice in conversion rates. So I only mashed for 45 minutes. I used a thin mash (the machine demanded I add 19L, making it a 3.6L/kg) at 65C. After a 75C mashout for 10 minutes, I fly sparged with 15L of water.

I threw no hops at all into the boil, instead, I used the forest plants as the primary bittering agents. It is never wise to throw any unknown ingredient into the boil. Randy Mosher always recommended making either teas or tinctures from vodka. I went the tea route, soaking my stick and leaves for in 90C water for 20 minutes. I tasted the mixture and it didn't have any astringent flavors, just a nice gentle piney taste. It was added to the boil for 20 minutes to kill any natural yeasts of bacteria. If my goal was aroma instead of flavor, I would have tossed it in at the very end, to try to preserve some of the more volatile aroma compounds.

After a 90 minute boil, I cooled the wort to 80C and held my hop mixture (Azacca, Mosaic, and Kohatu) in a whirlpool for 30 minutes. Based on some calculations I found on brewersfriend.com, this still added about 60IBU to the beer. I then quickly cooled the wort to 18C and added two packets of WLP007-Dry English Ale (I had no time to make a starter.), my go-to yeast.

It's been a cool summer and the fermentation went slowly. After two days, the temperature of the fermentation had dropped to 15C, so I moved it to a warmer room. After this, a nice, green krausen formed after two days. I was worried of a potential mold infestation, but it had a pleasant hoppy smell, so I figured it was just hop material floating on the surface. On the fourth day of fermentation, the beer was fermenting at 20C and I added 50g of my hop mixture (equal amounts of each). I added another two days later. On the 13^th day, I did my final 50g dry hop addition, the bottled two days later. (It was a very slow fermentation.)

Recipe

TrePA

5kg Maris Otter (95.2%)

250g Muich Light (4.8%)

19L mash at 65C (3.6 L/kg) 45min

Mashout at 75C for 10min

Sparge with 15L water at 70C

Made herb tea:

10g Spruce tips picked fresh from the forest

20g Juniper branch with some berries

5g Sweet Gale/Bog Myrtle

Steeped for 20 min at 90C

Added to boil with 20 minutes remaining

90 minute boil

Cooled temperature to 82C – Held at 80C for 30 min

50g Azacca (12.5% AA)

50g Kohatu (6.8% AA)

50g Mosaic (12.5% AA)

IBU 60 (predicted)

Cooled to 18C. Pitched 2 packets of WLP007 – Dry English Ale

Three Dry-hop additions at 4 days, 6 days, and 13 days:

16.66g Azacca

16.66g Kohatu

16.66g Mosaic

OG 1.055

FG at bottling 1.011

ABV 5.78%

Bottle carbonated at 2.2 volumes of CO2

Ingestion

The beer was ready to drink after a week. It poured an hazy orange and tan color with a lasting head. Some bottles had floating hop bits in the head (300g of hops is a ton!)

The aroma was tropical fruits up-front as to be expected with noticeable pineapple, passion fruit, and even some of the bog myrtle. It had some touches of malt buried underneath it all, but not enough to be really noticeable. As it warms, the tropical tones fade, leaving a clear forest aroma, a bit green. The bog myrtle came out the strongest, despite there being so little of it. I didn't get much juniper in the aroma at all.

The body isn't very creamy, but not thin either. I don't think it can be thick enough to be called a New England IPA. The flavor is very smooth in the start with a bit of sweetness mixed in with the tropical fruits. It finishes dry and resiny, a bit too green in the end. I've founds some variation from bottle to bottle, but a few of the bottles finish a bit dry and resiny. As it warms, the character of the British yeast comes through more. One interesting thing about it is that it does have some earthy British hops flavors, but it could just be the British yeast interacting with the hops. I like the way the resins and richness of the Maris Otter play together in the end. It's pleasant and complex for its strength. The forest elements turned out to be more than just a gimmick addition. I feel they improved the beer and gave it a unique and pleasant character.

In future experimentation with these ingredients, I'd like to find a way to get the aroma and bitterness of bog myrtle without the sharp green notes, the same ones that worried me when I first nibbled the plant. I think that using spruce and juniper can give interesting contributions in flavor, but it needs be done with a light hand. A little can go a long way. I'm glad that I didn't add the oatmeal in the end. I feel it would have impacted the freshness of the beer, made it too heavy.

I think it's obvious that beer is secondary to the view.

I must say there is a special experience of tasting a beer that you not only brewed or designed, but foraged the ingredients to make. With every sip, I can smell the trees, see the land. There is a specific time and place connected to it. You can't buy that from the store.

Musings from the National Hombrewers' Conference 2017

Due to a combination of an employment opportunity and visa issues, I decided on a sudden visit to the United States to see friends and family. It was serendipitous, as the National Homebrewer's Convention was being held in my old brewing grounds of Minnesota.

Honestly, I was reluctant to go. The price was high and with only six days in Minneapolis to visit my friends, it's a bit of douche-move to dedicate half of it to strangers and beer. It was my beer-hating wife that pushed me go, her and Jamil Zanishef.

Him and I don't really know each other, of course, but during his podcast, he went off on a ten minute rant about the joys of the HBC, extolling it above every other festival and convention ever, as if he was being paid by the word. So, AHA, I'd say it was an investment well paid.

First Impressions

I walked in, grabbed my badge and glass, then hit the expo. First thing I saw was an assortment of hop bins. I sniffed my way through aromas ranging from flowers to pineapple, onions, and even one that smelled like oranges mixed with ice cream. I was offered a single hop sample and I stared at the wall of choices for about three years before finally picking something I'd never heard of.

I walked around tasting malts, reading brochures, and collecting business cards I had no intention of using. We were offered a large tote bag, where I indiscriminately tossed materials for later disposal. (I don't live in the US, so most of the products were irrelevant to me.) It seemed like any other convention expo, until I looked around and noticed that nobody browsed without an empty glass and every booth offered an intoxicating sample.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't planning on a teetotaler's weekend, but the name is Homebrewers Con. It's a hobby dedicated to making something. I though the focus would be more technical, more scientific, more ingredient focused. There were a variety of seminars focusing on history, pH levels and its effect on brewing, hopping rates, and water composition. Yet, what I found was an orgy of beer.

Like this hop? Indeed Brewing at booth 32 has it in one of their beers. Ever wondered how yeast selection effects flavor? White Labs has a horizontal tasting of IPAs using Bavarian Hefeweissen yeast, 001, and a lager strain. Did you miss the Surly Darkness release last year? I know it's 10AM, but their serving it on tap at the bar.

My first hours were spent juggling my glass between taking notes and shaking hands. This is where experience and observation comes in handy. A large number had strung their badge lanyards through a can cozy, which became a glass holder (homebrew engineering at its finest). It became immediately clear why so many companies were handing out their own logoed cozies: to allow conventioners to pledge allegiance to their favorite purveyors. I chose White Labs on account of my last name, quality products (go Pure Pitch!), and that Chris White was so damned nice.

Me and my long lost uncle Chris. He breeds yeast for a living.

Everyone is so damned nice

The hardest part about making friends is finding common ground. Throw 3000 people, all with a shared hobby into a room, mix it free pours of beer and mead, and one is bound to make a friend or two. My primary regret was my shyness, especially since it was clear everyone, even the pillars of the industry were so approachable.

I'd left my brewing books in Europe, so I had nothing to get signed (though I couldn't resist buying a couple more at the convention shop). Still, I went up to tell both Chris and Jamil (Everyone's on a first name basis at HBC, except for Dr. McGovern, who was always given full title, despite imploring that people use his first name.) how much I respected their work. Both gave me a lot of time despite the lines. I posed for a couple nerdy selfies that meant nothing to most of my friends and family.

This is among the nerdiest selfies ever, but you know, there's Jamil.

I met tons of cool people. Luis from Colombia (but lives in DC), who is trying to spread proper brew practices to South America (and runs a nice looking blog, I can't attest for the quality of the information, as I don't speak Spanish: https://www.cerveza-artesanal.co). Debbie from Austin who shared a love for karaoke (Friday's karaoke stage was a great icebreaker, as many people started pointing me out as the guy that sang “Bohemian Rhapsody).

I had a long conversation with Fred Bonjour, which led to one of the highlights of the whole conference. In the middle of long rant about all the “rules” he loved to break and why, he stopped and pointed to a group of people. “See that over there? You can see three of the greatest brewers and meadmakers in the world, right there.”

I looked over and didn't recognize everyone, but one stood out. I smiled.

“You saw Randy over there?”

I nodded.

“Well, the best part is, you can just go right up and talk to him.” He turned and looked me in the eye. “You can go right up and talk to him.”

“He's in the middle of a conversation,” I said. “I'll wait until he's done.”

“That's Randy Mosher. He'll always be in the middle of a conversation.”

I'm guessing if you're reading a beer blog, you know who that is. However, if you're a friend, kin, or random reader, Randy Mosher is one of the most important people in the history of modern homebrewing. In addition to his constant advocacy efforts to the hobby, his numerous books have had a huge influence in the field, including Tasting Beer, the seminal book on sensory evaluation and enjoyment of beer, and Radical Brewing, a wacky trip through all the crazy beers from the past and now, and how to make them. Both books are use-worn bibles for me. I was a bit star struck.

“Come on Aaron. We're going to meet Randy.”

He introduced us and I fell into a great conversation on the Mexican, Hungarian, and Norwegian craft scenes, among other things. It was special to be given twenty minutes with such a well-respected, knowledgeable brewer and scholar.

It is a fantastic place to network. I left with some business cards I could actually use. I met brewers, suppliers, historians, bloggers, and journalists. I didn't take advantage of this as much as I should have, though I didn't attend the conference for networking. Had I been a real journalist, I could have made more of the situation, though nobody really wants to be that guy. I did get some great tips on how to get started with a book idea I had from Stan Hieronomous (name dropping again).

Education

I can't say I loved every seminar. They ranged from unprofessional to revelatory. Most were OK. The worst part was trying to choose between so many options. There was one time slot that had five I wanted to see. Since all are available online, I aimed for the ones with a sensory element, but I chose incorrectly most of the time. (Seriously, historical presenters, why would you not whip up some crazy old world beer styles for us to try?)

The best way to learn was by talking to the vendors and beer markers at the festival. There were over 3000 of them. Taste something you like? Chances are the brewer will tell you the process. I could have learned much more if it wasn't for all the beer.

Beer

I mentioned this above, but the HBC is a constant assault of beer. Sure, one can say no, but when else can somebody get the chance to try chicken beer or waffle beer or chicken and waffle beer? (note: one does not actually need to try these things)

The daytime was a bit tamer, though most had their glasses full constantly. Nearly every vendor had a sample for their products. The exhibition room had plenty of great breweries offering special releases. The social club in the middle always had at least two homebrewer clubs showing off their stuff.

Then to the seminars. These were mostly safe, until you unwisely choose a mead panel discussion with six of the world's greatest meadmakers, all armed with jugs of their creations at 10:30 AM. That was a popular seminar.

At night were the social events. The first day was the kickoff party, which was a mini beer festival with a wide variety of local and out-of-state breweries. I though the Minnesota scene was centered in the Northeast part of Minneapolis, but nearly every suburb had a brewery represented. Not all were great, but there were some surprises. As a former Minnesotan who lives abroad, it was a great way to catch up with what I'd been missing these last few years.

Night two ended with what Jamil hailed as the best part of the convention. I saw Club Night as a toss-off event (heck, I was under the impression I'd have share homebrew to participate). My focus was on seminars and meeting people. I even considered skipping it. I'm glad I didn't. Club Night was, hands-down, the best part of the convention.

Commercial brewers are usually confined by market constraints and trends (this is loosening up a lot as the craft is becoming more made up of flavor-junkies in a constant search for something new), but homebrewers are untethered, limited by only their skill and imagination. Club Night was a celebration of this freedom. Every style one could imagine was represented, not to mention tons of great mead. The quality of the beer was a overall very inconsistent. I tasted some great beers (loved Covfefe Hefeweissen, fruity balanced, and funny.), many unremarkable, and thankfully no terrible beer (however, the aforementioned chicken beer was a bit hard to get down.)

Nobody dared tell fake-Walter that he was out of his element with that phone.

What shined more than the beer was the general atmosphere of the event. It seemed everyone looked forward to this day. Most clubs had a special theme, complete with costumes and a specially designed booth, like a parade float, only fun. There were doctors in a clinic, scientist in a lab, The Simpsons, Game of Thrones with the wall of taps made of ice, Big Lebowski characters, and my favorite, a booth that was a replica of Wayne's basement. The most popular booth was Midwest Mead Masters drawing lines for the entirety of the night (but when you consider how many Meadmakers of the Year are in that club, it's shouldn't be surprising)

They had to force us out of the place at eleven. I heard rumors that many went bowling afterwards. Either way, the next morning, most wandered around with sunglasses and coffee cups.

“We're looking down on Wayne's basement, only that's not Wayne's basement. Isn't it weird?”

Last Day

The conference ended with the “Knockout Party,” which disappointed many, as past conventions had a multi-course beer dinner instead. There were prizes and lots of last minute socializing. The medal winners marched through the crowd in a long parade, some armed with their award-winning beers. The leftover bottles from the final round were being poured for us, mainly to dispose of the beer in the most humane way possible. They had no labels, only their BJCP codes. I got to play a game of guessing the style and also got to sample the standards for the competition.

When they finally announced the end of the event, I was left with a feeling I hadn't had in long time. It was that same feeling after a week of Boy Scout camp or an all-night slumber party. I was exhausted, glad I could finally get some good sleep, still glowing from all the fun I had, but at the same time, devastated that it was over. There was the added sadness that it might be my only HBC (unless they decide to go international). I don't think I was the only one feeling like we were seeing the end of something big.

I doubt homebrewing is a hobby that is going to die anytime soon. As beer interest increases, so will the production and availability of ingredients. Yet, craft brewing is something altogether different. According the Brewer's Association, the United States has over 5,000 breweries, the vast majority are small independent, regional businesses. Still, these 5,000+ breweries only control 20% of the market (which is the grand scheme of things, is an insanely large amount). The market itself didn't grow at all; it's just a shift of preferences. As the craft sector eats away at the profits of the large corporations, the bigger guys are getting worried. Their current strategy is to buy up top craft brands. Lagunitas, Goose Island, and just before the convention, the much-beloved Wicked Weed were all purchased by large brewers.

I'm probably a bit more conservative than many. I don't see these developments as all bad. Here in Norway, top craft brand Nøgne Ø was purchased by Hansa-Borg, one of the largest beer companies in the country, and they only got better. With more money and security, they've started to produce a line of incredible experimental beers, and I imagine that these sell-outs will likely do the same. Plus, they'll be able to get more great beer to the average beer drinker, at a price they can afford (I do think sticker shock is a big reason craft isn't more popular).

If this remains a relatively isolated development, then we have no reason to worry, but the second the number of brands in the hands of InBev increases, the smaller businesses that held strong to their independent spirit will suffer, as the top quality malts and hops get bought out. Plus, as these businesses consolidate, so can the production. Craft brewing is inefficient, but it also creates jobs. The HBC is filled with people who aspire to be brewers some day. These purchases of independent breweries are not just an abstract threat the idea of local-produced, high-quality products, but a threat the dreams of many. It's not a simple issue.

Mass market beer isn't just buying breweries. In October 2016, InBev purchased a minority holding of Ratebeer, an online beer judging site. Many have abandoned the service (myself included), because a beer production company owning a service that rates the quality of beer cannot be seen as anything but a conflict of interest. Just days before the conference, InBev had also purchased Northern Brewer, one of the US's largest homebrew supply stores, pushing many to boycott their booth and products. Now that they are moving into homebrewing, it is frightening to piece together their endgame. And these acquisitions were a common point of conversation for the weekend. Omar Ansari even it in his keynote speech.

It's understandable that people went through the conference feeling like the empire had invaded and we were standing at the top of a pinnacle, a special moment in time when it seemed like the little guy might actually find a way to win. Yet, like all grassroots movements, they eventually get eaten by greed. That weekend, it was clear that we were, in the words of Hunter S. Thomson, looking at a high watermark, the place where the wave finally broke, and rolled back.

The importance of tasting notes

Even though my methodology for tasting notes is in constant flux, I never waver on their importance. I find it weird when people don't write them, whether on paper or in their heads. Granted, I'm guessing most people would rather concentrate on just drinking the beer, but I find that taking notes enhances the experience.

For many years, Dead Guy Ale was my favorite beer. It has a big hoppy bite, so I always considered it an IPA. Since I'd never taken the moment to taste it and write what I thought, I was fixated on the hoppiness of the beer. I was missing so much of the picture. The beer is not an IPA, but a “Maibock” (John Maier interpreted the style loosely). I tasted it again recently and noticed that the defining feature was not even the hops, but the big malty aromas and caramel notes throughout. I was tasting a completely different beer! How many people did I mislead by calling it hoppy, by saying it's a great IPA? Had I taken the time to stop, taste, think, and write, I'd have seen my folly. (In my defense, when I had first encountered the beer in 2006, American IPA's had much more crystal malt and moderate hopping rate than the current dry-bitter bombs a lot of breweries and churning out now.)

I suppose when the number of beer options was limited, the finite differences between a Silver bullet and a Bud Lite were unimportant. You either liked one or the other, and would argue passionately about the one you preferred. Now the choices are staggering. Even if one were to drink a few different beers every day, they still wouldn't be able to even try a portion of the new beers and styles being released that year! It is becoming akin to wine, with the countless varieties of grapes, regions, and production methods, orientating oneself is getting harder and harder.

I don't write tasting notes for wines unless I'm at a tasting event, and I rarely do anything with the notes I do take. Thus—and this even happened to me today—when presented with a wine, even though I know I've tasted it before, I often can't offer a word about it, not even to say if I liked it or not. Sometimes I'm impressed with myself if I can even remember that name. I admit to buying a wine I didn't like multiple times, just because I wasn't sure if I'd tried it before.

My guess is that the average person's behavior is closer to mine when it comes to wine. Simply put, the most important goal of tasting notes is to improve your memory.

I'm much more methodical with beer. I take the time write out detailed notes (and more on what I mean by “detailed” later), but also type them up on www.ratebeer.com. I now have a pretty decent idea of what I've tried and generally what it tastes like, which is probably the bare minimum commitment a beer sommelier must make. I taste at least three new beers a week (and when I say “taste” I mean, I sit in a quiet room with a proper glass and a notebook.). I will often try new beers with friends, but I find that if I don't spend that quality time, it all fades away. For those that get the proper attention, just one look at my notes can conjure the flavor.

Non-professionals often overlook the importance of notes, or even look down upon the practice as snobbish, claiming it's a bunch of BS to be smelling for anything more than beer in their beer. I do admit that is can seem a bit pretentious to swirl a beer in a glass and take a few sniffs, hold it against the light to see the color, before swishing it a bit around the mouth, taking a few minutes before even the first swallow. Most people don't need this level of detail, but a bit of contemplation can improve the experience. And when you write it down, you begin to see trends, start to map out your own preferences so you can more wisely purchase beers. Even if you are only writing down “super hoppy”, “sweet”, or “aromas of pineapple, lychee, and sugar cookies”, you are interacting with your beer and helping the future you understand preferences.

I admit that even I find the excessive details of some tasting notes to be insane. After about 10 different modifiers for a beer's smell, they seem like they could be describing anything. Granted, there are some beers that do really evolve over time, releasing new aromas every few minutes. This is a mark of a special beer, but even an amazing beer doesn't need to be so complex. When I stumble upon something impressive, I get excited, go back to my notebook every sip. If my notes for multiple beers are identical, it usually is a sign of mediocrity (or lazy notes).

In my beer sommelier class, we were trained to taste beers using a set structure:

Color of the beer:

Clarity: Clear, hazy, or cloudy/sedimentary

Level of carbonation: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Smell (swirl, take small sniffs, then take a big sniff from deep in the glass)

Obvious failures or infections?

Intensity: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Malt: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Yeast: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Hops: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

General aromatic qualities: (fruity, floral, piney, vegetal, etc.)

Specific aromas: (apples, seashore, hog barn, the smell of your wool jacket after walking through the forest in the rain,etc.)¹

Taste (take a sip, let it sit on the tongue for a moment, being sure it coats your whole mouth. Swishing is unnecessary. Swallow, then breathe out your nose.)

Sweetness: Dry – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – Sweet

Acidity: Not Sour – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – Intensely Sour

Bitterness: Not bitter – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – Very bitter.

Malt: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Yeast: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Hops: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Taste concentration: Low – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – High

Length of aftertaste: Short – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – Long

Body: Thin – 2 – 3 – 4 - 5 – 6 – Thick

Level of alcohol:

Flavor additions:

General gustatory qualities:

Specific descriptors:

Now, to complete this precise form, one needs at least three or four minutes. This is not practical in most social situations²

The other drawback is that this type of analysis is, frankly, a bit boring and doesn't mimic the experience of tasting something. My biggest issues is that it robs the taster of the pleasure of just drinking the beer, which is the point.

After my course, I ditched this method and started writing impressions, the most evident features and descriptors of the beer, making sure I say something about the look, smell, taste, and body of everything. Here's some examples plucked from my ratebeer:

Nøgne Ø #100

Dark brown, medium carbonation, though it took some coaxing to get the head going. Once it settled, the head lasted a long time. Lots of alcohol up front in the aroma, fruity yeast, dark malts, but with little roasted aromas, some non-dominating herbal hops. Syrupy body. Very sweet start, huge bitter hit in the middle, like the bitter, herb liquors (unicum, underberg) fades to some caramel, then finishing with a not-overbearing bitterness. Lots of phenols and herbal hops. Has notes of cough syrup, medicine, dried fruits, caramel, licorice. Full bodied. Was really good beer to sip, especially when it is a bit warm.

Rodenbach Vintage 2014

Copper color. Medium carbonation. Complex aromas of caramel, light figs, almonds, vanilla. Very balanced flavor of cherries, vanilla, caramel, touch of vinegar with a lovely tart finish. This has almost no hard edges to it. It is smooth and elegant. It is lovely in the mouth, but after every swallow, I get a bit weak, sends me shivers. This is a fantastic beer! One the best I've ever had.

This style is short, to the point and gives a general impression of what the beer tastes like, but is this enough information? For any casual use, yes. This gives me enough context that I can look back and remember the beer. 

But what do you get out of it? Does this help you in any way know what beer you're going to have? There was a time when I was looking at gose styles (a salted, coriander-spiced, wheat sour beer). I read my description for one on ratebeer, but there was little to separate it from others of the same style. After consulting my written notes, where I did the whole tasting form, I was easily able to get a clear picture of how that beer differentiated from other similar ones.

Take the Nøgne Ø #100. It is listed as a barely wine, Kjetil Jikuin said he meant it as an double IPA. From my description, if not for the hops, could describe a Dark Strong Belgian. These are three very different styles of beer. The hop varieties are mostly American-style, which are usually described as citrusy, not herbal. A lot of others on rate beer said it was grassy or floral. If we took a handful of these descriptions and brewed beers based on what people say, you'd get a wide range of different beers. So then, what is the point of even posting these online?

For me, it's to catalog what I've tasted in an easy to search format. Yet, even in my own notes, I find discrepancies. I've gone back to revalue or describe beers, only to find that an entirely different person wrote these notes! Beers I've disliked are suddenly amazing. Given this high level of subjectivity (both personal and time-influenced), the advantages of the quantitative method becomes more evident, a chance to objectify this.

Some writers embrace the personal nature of describing sense, and choose to tell a story instead. In his book The Brewmaster's Table by Garret Oliver mixes his tasting notes with context, describing those perfect quiet moments: sipping a best bitter while staring out at Britain's southern coast, cleaning out a Vietnamese restaurant of their unlikely collection of Saison Dupont, or his heated cheese-pairing battle versus a well-regarded wine sommelier. Not that he shies from more typical tasting notes. But this focus on the personal experience of drinking beer helps turn what is basically a book full of tasting notes into a highly readable, essential part of any beer lover's shelf.

So, my dilemma is clear. I'm a beer sommelier, so I need to collect a catalog of clear and specific tasting notes so I can decide on the best beers to go with food. Yet, I'm also a beer lover and I want to enjoy my beer, not spend 30 minutes sniffing and swirling. And as a writer, I would love to tell you embellished stories of a beer I loved.³ One has to look at the situation and choose what works best for them. Despite the issues I addressed above, don't forego tasting notes altogether. You'll thank yourself later.

1-I have had many debates over whether these ultra-specific smells actually communicate anything to anyone but the writer. A great example of this is from the documentary, Somm http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2204371/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

One of the candidates described a wine as having the aroma of a freshly opened can of tennis balls. Anyone who has ever played tennis, would get a very clear image and memory from this smell. However, is it accessible to an average person? Have enough people opened tennis balls for this to mean something? Why can't he just say it smells like rubber? I think most people who do know the smell would say that, no rubber isn't good enough. This opens up lots of questions, mainly the subjective vs. objective dialogue, or simply, who does one write their notes for? Ultimately, a sommelier's job is to sell something, otherwise the proper title would be “snob” or “drunk”. If a description means nothing to anybody but the describer, is it a good description? Or is it best to have a high level of specificity, so those who do understand can get a richer understand of what they might be buying? They can always been toned down if a connection is missing. The other curve ball is that we all have different receptors for smells and tastes. To some, coriander leaves are fresh and delicious, to others, it tastes like soap. There are some jerks out there who can eat asparagus without being punished by the smell of their own urine. Tasting and smelling is always subjective, not just from preferences, but from the chemicals that our bodies can sense. For example, I can barely detect the smell of saaz hops, one of the reasons I am not a fan of pilsner.

2-Unless your social excursion is a tasting! Don't overlook the fun of this. Granted, I have multiple sommelier/snob friends, so having an organized tasting is not such an odd idea. If you really want to learn about beers. Go with a group of friends to the liquor store, pick a theme and have everybody buy a few. Elect a taste master (one who sets up the line up and keeps track of what everyone is drinking) and taste it all blind. You'll be surprised by what you learn. Some of your favorites might turn out to be poor, and something you don't like may be better once you eliminate the bias of knowing what you drink. Also, you begin to realize that differentiating styles is much harder than one would think.

3 -Ha! I bet you thought I was going to tell a story here. To be honest, I did too, then changed my mind.

Tasting beer in 4 easy steps

We are living in a transitional era of beer. The popularity of beer is at one of its highest levels in over 100 years (we still haven't bounced back to the peaks of the 1800's, when beer was so popular, an exploding vat of beer was so big, it drowned eight people in the streets of London), yet people still don't know how to taste their beer. For one, even in the United States, where the craft movement has become a juggernaut, it still only controls 11% of the market (I use the word “only” lightly. This is a monumental achievement.) That means that still 89% of all beer sold is "MacBeer". The craft movement is incredible, but many people are just jumping on this wagon as a trend and could jump off in favor of craft gin or aquavit just as quickly.

Even as people seem to be valuing the flavor of beer more, we are still stuck in the same bad habits from the days when most beer didn't taste very good. We are much better at drinking good beer, but still not at tasting it. Few give it the same type of respect and attention they give wine. Rarely do you see people drinking wine straight from the bottle or out of pint glasses filled to the brim. Even the most terrible of wines gets the courtesy of wine glass. Brewers give just as much attention to process as winemakers (some may even argue they give more, as they are focused on producing a consistent product. Could you imagine the uproar if your favorite brewery made a worse beer this year because of seasonal variations?), so why is it you rarely see a hipster contemplate over the fine brew they have in their hand?

My own opinion is that we'd been living in a world of such bad beer for so long, the industry has just gotten used to suppressing the flavor as much as possible. Not all is lost though. You, yes, YOU can help point our culture in the right direction. The first step is actually learning how to taste beer.

Um, sorry you SNOB, but um, what do you think I do every time I drink something? I have a tongue.

Oh, not you again. I'd hoped you'd been abandoned for a more creative technique. But to answer your question, there is a difference between drinking something and tasting something. Think about your own habit of consumption. When you take a sip of water, do you hold it in your mouth and think about it? How does this differ from when you drink wine? Or what about tequila? I'd like to argue that most people try to avoid tasting many of the things we consume. Beer is no different. Most people view beer as a buzz-conveyance, much as we view water as a hydration-conveyance. This is the first step to tasting anything. Anything you eat or drink should be a flavor-conveyance. When you have so many options for food and drink, why would one ever choose something that doesn't taste good? Sure, tasty things cost more, but that's why there's a concept called moderation.

Step one: whenever you consume something, take one moment and think, does this taste good?

Whenever I go to a nice pub, I am always dumbfounded by way beer is served. If they have taken the time to invest in 100 taps, why can they not invest in a glass that actually encourages proper tasting? The standard glass seems to be the pint-sized shaker glass. You know the type, they are v-shaped, usually with a brand logo printed on the side, then beer is filled to the rim, allowing no chance for any aromatics to come through until you've finished nearly half the beer (by this point, most of the best aromas have dissipated.) Even worse are those who serve it straight from a bottle or a can, which give no aromatics whatsoever. (However, a new, interesting trend has emerged. Many new beer cans have an opening, where the whole top comes off, leaving behind a slightly-tapered cup to drink from.

If you go to a fancy beer pub, you'll see any number of fancy glasses. It seems that every single beer in Belgium has its own special glass. The brewers will claim that they engineered the glass to perfectly enhance the experience of drinking that particular beer. It need not be that complicated. Yes, it is best to drink a hefeweissen from one of those foot-tall glasses that leaves plenty of room for the huge fluffy head, yet still give a chance to concentrate the aromatics at the nose, but you don't need it. A good beer glass should have a stem, so the beer stays at a constant temperature, a tapered nose to concentrate aromas, and big enough to leave room to swirl. I think you have one of these already in your cupboard.

Step 2: Use a proper glass

You keep talking about the aromatics, but last time I checked, my tongue is in my mouth, not my nose.

I'm glad you brought this up actually. Our tongue is actually a crude sensory organ. Scientists have yet to identify only five basic flavors: sweet, sour, bitter, salty, and umami (this is not including tongues ability to pick up on other arguable non-tastes: minty coolness, chili's spiciness, clove's numbness, red wine's tannins, and fat's creaminess). Now, these flavors can combine together in many complex ways to produce what we call taste, but the real work horse is our nose. Our olfactory sense can identify hundreds of chemical compounds. Ask anybody who doesn't have a sense of smell, they are missing a lot!

I find that the aroma is often one of the best parts of beer. Some beers smell like a bowl of fruit salad (for example, the amazing Garagista by Garage Project http://www.ratebeer.com/beer/garage-project-garagista-ipa/286255/), coffee, chocolate, caramel, fresh baked bread, a pine forest, a sweaty horse. Some beers smell amazing, but taste very lackluster and some the opposite. Ultimately, if you don't smell your beer, you are missing more than half the fun.

One little trick is to smell your beer when tasting it (yes, this is possible) and thus open up a whole world of flavor possibilities. When you take a sip, breath out your nose immediately afterwards. You'll get both the taste and the aromatics at the same time.

Step 3: Smell your beer

So, you've smelled your beer, you've tasted your beer from a proper glass, and you've given it some thought. Congratualtions, you are officially tasting. If you follow these steps, you might find that beers you once thought are good, are no longer are great as you thought. Don't worry, it happens to everybody. The final step is to write something down and evaluate. Get ratebeer, beer advocate, or untappd for your phone. Log what you've had and look for trends. Maybe you'll find that IPA isn't your favorite style. Maybe you'll learn that your favorite hop is Mosaic. You can then use this information to pinpoint exactly what you like and that can help you buy the beers you prefer (I'll resist the urge to go in depth on tasting notes. I'm a currently writing a whole entry on tasting notes.)

Step 4: Take notes

It's all very simple. With these four steps, anybody can learn a new appreciation for beer. Now go get a real glass and start tasting!

https://www.brewersassociation.org/press-releases/craft-brewer-volume-share-of-u-s-beer-market-reaches-double-digits-in-2014/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taste

(sorry for the wiki reference, but I don't have time to do intense amounts of research)

Quirky yeasts at a fine feast: A review of Marg og Bein's Beer Maker's Dinner (2. February 2016)

 

I'd been to Marg og Bein (Bergen, Norway) one time before with my wife and David, and though we'd all enjoyed the food and their reasonable prices, we were in no rush to return. We saw potential in the place, but it seemed too slack on those little things that differentiate good from great restaurants. It is clearly a food-driven business. In particular, their barren wine list and having our food served on cold plates (all but assuring our food was lukewarm within a minute) turned us off.

I had been giving thought lately of a return visit (the food was some of the best in town, with cheap prices) and when I learned that they were planning a collaborative Beer Maker's Dinner with South Britain's Wild Beer, it was clear this was my chance. Also, the only other Bergenite in my beer sommelier course worked for the restaurant, so I figured he'd had a hand in it.

We sat down on one of two long tables (these events are usually set up like this to encourage discussion.) and the first thing I noticed was that the forks and knives were set on the wrong sides. I immediately became worried that this would be another flawed experience.

We were served as an aperitif, Sourdough, a barrel-fermented sour beer, brewed from a 60-year old sourdough culture from a bakery close to Wild Beer's farm. It was hazy yellow and had an intense, funky, highly sulfuric aroma. It wasn't welcoming, but thankfully, the beer tasted much better than it smelled. It was medium-bodied and refreshing, with a striking tartness up front, but remained balanced, supported by a touch of sweetness and woodiness in the finish.

I was getting hungry and when the first starter finally arrived, I had to force myself to not devour it immediately. It was hot-smoked eel served atop apple remoulade with picked beets. It was well composed; the remoulade offering just the right amount of creaminess and acidity to smooth out the fishiness of the eel. It was paired with Zintuki, a blend of their famous Ninkasi saison and a sour beer fermented from apple skin yeasts. It was hazy, light-gold and had a lovely aroma of barn, apples, and some fruit esters. It was a round-feeling beer with a rich mouthfeel. It was dry, but balanced, with a hint of acidity and a champagne-like spritziness. It was a great pairing. The beer was lifted from being merely good to fantastic. The salty smoked flavor of the eel brought out the fruitier characteristics of the beer, while the beer's acidity cut through the remoulade's creaminess. Not to mention the harmonization of the apple flavors in both. The pickled beets were the only misstep, as they overpowered the beer a bit.

With the next course, we were served Winter Blend 2015, which was a crazy mix of 24 different barrel-aged beers. It was served ice-cold, which was a major killer of what could have been an aromatic bomb. Still, a whiff of lactobacillus yogurt smells, some forest berries, and funky, barn-like brett came through in this dirty, mud-like beer. It was sour in every imaginable level, having the acer-bacteria influenced vinegar-flavors of a Flemish sour, the bright tartness of a Berliner weiss, and the intense, mouth-imploding sourness of a lambic. It was a punch in the face, both bright and deep. It felt dry, even on the front of the tongue, but opened to reveal a good dose of malt to hold it all up. I'm not sure if I liked it, but I'll still buy a bottle to cellar for a couple years, see how the brett will develop in it.

Such a intense beer seemed an odd choice for a second course pairing, especially beside the dish, which was deer tartar with pickled shallot, horseradish, marinated oysters, and instead of the classic egg yolk, bright yellow roe of a small, fresh-water fish (called løyrom in Norwegian). It was delicious. The roe gave the right type of saltiness to brighten the otherwise deep, rich flavors of the deer. The shallot provided the needed acidity.

The pairing was acceptable, yet somehow the food balanced the acidity of the beer too much, killing the more interesting nuances. And when mixed with the shallots, it brought out a strong, lingering aftertaste of sulfur.

As good as the starters were, we had our sights on the main: confit pork cheek with gravet bacon, baked leek, a slightly sweet parsnip puree, all swimming in a knee-weakening pork jous. It was so delicious, I forgot all about the beer, which is one of my favorites. Ninkasi is a saison, brewed with apple juice, wild yeasts, and bottle conditioned with champagne-yeast. It has a hazy, bright-orange color. The apples are clear in the nose, as well some bubble-gum-like esters and some biscuit-like malts. It is a very yeast-driven beer with very little hop aroma. It tastes rich and complex. Spicy and dry with just the right level of bitterness and acidity. It is a smooth beer with a perfect balance. The pairing seemed to work, but I was in the throes of food-ecstasy, so it was all a bit hazy.

When I emerged from my daze, I looked at the menu and got even more excited. Stilton cheese with barley wine. Stilton is a winner with beer, though it needs the right pairing to stand up to its intense flavor. Usually barley wines do the trick. The blue cheese was creamed into a mush and smeared on a plate with flax seeds, sunflower seeds, and poached pears. I would have been happier with just a piece of stilton. It tasted fine, though the poached pears had all their pear-i-ness poached out of them, so they provided neither acidity or sweetness. The beer, III, brewed with pomegranate molasses and caramelized orange peel, sounded “wild” but tasted very subdued, especially with the cheese. Again, it was served too-cold, so very little aroma was decipherable, but I did get some hits of vanilla and dates. It was bitter and acidic, clearly from the orange peel. It had a creamy body with lots of malt, but it will stand as the blandest barley wine I've tasted. Though this may have suffered from following such a strong act, I'd say that this course was ultimately unsuccessful.

To finish, Marg og Bein made the dessert beer into an ice cream with a salty peanut butter. It was a nice salt and sweet combo and the beer made a fine base for an ice cream. The beer itself was worthy of being a dessert alone. It was a milk stout, called Millionaire. It was dark brown with a rich roasted aroma and a touch of yeast fruitiness. It had a sweet flavor with lots of caramel. The addition of salt helped control the sweetness, kept it from being undrinkable. It finished with a pleasant, cleansing roastiness. It wasn't overly complex, but it was delicious. Sadly, it became thin in concert with the food. It finished like a cup of gas station coffee on the side, which isn't a bad thing, but it was a shame to have such a tasty beer watered out on the palate.

I was satisfied with the evening. It was great to see such an exciting chef and brewer working together. Yet again though, it was another imperfect experience from the restaurant. The server seemed knowledgeable about beer (my classmate, was unfortunately too busy to work this night), yet three of the beers were far too cold. Thankfully, the beer was served in tapered glasses, so we could appreciate what we could of the aroma. Too many fine restaurants like to serve beer in open-topped shaker glasses that give no impression beer fragrance. The pairings were done theoretically, and everything worked on paper, but it could have benefited from a test-run to see if they were winners in reality. In these types of dinners, the dishes often need to take a flavor hit, letting the beer create the missing link in the flavor composition. Here, they went all out, which created some stunning dishes, but less-than-perfect pairings.

Marg og Bein's chef Mark McCarthy seemed inspired by the beers, though, and plans to keep Wild Beer on tap. He voiced plans to have small dishes that pair with the brews, in an attempt to be a brewpub in addition to a fine restaurant. I'm excited for this development and will surely return to Marg og Bein. Despite its flaws, it has some of the best food in town and their prices can't be beat.

Marg og Bein is located on Fosswinckels gate 18 in Bergen Norway

http://www.wildbeerco.com/

http://marg-bein.no/

Tags: Wild Beer  Marg og Bein  Beer Maker's Dinners  Beer and Food Pairing  Food porn

What is the difference between ale and lager?

At first, I was going to attack this blog with the assumption that all readers would enter well-equipped with prior knowledge. Yet, considering that my aim is to help the average person become a true appreciator of beer, this supposition may hurt my goals.

Before we can begin any in-depth discussion of beer, there are some terms (jargon perhaps?) that needs to be cleared up.

Most have heard the words, “beer”, “ale”, or “lager” when describing their beverages, but the actual meaning of theses words is not always common knowledge. Everyone knows that beer is...well beer. 

But what exactly is beer? I can say that after years of being an enthusiast, I've tasted beers that I could have swore were wines. In Nepal, I had a beer that was just a big jug of grain slurry, to which boiling water was added, then sipped with a crimped straw to filter out the solid material. Then there's chicha, the South American beer where corn is chewed and spit into a bowl and dried.

Then there's the whole ale and lager conundrum. Many address the question by simply saying, “well, ale is beer made from top-fermenting ale yeast and lager is beer made from bottom-fermenting lager yeast. Duh!” But what is even meant by “top or bottom-fermenting” or just “fermenting” for that matter? Plus, this definition is problematic in that is doesn't really describe the beer itself very well.

Um, yeah, of course I know what fermentation is...it's like how beer is made.

It's actually more than that. 

All alcoholic beverages and much of food we eat—wine, beer, vodka, jagermeister, kimchi, sauer kraut, vinegar, yogurt, and even cheese—are the byproducts of a process called fermentation. It is a non-fancy word for a complex process that I don't dare describe with any depth (high school biology was a LONG time ago). Simply put, many microorganisms (namely some bacteria and yeasts) get their energy (or ATP for those who actually remember biology class) in the absence of oxygen (this is an “anaerobic” process) , by “eating” sugars and “pooping” out carbon dioxide, alcohol, and/or acids. It is what makes bread rise (have you ever noticed that if you let rising dough sit too long, it smells sour or alcoholic?) It is the same thing that makes your muscles sore after you work out (this is not to imply that if you jab a straw into your chest after some bench presses, you'll secrete beer).

Wine is yeast-fermented fruit juice. Sauerkraut is bacteria-fermented cabbage. Vodka is distilled, yeast-fermented whatever-you-got-going-bad-in-your-cellar-juice (distillation will not be addressed here). Beer is simply a yeast-fermented grain beverage. For this reason, beer is often called “liquid bread”. So that means that even saki is beer, not wine.

Wow, you used all that space just to define, “beer”?

I've barely even started, buddy.

In English, the term beer used to be much more specific. Despite being one of the first food products ever created by man (Some postulate that the discovery of brewing and baking was responsible for the creation of civilization, anchoring people to the land through agriculture instead of hunting and gathering. The oldest evidence of beer is a 6000 years old tablet from Sumeria. Think about that the next time you drink a pint.), the word beer is relatively new. By the middle-ages, beer was a northern-Europe thing, the drink of the vikings, who spread it across the continent, especially to England. As with most conquerers, their word for the beverage, øl, (which is what nordic people still call it) became the standard term. You may notice that despite the weird letter, it looks a lot like “ale”.

After hops became a common addition to European ales in 1500 and 1600's, they began to gain popularity in England. The word beer (which was what the Germans, French, and Italians called the beverage) was used to differentiate this continental-style hopped “beer” from more traditional unhopped “ale” of Britain. Even up to the 20^th century, ale and beer were listed as different drinks (as was porter, which was dark beer.).

Um...Is there a point to all this history and science? Jeesh, I feel like I'm in school again!

Well, yes there is, Mr. Boldfaced, fourth-wall-shattering-commentary.

Nearly every “beer” or “ale” contains hops, so the old meanings of these words are a bit antiquated.

Sadly, I had little success in my research tracing the way in which “ale” adopted its current meaning, but there is little argument that it means “top-fermented” beer.

Oh no...Is there going to be another science lesson?

Yes, there is. And more history too!

The vast majority of beer is fermented from one of two yeast species, Saccharomyces cerevisiae and Saccharomyces pastorianus (or simply put, ale yeast and lager yeast). There are other yeasts that people use to make beer, but it is beyond the scope of this entry.

S. cerevisiae is probably one of the most important living organisms for mankind. It is a microscopic fungus that is used to make many things, namely bread, beer, and wine. Bakers yeast, brewers yeast. They're both names for this hardy fungus. Though, up until Louis Pasteur's revolutionary 1876 book Etudes sur la Biere, fermentation was a mystery, often with religious connotations. It was common for the the same stick to be used to stir every batch of beer as “good luck”. Sometimes these sticks would be handed down for generations. These stick were covered in S.cervisiae yeast, which was transferred into each batch of beer. In reality, there were likely a variety of yeast strains, but selective “breeding” by disposing of bad sticks, eventually led to the domination of “ale” yeast in beers (note, I have no research to back this sentence.) The vikings always gave a toast to a god or a hero for each drink they took of beer. To not, would offend the gods and they wouldn't be blessed with good beer. Many Norwegian brewers still “kauke” (scream) to the gods when adding yeast to their beers.

This is not to say that there was no understanding of science in brewing. It was a well-accepted fact that beer brewed in the summer was more likely to go bad; people just didn't understand why. In 1553, Duke Albrecht V of Bavaria banned the brewing of beer between April 23 and September 29, thus “creating” this second species of yeast (S. pastorianus). Lager yeast thrives at colder temperatures (6C to 13C ideally), whereas most ale yeast strains are inactive in these temperatures. Eventually, a new cold-loving hybrid was formed. Since these beers were stored and kept cold in Bavarian caves, often with ice blocks to decrease the temperature, they came to be known as “lager”, derived from the German verb “lagern”, meaning “to store”. (All British beers were likely to be S. cervisae, due the warmer climate. When these vastly different Bavarian beers reached their shores, it is no shocker that a different word was needed than simply “ale”. Though, “Bavarian beer” would in itself imply lager. Some have argued that is was, in fact, the Americans that are responsible for the knitting “ale” with S. cerevisiae and “lager” with S. pastorianus.)

Hey man, I just want to drink the stuff!

I know you do, and there will plenty of time for that.

Knowing the difference between the two yeast strains and the beers they create will help take much of the guesswork out of buying beer. Years ago, when buying a beer, beer was just beer. Now what everyone in America called beer is called “light lager”. There are all these other names on cans and bottles and it is getting to be as complicated as buying wine. Beer styles are worthy of a whole book (there have been many), but knowing the difference between ale and lager will roughly divide the field in half (well actually lagers comprise 90% or so of all beers sold...).

So, this brings us back to fermentation. As I've discussed, ale yeast (S. cerevisiae) is called “top-fermenting” beer because of the tendency of the yeast to form a thick film on the top of the fermenting beer. Lager yeast (S. pastorianus) is called “bottom-fermenting” because the yeast seems to sit on the bottom. Both names are a bit flawed because the yeast usually sits in suspension throughout the whole beer during fermentation, despite the strain. These factors say little about why the resulting beers taste the way they do. The true difference is fermentation temperature.

When beer is fermented at a warmer temperature, the yeast cells produce chemicals that give spicy or fruity character to beer. The colder the fermentation temperature, the more “cleanly” the yeast do their job. It is just that S. cerevisiae is most active at these flavor producing temperatures (17-23C) and S. pastorianus at “cleaner” fermentation temperatures (6-13C). Lager yeasts are also stored longer. This gives the yeast time to take up these bi-products. Plus, they can eat more sugars than ales, so they are often dryer and crisper beers as well. California common (or Steam Beer) is a lager beer made at a high temperature, so it has a fruitier, most ale-like flavor.

Basically, if you see “ale” on a bottle of beer, you can expect it to be slightly thicker in body and have a more yeasty character (which will be discussed in other entries to this blog.) Lager will express most the flavor of the other ingredients (malts and hops), because it lacks these distracting yeast flavors.

Think of the two yeast species like you would friends.  If beer is a three-way conversation between hops, malt, and yeast, ale yeast is that friend that is right in the thick of things, adding jokes, one-liners, even driving the talking at times.  Lager yeast is the one that sits back and lets the others talk, but will occasionally throw in a point that keeps the other two going. (And now you have a new game to play with your buddies.  You can start labeling people as either Saccharomyces cerevisiae or Saccharomyces pastorianus. "Oh, Trudy, you're such a cerevisiae!"  I don't think it'll take off.)

I'm a cerevisiae, but I'm drinking pastorianus.

To taste the way that yeast affects beer, try an Imperial Stout along side a Baltic Porter. These two styles are very similar, they just use different yeast. Or try an Imperial Pilsner vs. Duvel.

Of course, this long, winding post is only scratching the surface of the nuances between these two categories of beer.

Uh, thanks, that helps a lot. I think.

Sources:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fermentation

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saccharomyces_pastorianus

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saccharomyces_cerevisiae

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_Pasteur

http://www.forn.no/maltol/107a.htm

Mosher, Randy. Tasting Beer. North Adams, MA: Storey Publishing, 2009.

Oliver, Garret. The Oxford Companion to Beer. New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2012

Palmer, John. How to Brew. Boulder, CO: Brewers Publications, 2006

Tags:  Saccharomyces cervisiae Saccharomyces pastorianus ale lager fermentation temperature beer knowledge