True lambic is produced only in Brussels and Senne River Valley (the Pajottenland-Zennevallei) in Flemish Brabant. Its brewers adhere to a royal decree drafted in 1965 that states it must contain at least 30 percent unmalted local wheat, ferment spontaneously, use aged hops (surannés) and be brewed in Brussels or within 15 kilometers. Lambic that is brewed to these strictures are labeled as “oude,” a confirmation of traditional methods. Lambics are unfiltered, desert-dry and can be archived for years.

The name lambic has enigmatic and equivocal etymology. It may refer to the Zennevallei town of Lembeek (Flemish) or Lembecq (French), derived from alembic, a type of distilling apparatus, or lambere, Latin meaning “to sip.” 

Few beers travel such an intriguing and transitive journey from birth to maturity. Every turn is unorthodox; attention to venerable methodology and a close rapport with nature are essential. Lambic is not only a type of beer itself, but also serves as the base for blended lambic, or gueuze; fruited lambic; and sweetened faro. Brewing is only done in cool months, and age is measured in summers.

Lambic begins with roughly 1/3 local unmalted wheat and 2/3 pale barley malt. The grist is mixed with warm water, then a portion of the murky wort drawn immediately, boiled and returned to the main mash. This drain/boil/return cycle is repeated until the mash is sufficiently converted. This prolonged schedule takes the mash stepwise through critical enzymatic temperature points and dismantles components into simpler microbe-friendly compounds.

The boil lasts from three to six hours, greatly concentrating the wort, promoting further breakdown of starches and proteins and deepening the color from straw gold to light amber. Aged hops, devoid of flavor or aroma but effective antiseptic agents, are added during the boil.

Post boil, hot wort is sent to coolships (koelschips)—shallow, open basins in the upper reaches of the brewery—and cooled overnight. Windows are opened and the wort is ambushed by the native mosaic of microflora wafting in from the surrounding countryside. The drafts also circulate microbes from the interior building structure, perhaps centuries in the accumulating.

After overnight cooling, the teeming wort is drained into wooden barrels that serve the dual purpose of fermentation and aging. The barrels themselves are a virtual microbiological reservoir, the tiny grottoes on their inner surfaces home to invisible magicians from batches past. The barrels are oak or chestnut wood, formerly used for wine. They range in size from 250 to 9,000 liters.

The wort then succumbs to yeast and bacteria, some 100 strains strong, opportunistically pouncing as conditions, such as pH and residual or metabolic byproducts, successively favor one over the other. All leave their own unique calling card, and they work symbiotically. The workhorses are several Saccharomyces and Brettanomyces yeast strains, as well as bacteria such as Enterobacter, Lactobacillus and Acetobacter.

The fermentation and aging last several months to several years, depending on the fate of the lambic.

Saccharomyces strains provide “normal” fermentation and attenuation. Acetobacter (vinegar bacteria) strains then use ethanol from primary fermentation as their nutrient. After a few months, lactic-acid bacteria, Pediococcus and Lactobacillus get their chance to sour the lambic. Finally, Brettanomyces lambicus and bruxellensis (named for the beer and the city, respectively) toil during maturation, furnishing the coveted musty character, working alongside oxidative strains.

The base straight lambics are generally reserved for cafés around Brussels and can be casked, bottled, young (jonge) or old (vieux). Cantillon is one exception, as it exports Grand Cru, a straight, unblended lambic.

Some lambic producers purchase cooled inoculated wort from other breweries and ferment, age and blend it themselves. These “blenderies” are known as geuzestekerij, or gueuze blenders. They distinguish themselves by house conditions, barrel type and the skill of the blender. De Cam, Oud Beersel, Tilquin and Hanssens are geuzestekerij, while Boon, Lindemans and Girardin are wort producers and blenders.

Gueuze is blended lambic generally consisting of three different summers. Each batch of lambic is unique, and the blending of gueuze is the work of a skilled artisan known as a steker (blender). Sometimes more vintages are used for the desired character. Jonge lambic provides lively effervescence and energy, the vieux lambic lends its fully aged, mature character, and the middle-aged lambic rounds things out. Usually, jonge lambic makes up the majority and vieux the minority.

For fruit versions, one-summer lambic is racked into a barrel containing fruit, kickstarting a secondary fermentation. The most common fruit lambics are cherry (kriek), raspberry (framboise), black currant (cassis) and peach (pêche). Kriek is made with sour Schaerbeek cherries, a stellar sweet-sour complement to the vast tapestry that is lambic. Faro is blended lambic sweetened with dark candi sugar, filtered and pasteurized. It is a darker, sweet, bright version of lambic.

Lambic breweries are beer preserves, wild and woolly, but kept under control by their keepers. Lambics have never been more popular, and have spawned a broad corollary brewing movement in North America of wild, sour and barreled brews. There is nothing, though, quite like the originals, the finest work of Old World artisans, brewing as nature intended. 

The following beers were tasted by K. Florian Klemp. 

The post Lambic: The Pinnacle of Natural and Native Brewing first appeared on All About Beer.

Winter Warmer

In centuries past, brewers were beholden to the vagaries of climate, harvest and manpower, as brewing was always seasonal by nature. Stronger beers, naturally more stable and sustaining, were made for and kept until cooler months. Today’s winter warmers, modern conveniences aside, are no less tailored to the season. They are modeled on strong English ales that include old ale, barley wine, Yorkshire Stingo and Burton ale, all closely related, nearly interchangeable brews of the 18th and 19th centuries.

Burton ale is noteworthy in this legacy, with a rather direct lineage from historical versions of winter warmer to those we recognize today. Originally crafted at Burton-on-Trent (later the epicenter of IPA) for export to Baltic aristocrats in the 18th century, Burton ale was well-aged, sweet, somewhat hoppy, relatively pale (given the color of its contemporaries) and, of course, strong. It also became favored as a winter warmer back home. Old ale and Burton ale would become essentially synonymous terms.

Draft Burton ale was a common cask offering in Britain until just after World War II, but by the 1950s and ’60s, it met an inexplicable, precipitous fall. Ballantine’s Burton Ale, aged up to 20 years in oak before bottling, was brewed in the U.S. during the same period. It met a similar fate.

One of the few vestiges after the demise was Young’s Burton Ale, whose name was changed to Winter Warmer in 1971, aimed at rebranding the floundering style as a distinct seasonal. Samuel Smith’s Winter Welcome was introduced to  the U.S. in 1990. These imports helped provide some impetus to American microbrewers to explore new stylistic seasonal brews and in some small measure helped reinvigorate an endangered family of beers.

Winter warmers, from either side of the pond, still favor the old ale/Burton ale pedigree. They feature 5.5 to 8% ABV, bitter/sweet balance, chewy, nutty dark malt, dried fruit notes and often sugar adjuncts, such as honey or brown sugar. Odell Isolation Ale and Boulevard Nutcracker Ale are some of the best examples brewed in the U.S. 

English winter warmers well worth seeking include St. Peter’s Winter Ale (rich and creamy, with notes of dates and toffee); Fuller’s 1845 (authentic Burton ale, bottle-conditioned, fruity, relatively hoppy and earthy), Theakston’s Old Peculier (dark, vinous and treacly old ale) and Samuel Smith’s Yorkshire Stingo (bottle-conditioned, aged for a full year in oak barrels before release, with notes of vanilla, brown sugar and raisin).

Holiday Ale

Another perennial winter favorite is spiced holiday ale. Just as pumpkin beers begin to fade, along come these savory, robust, aromatic ales to pick up the slack. Holiday ales may have also been influenced by British ancestry, those ales of yore spruced up to celebrate the Solstice, Christmas, New Year’s and Twelfth Night.

Old British winter customs included serving warm ale that had been variously spiked with spirits, eggs, sugar and whatever spices or botanicals were available or preferred. One such beverage was known as wassail, named for the medieval English salutation wæs hæil, a toast of good health and fortune.

Wassail was served from a communal bowl and was quite an impressive concoction, with ale as the main ingredient. Wassail could also be mulled wine or cider, while “wassailing” refers to the Twelfth Night offering of thanks and respect to the orchards for a successful harvest, both past and future. 

Modern spiced holiday ales, though, have a more recent inspiration, invoking the spirit of wassail, and fueled by the innovations of the modern American brewing Renaissance. 

Fritz Maytag of Anchor Brewing Co. counts among his many groundbreaking American microbrews the famous, and eminently influential, Anchor Christmas Ale, introduced in 1975.

The Anchor Christmas Ale recipe changes from year to year and is first and foremost a malt-forward spiced ale. The label annually features a different honorary tree, the quintessential symbol of winter festivity. Christmas Ale brims with holiday ambience and can be cellared for years.

Anchor Christmas Ale stood alone for a while, but American brewers began padding their portfolios with unique winter seasonal offerings in the 1980s and ’90s, building on Maytag’s seminal, ingenious brew. There are now dozens to look forward to each year. 

Holiday ales are generally graced with many of the same spices and flavorings that we encounter in the season’s cuisine, especially desserts. Nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, orange peel and anise are frequent additions. Highland Brewing’s Cold Mountain Winter Ale, Anderson Valley Winter Solstice and Full Sail Wassail are three that capture the essence of the holiday spirit. 

The post Winter Warmer and Holiday Ale first appeared on All About Beer.

Düsseldorf, founded in 1288, is in North Rhine Westfalia, 25 miles north of Cologne (Köln). Rhineland brewers were less beholden to aristocratic interests than Bavarians and, hence, more independent. Unlike the Bavarians, they used top-fermentation and cellaring methods, similar to the Belgians and British.

Northern Germany had numerous indigenous and regional beer styles into the 19th century, many now extinct. Leipziger gose, Münster altbier and Berliner weisse survived relatively unscathed, anachronistically featuring wild influence and raw or malted wheat.

Kölsch and altbier became more-refined versions of these old styles, uniquely acclimated to the temperate environs and honed by technological innovations of the 19th century: pure yeast isolation, precision malting and refrigeration. With this methodological rigor, beer could be brewed year-round with the option of cold conditioning.

Kölsch and altbier were similar until pale lagers crashed the party, with first mention of them as two distinct styles coming in the late 19th century. Cologne brewers shifted to very pale malt (a concession to the unrelenting popularity of golden lager), whereas Düsseldorf brewers stuck with darker Munich-style varieties. The designation of “altbier” was a firm, defiant nod to heritage (minus the lagering period, of course) that boldly set them apart.

The most dynamic area of Düsseldorf is the Altstadt (Old Town), home to 200 taverns proudly pouring altbier. There are three brewpubs (hausbrauerei) here, and another just east. Zum Uerige (The Grouch), Im Füchschen (The Little Fox) and Zum Schlüssel (The Key) reside in Old Town, and Schumacher just outside. All feature house altbier. The other taverns serve these or altbier from two other local breweries, Schlösser and Frankenheim.

At the brewpubs, hustling köbes (waiters) deliver altbier in small cylindrical glasses, served from oaken casks fetched from the cellar, breached with mallet and tap and dispensed under gravity. The culture is entertaining, friendly and steeped in tradition, but the real star is in the glass.

Düsseldorf altbier is made with German lager malts, its orange-copper color extracted from proprietary blends of pilsner, Munich, caramel and/or roast. The fiery autumnal hue and malty aroma is instantly recognizable as Munich malt, whose toasty footprint graces dark bocks, dunkels and Märzen.

The base grist may be entirely composed of Munich or blended with lighter pilsner malt. In either case, the malty character is as aromatic and flavorful as any German lagerbier. The body is lean, slimmed by low mash temperatures and attenuative yeast. Residual sweetness is low, as is a biting, lingering bitterness, in spite of high hop rates of 35 to 50 IBUs. Spalter hops, a noble variety grown in Spalt in Bavaria since the 14th century, is the traditional cultivar. Other noble varieties such as Hallertauer and Tetnanger may also be used. And while altbier is not a hoppily aromatic brew, the mellow, herbal noble background impeccably flatters the svelte malty flavor and aroma.

Unique yeast, culled over time under fermentation conditions particular to altbier and Kölsch, is yet another crucial contributor. It toils at low top-fermentation temperatures where others would struggle to thrive, 55 to 60 degrees F. Fermentation is clean and thorough. Original gravities of 11 to 12 degrees Plato give altbier an ABV of 4.5 to 5%.

Slow, steady fermentation is followed by a few weeks of near-freezing lagering. This cold conditioning supplanted cellar aging after the invention of refrigeration. Did the brewers change to emulate the ubiquitous and popular lagers, or is it a side benefit afforded them to store beer after the invention of refrigeration? Either way, altbier is called obergärige lagerbier (top-fermented lager beer), a hybridized brew native to the Rhineland.

Special or seasonal versions are made by Düsseldorf brewpubs periodically. They are more robust all the way around than the brewpubs’ standard offering. Zum Uerige’s is called Sticke (secret); Zum Schlüssel’s Stike (also secret) and Schumacher’s Latzenbier (beer from the wood). Im Füchschen offers its as a Christmas specialty, Weihnachtsbier (Holy Night beer).

Other notable altbiers include Frankenheim and Schlösser of Düsseldorf and Diebels of Issum. All three were once available in North America, but are now rare or absent. Thankfully, Zum Uerige’s triumvirate of regular altbier, Sticke and Doppelsticke, can be purchased in the U.S.

Münster has a long tradition of brewing top-fermented wheat beer, and that lives on in its unusual, but authentic, interpretation of “old” beer. Pinkus Müller organic altbier contains 40 percent wheat, is golden and hazy. The fresh hoppiness, bright malty character and neutral yeast are in keeping with the Düsseldorf style, albeit much lighter in color.

American altbiers are, curiously, a rather underrepresented genre of the style. Alaskan Amber of the Alaskan Brewing Co. in Juneau is the most famous of them. It’s copper-brown, very malty and robust, with somewhat reserved hop bitterness. Olde Mecklenburg Brewery in Charlotte, North Carolina, may make the best, most true-to-style altbier in America.

Maybe the popularity of Kölsch, gose and Berliner weisse in recent years will inspire our brewers to brew more altbier. Brewers do, after all, hate a vacuum. Stay vigilant: Altbiers do appear on menus from time to time. 

Editor’s Note: In an earlier version of this story, several beers were attributed to the wrong breweries. Correct attributions are as follows: Im Füchschen brews Weihnachtsbier, Zum Schlüssel brews Stike, and Schumacher brews Latzenbier.

The post Altbier: A Nod to Heritage first appeared on All About Beer.

Our obsession with black beers is undeniable. Porter and stout are stalwarts, and newly cobbled styles, such as black IPA and saison, more trendy. But the eldest and most anachronistic of them all is German schwarzbier (black beer), a vestige from the cradle of European brewing and perhaps the longest-running beer style. The style has attracted long-overdue attention in recent years.

The most convincing evidence of black beers of millennia past comes from the 9th century B.C. in Southwest Germany. An archaeological dig near Kulmbach in Franconia, Northern Bavaria, unearthed an Iron Age Celtic amphora containing the charred remnants of wheat, a raw material of prehistoric beer. This primeval discovery is the oldest evidence of brewing in Central Europe, and since the beer was black and brewed in Kulmbach, we might deduce that it is the ancient ancestor to schwarzbier, the “Lucy” of European beer.

The region where Germany, Bohemia and Austria converge fostered several modern beer styles (Munich dunkel and helles, pilsner, rauchbier, schwarzbier and Vienna lagerbier), but, more importantly, was innovative on a grander scale. The embrace of hops, technical bottom-fermentation refinement and the development of distinct, utilitarian continental malts over time were significant developments.

Prior to that, many beers were quite similar, composed of coarse malt and raw grains, top-fermented, smoky, murky and undoubtedly with a wild influence. Schwarzbier is a survivor of that medieval brewing scene and largely is brewed in Kulmbach and the former East German states of Thuringia and Saxony.

Kulmbach came of age as a brewing center some 800 years ago. A charter letter penned by the bishop of Bamberg in 1174 references Kulmbach’s brewery. Further documentation comes from a manuscript describing the brewery of the local Augustine monks in 1349. These were top-fermented brews since bottom-fermentation would not become common until at least a century later.

Another German black beer of the era was Braunschweiger mumme. Mumme was strong, sweet, heavily hopped and widely exported. Brewed since at least the 14th century, it became one of the most favored beers in Europe during the 16th and 17th centuries. Mumme was also brewed in Thuringia. Plain porter has also been brewed off and on in Germany, and Baltic porter is still made in Eastern Europe. Was schwarzbier influenced by mumme, or is the Kulmbacher style just a coincidental type, given contemporary ingredients and methods? More likely, Kulmbach’s brewers were equally influenced by those of Munich, who also made dark beers. At some point, Kulmbacher schwarzbier and Munich dunkel diverged stylistically, the former favoring roasted malts and the latter Munich-style malts.

It might also be surmised that neighboring Bamberger rauchbier and Kulmbacher schwarzbier were historically similar, both using smoke-cured malt. Bamberg brewers abandoned the roasted malts, but retained the old method of curing malt over beech wood.

All of this adds to the mosaic of aboriginal beer from that region. The final piece to the puzzle was a switch from top to bottom fermentation, essentially transforming old styles into modern ones. Schwarzbier is often tagged with “Kulmbacher-style.”

Schwarzbier is certainly a “black” beer relative to other familiar lager styles, but falls far short of the dark color that we associate with stout or porter. Not opaque, schwarzbier casts a bright mahogany-black color. The roasted character is meant to complement rather than dominate, giving both hops and base malt an opportunity at expression.

Of course, it is the roasty component that makes schwarzbier unique. The barley used is malted and often dehusked, mellowing the contribution somewhat and offering some depth and finesse that roasted, unmalted barley cannot.

Pilsner and Munich malts make up the majority of the grain bill. Classic German schwarzbier is medium-bodied, and pilsner malt helps keep the mouthfeel and residual sweetness under control, while the Munich malt offers up the toasted, malty flavors and aromas that we expect from dark German lagerbier.

Hops are a bit more pronounced than one would find in a Munich-derived brew, common in Northern Bavaria, with one brewer going so far as to call itself the “black pilsner.” The dosage is evident, with a bit more background bitterness, but an especially firm blast in the aroma. As always, German noble varieties are requisite, adding to that distinguished German profile.

The bottom-fermented, fully lagered smoothness is always a part of the picture, and gravity falls between 4.8% and 5.8%.

Schwarzbier has been on the radar of beer aficionados for decades now, but has enjoyed more popularity quite recently. Several authentic German brands are available, and Americans have also taken a shot in recent years. Those from America may have more of a roasted flavor than the German versions, but generally follow the original template.

The post The Resurgence of Schwarzbier first appeared on All About Beer.

Stout originally meant any beer of fortitude, no matter the color. There were pale and brown stout, the latter the forerunner to porter. Proper porter, brewed entirely with brown malt, emerged in the early 18th century. Brewed to a multitude of strengths, stout porter, or a similar derivation, would have been the stronger version.

By the end of the 18th century, stout mostly came to describe strong versions of porter only and eventually a style itself rather than an adjective. A normal hierarchy of names, according to British beer writer Martyn Cornell, was common porter, best porter, stout or single stout, double or extra stout and imperial stout, but there were numerous other designations. The former pale stouts would evolve into barley wine, Burton ale, wee heavy, old ale and such.

London and Dublin became the pre-eminent porter and stout brewing cities by the mid-19th century. Dublin was dominated by Guinness, prosperous through far-sighted, ingenious promotion, innovation and above all, high-quality products.

Guinness may be famous now for its draft, extra and foreign extra stouts, but before getting into the stout business, it brewed ale and porter. Guinness was founded in 1759 by patriarch Arthur Guinness, who leased the dormant brewery at St. James’s Gate in Dublin. The newly constructed Grand Canal made for convenient shipping of incoming supplies and outgoing casks of ale and porter.

This ideal situation gave Arthur Guinness solid footing from the start and, coupled with his vision and shrewd business acumen, took Guinness swiftly to the top. He brewed the last Dublin ale in 1799 to concentrate on porter, not because of the popularity of the style in London, but because London porter was chipping away at Dublin’s local market. In 1801, the first Guinness West Indian Porter was brewed for export. It is now Foreign Extra Stout.

In Dublin, Guinness representatives in 1810 encouraged publicans to push a “stouter kind of porter,” one originally called Superior Porter, later Extra Superior Porter and eventually the now-famous Extra Stout.

In 1819, Daniel Wheeler’s revolutionary black “patent” malt was made available to brewers. Guinness was among the first to use this product, discovering it could make suitable porter and stout by using only pale malt and a small amount of patent malt. This was a departure from previous recipes composed of pale, amber and brown malts. It also lent a distinctive, signature roasted flavor. Using this new formula, Arthur Guinness II finalized the Extra Superior Porter recipe in 1821, cited above as the precursor to Extra Stout.

This is where the Dublin and London stouts diverged over the next few decades, according to some observers. Dublin stout, using the Guinness template, came to mean a marginally drier version, made only with pale and patent malt. The attenuation was largely due to the exclusion of less fermentable amber and brown malts. London stout, truer to precursors, used pale and brown malts, but often a bit of the newly minted patent malt and perhaps amber and crystal malt. Some brewers eschewed the patent malt altogether, relying on the traditional brown malt. Irish brewers often “gyled” theirs with a dose of lively, fermenting beer for conditioning. These ubiquitous, high-quality Irish and English porters and stouts became dominant beers of the 19th century.

Porter and stout could be brewed from a single recipe, using an equivalent amount of malt, but varying the volume of brewing liquor to produce the different strength beers or modifying hop levels. Records also show that some were tailoring recipes for individual brews using pale, amber, brown and/or patent malts. Generally speaking, stouts (and porter) from all destinations were rather similar, brewed with largely the same ingredients, crafted to the preferences of the individual breweries. It was a situation of wealth and relative diversity that any beer lover would crave. 

London brewers were by now exporting their product, mostly porter, worldwide, and Guinness was doing the same with stout. By the mid-1800s, Guinness products could be found from the United States to New Zealand, and were called single stout (porter), double stout (extra stout) and Foreign Extra Stout.

Between 1830 and 1880, beer was taxed by ingredients, namely malt and hops, rendering unmalted grain illegal. The Beer Tax of 1830 gave way to the Free Mash Tun Act in 1880, which taxed the original wort gravity, allowing inclusion of adjunct grains and sugars. Many brewers switched from roasted malt to cheaper roasted barley, a move likely noticed only by the most discerning palates and traditionalists. Guinness made the alteration around 1929 or 1930.

By the early 20th century, porter had essentially run its course in England and was replaced by stout as the dark beer of choice. Along the way, stout had also lost its meaning as a strong beer, but simply a black beer chiefly brewed in England and Ireland. The dry stouts contrasted greatly with sweet milk stouts favored at the turn of century. Sweet stouts became England’s preferred roasty beer, leaving Ireland chief domain of the dry version.

Guinness, always keen on innovation, continued to evolve. It replaced some pale malt with flaked barley some time in the 1950s, and in 1959 introduced the “draught” dispense system, using a mixture of carbon dioxide and nitrogen. The draught dispense was designed to duplicate the “high and low cask” method of blending lively young beer with flat mature beer from separate casks. This serving method brings the impressive surge that settles into a tight, tenacious, long-lasting head. It has been copied by many brewers seeking to emulate the soft flavor, mouthfeel and presentation in stouts, porters and ales. The can widget, a more recent invention, offers the same effect.

Though Irish stout has become synonymous with dry stout, most brewed today emulate the historical versions from Dublin and London, and not the modern Irish type.

Most plain dry stouts are now are brewed to modest gravity, with a diverse malt bill, and fuller character than Irish dry stouts.

That radical Export Stout brewed by Guinness in 1821 and its London counterpart help cast the die for the most active stout-brewing market in the world, North America. American brewers especially gravitated to stout early on, and it continues to be standard fare.

American-style dry stouts are stylized with the typical affection for American hops, including heavy aromatic additions, and fermented with neutral American ale yeast. They usually have complex grain bills liberally augmented with crystal and chocolate malts, with up to 10 percent black malt or roasted barley/malt. Brown or amber malts are used on occasion. Gravities range from 5.5% to 7.5%.

Those designated “English” stouts are similar to the Americanized version, especially with regard to malt/grain, but use English ingredients where appropriate or feasible. There is a firm base of bittering hops and more subdued aromatic additions. English ale yeast gives them an authentic footprint. They are a nod to tradition and are generally made pretty well. Strength would be roughly the same as American stout.

Those made to the modern Irish template would be of lower gravity (4-5%), contain adjunct grain, minimal character malts, a copious addition of roasted barley or malt, well-dosed with bittering hops and fermented with an attenuative Irish yeast.

Trends come and go in brewing, but our hankering for plain old stout will never wane. Raise a pint to all of the brewers who keep these styles alive.

The post The Evolution of Dry Stout first appeared on All About Beer.

Not too long ago, saison was considered rare and somewhat endangered, a stranger to all but the most enlightened. Things couldn’t be more different today. Those from Belgium are rightfully well-regarded, and North American-brewed versions are among the hottest styles. Saison, French for season, is perfectly emblematic of venerable Belgian and flourishing North American brewing culture; individualistic, locally spirited and widely interpretive. Saison, no longer a product of necessity and sustenance, still evokes rustic, unpolished vibrant personality born of agrarian roots.

Saison is the specialty of French-speaking Wallonia, especially the western Province of Hainaut. The region was one of agriculture, villages and farmhouse brewing. The economy was localized, folks making do with what could be cultivated or easily acquired. Imagine the variability from one town or farm to the next, with house character and recipe unique to each.

Brewing was usually done between December and March, when conditions favored relatively predictable fermentation. Immediately after the fall harvest, grain, hops and botanicals were at peak quality, and farmers had time to devote to brewing. Medieval farmhouse or village brews would have included barley, oats, wheat, buckwheat and spelt. Some grains were malted; others were not. Hops were a vital ingredient in provisional beers, especially for their antiseptic qualities during storage. Conveniently, there was a thriving regional hop-growing industry, one developed centuries ago when village, monastic and farmhouse breweries were the norm.

Indigenous botanicals, a remnant of pre-hop brewing, and later more exotic spices were also used. Coriander, anise, cumin, peppercorn, sage, ginger and orange peel, among others, were popular, savory supplements.

Similar to some other beers of Northern Europe of the era (witbier, Berliner weisse, gose, and lambic), fermentation and maturation included a mixture of primary yeast and secondary organisms. Old saison would have had sour and musty notes lent by Lactobacillus, Brettanomyces, Pediococcus and a menagerie of others yeasts that resided in the brewery, in wooden barrels and on dry-hop additions. Some were likely spontaneously fermented.

These wild, endemic organisms would work on the wort through spring, summer and into the following autumn. The refreshment was enhanced by the sour tang, earthy Brettanomyces and high attenuation.

Across the Border

Saison and French bière de garde are kindred farmhouse beers, a vestige of old brewing methods. Generally, both arose from similar beers in historical Flanders (comprising portions of France, Belgium and The Netherlands), and evolved into separate “styles” during the 18th and 19th centuries.

The French apparently preferred something malt-accented, stronger, darker and sweeter. Belgians desired something lighter, hoppy and more refreshing. As with most organic transformations, this evolution was gradual, generating two distinct farmhouse styles over time because of local ingredients, preferences or both. They remained largely regional and rustic, indifferent to the torrent of industrial brewing in 19th-century Europe.

Eventually, brewers would have to give in to the trends in order to survive, transforming saison from primitive to contemporary. Small breweries gave way to larger, more mechanized operations in the late 19th century and became more commercialized, but wisely kept their homey, unique image alive.

Lighter, more fermentable malt altered the color and attenuation of the wort, but the affinity for adjunct grains remained. Hops from England, Germany, Slovenia and Czechoslovakia joined those from France and Belgium in the kettle. Brewing became a year-round enterprise, goading yeast strains to adapt to warmer fermentation temperatures.

As microbiology became integral to brewing, multi-strain (spontaneous or otherwise) fermentation largely disappeared. Proprietary cultures adapted to conditions, morphing into house strains that came to define the new variety of saison.

Since saison was no longer necessarily for the saisonniers, brewers could boost the strength from its former 3 to 4% to 5% and above. Both farm (weaker) and tavern (stronger) versions were brewed.

As the influx of British and Continental beer increased in the early 20th century, Belgian’s brewers were faced with either aggressively marketing their unconventional brews or losing ground on their home turf.

A shift to paler malt helped offset the threat of ubiquitous pale lager, but the brewers kept their flavorful top-fermenting yeasts. Saison was proudly marketed as a local or regional specialty, packaged in corked bottles.

By the 1920s many operations had fully embraced modernization. Unlined wooden barrels, alive and full of flavor, gave way to stainless steel. Consistency took precedence over capriciousness. This philosophical shift transformed old, true farmhouse brews into more stylish versions, and ultimately led to the closure of many small rural breweries. Saison brewers never fully abandoned the features that made them unique in the first place, though, a policy that would serve them well in the future.

Enough Wallonian breweries survived after World War II to keep saison viable, a testament to regional loyalty that buoyed craft brewing before the recent renaissance. But saison remained an esoteric, rare style even after the cultural rejuvenation of the 1970s and ’80s brought traditional beers back into the spotlight.

The Modern Farmhouse Ale

The Brewery Ommegang opened its doors in 1997, modeled on the farmstead heritage of Belgium. Among its first offerings was Hennepin, a golden saison considered the first brewed in North America, and an outstanding introductory representative.

Within a few years, saison was cropping up everywhere. Saison Dupont Vieille Provision was finally getting its due. True to the farmhouse ethos, it is a simple brew that coaxed unparalleled nuance and complexity out of every ingredient.

New World brewers are artfully arcing the style back to its roots, inoculating them with Lactobacillus, Brettanomyces and even culled wild yeast, and using wooden barrels, completing a perfectly grand circle of retro-brewing. Brewers exploring saison today are evoking the individualistic nature of the style with a passion to be distinctive and an eye toward the seasonal aspect. Fittingly, many are being made with locally sourced ingredients.

Saison grain bills tend to be simple blends of pale malts and adjunct grains. Pilsner malt is the undisputed workhorse, providing lithe body and lean mouthfeel. Vienna malt, and to a lesser degree, Munich or light caramel, are other typical constituents, lending burnished and orange tints and malty aromatics. The trend in North America is to keep the color rather on the lighter, golden side. Other grains, malted or raw, include wheat, oats, rye, buckwheat and spelt. Sugars or honey are also used in some.

Hop profiles can be rather deep, with low-alpha-acid, aromatic European cultivars the best suited.

Brettanomyces and Lactobacillus can also lend a pleasant background, and brewers are increasingly incorporating those into their strategy. Wild yeasts, culled from the local flora, have also found a niche among saison brewers.

If that isn’t enough, many brewers, including some from Belgium, dose their saison with spices and herbs. Even the strength of saison varies widely, with 5% ABV versions as common as 7.5% ones, and if properly brewed, saison should be heady, rambunctious, well-attenuated, naturally conditioned and unfiltered.

Today’s wide-ranging selection of saisons is nothing short of amazing, given where they were less than 20 years ago. The style is fertile ground for experimentation, which is often, ironically enough, a reversion into its history and roots. The provocative future of saison is in its past.

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Discussion about bock begins in Einbeck, whose motto is, “Without our town, there’d be no Bock Beer.” The original brews of the city were known as Einbecker beer, not bock. They were strong, top-fermented, hoppy wheat and barley brews that became dark, bottom-fermented all-barley lagerbiers in Bavaria. Bock has come full circle for Einbeck, as even its beers are modeled on the Bavarian interpretation. The name “bock” is a dialectic corruption of Einbeck.

Einbeck was a member of the Hanseatic League, the mercantile confederation that controlled, coordinated and protected commerce in Northern Europe from the 13^th to the 17^th centuries. It spanned North and Baltic seaports and inland routes from London to Novgorod, Russia. Lübeck, Germany, was the founding city and nexus. 

Einbeck’s specialty was beer, considered among the best in Europe.  Its brewers could easily procure hops, being near some of the first hop-cultivation centers in Germany. Malt was often wind-cured, lending Einbecker beer unusual delicacy. 

The Hanseatic League widely distributed Einbecker, and being strong in nature, it traveled well and arrived fresh, enhancing the celebrity even more. 

Einbeck had a communal brewing system that was circulated among hundreds of house brewers. The best was selected by the citizen-brewers and the city’s chief brewmaster for export. Einbeck became Germany’s brewing epicenter during the Middle Ages, with an estimated 600 licensed brewhouses operating in 1385. 

The Hanseatic League began to lose power by the 16^th century, challenged by competing external factions and internal strive. This affected Einbeck’s trademark industry, especially when coupled with general improvement in European brewing.  But by then Einbeck’s brewers had made an impression upon the Bavarians, who were eager to learn the Einbecker way. 

The Einbecker Brauhaus is the lone brewery still standing. Among its impressive lagerbier portfolio are three bocks, Ur-Bock Hell, Mia-Ur Bock and Ur-Bock Dunkel, and a doppelbock, Winter Bock. 

While this business with the Hanseatic League was going on up north, Bavaria was cultivating a robust brewing industry. Bavaria was more isolated and rural, but brewing thrived in many monasteries and settlements. The dark, rustic brews of Southern Germany, notably Kulmbacher schwarzbier, Bamberg rauchbier and Munich dunkel, were quite different from Northern styles, many of which were wheat-based. South German brewers were also developing bottom-fermentation techniques, possible because of the cooler climate and Alpine caves for cold-conditioning. 

Bavarian beer didn’t have the same acclaim as Einbecker’s, due as much to quality as to lack of exposure. The two worlds collided, legend has it, in the 1600s, when an aristocratic Bavarian woman wed the Duke of Brunswick. The duke was said to have supplied Einbecker beer for the wedding. The Bavarians were so smitten that they decided to bring the Einbecker method to Bavaria, consummating the marriage between the North and South German duchies.  

Brewmaster Elias Pilcher of Einbeck was persuaded by Duke Maximilian I to come to Munich to lend brewing expertise in 1612. The first Einbecker-style beer was brewed in Munich in 1614 at the Hofbräuhaus, on the cusp of a very important period. The Thirty Years’ War, which began in 1618, was devastating to many cities in Germany, including Einbeck, which fell in 1646. Countless brewhouses were sacked. 

Munich was more fortunate, paving the way for it to become the center of German brewing. This convergence of circumstances—Pilcher’s tutelage, Munich’s willingness, a preference for dark, lightly hopped brews and proficiency in bottom-fermentation—set the stage for a new style, the modern dark bocks, including doppelbock. 

Bock, at this point, was not finished evolving. It would take another turn with the help of an Order of Franciscan monks who came from Paola, Italy, and founded Cloister Neudeck outside Munich in 1627. They began brewing in 1634.

As required by faith, the monks fasted during Advent and Lent, subsisting mainly on liquid nourishment, including strong beer. Seeking something even more sustaining, the “liquid bread” was gradually made stronger yet. Eventually settling on a recipe, they christened it Salvator, Latin for savior, the first doppelbock. Naturally, some of their beer made it out of the cloister, creating public demand for the product. They obtained a permit to brew commercially in 1780.

The monastery was seized in 1799 by Napoleon Bonaparte, who secularized business during the French Revolution, essentially shutting down the brewery. The brewery sat idle until 1806, when it was rented by local braumeister Franz Zacherl. He resurrected Salvator and purchased the brewery in 1813. Herr Zacherl met opposition from civic leaders who tried to rescind his permit to brew the Lenten specialty. The seasonal beer caused too much frivolity during an obligatory holy period of reflection.

To Zacherl’s defense came King Ludwig I, who decreed that he could brew Salvator every spring. The tradition was carried on by Zacherl’s successors, the Brothers Schmederer, after his death in 1846. The inevitable imitators also called their strong brew Salvator, spurring the Schmederers to secure a trademark for the name in 1894. By now, the style was known as doppelbock. 

The imitators retained style recognition by using the suffix “-ator” when naming theirs. The symbol of the goat, or “bock” in German, is often invoked to suggest the feistiness and vigor that comes from consuming doppelbock.

Paulaner Salvator, secularly brewed for over 200 years, is still made at the original location, with the original recipe (three malts). It is bright copper-brown, bulging with toasted malt aroma and a touch of spicy noble hop character at 7.9%. 

Doppelbock today is largely true to the 19^th-century archetype. Uncomplicated grain bills, rarely more than three malts, are the status quo. The eponymously named Munich base malt, the main ingredient in the city’s signature dunkel, does the bulk of the work. Kilned hotter and longer than pale malts, it acquires a complexity of malty character, burnished color and fuller body. The grist often includes darker specialty malts, perhaps caramelized or roasted. Hops serve at most a supportive role, as the malt aspect can be astoundingly overpowering. 

This is polished with bottom-fermentation and months-long lagering. The minimum original gravity must be 1.072 to be declared doppelbock (regular bock is 1.064), providing 6.5-8% ABV. Color ranges from copper to dark brown, with the odd blond variant. Some are offered as seasonals, others are available year round. 

Stronger versions of doppelbock include Brauerei Schloss Eggenberg Samichlaus (14% ABV) and EKU 28 (11%). Both are lagered for at least nine months. Samichlaus develops rummy, dark fruit complexity, and EKU 28 has notes of sweet orange.  

Eisbock is bock or doppelbock fortified by removing ice after partial freezing. Eisbock is said to have been serendipitously invented when a feckless brewery employee of Kulmbacher in Bavaria left a few casks of doppelbock outside during frigid weather. The liquid portion was sampled and found to be quite fetching. It is offered today as Kulmbacher Reichlbrau Eisbock (9.2% ABV). 

Aecht Schlenkerla of Bamberg produces doppelbock (7.5% ABV) in the rauchbier (smoke beer) tradition,  made with oak-cured malt. The interplay and contrast of sweet toasted malt and coarse, earthy smoke work wonderfully. 

Often, in the manic search for bigger brews, we forget those that have always been within reach. Doppelbock is one of those. Among the most elegant and satisfying of all beers, it always lives up to its reputation as liquid bread.

This column appears in the November 2014 issue of All About Beer Magazine. Click here for a free trial of our next issue.

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The catchall term “Scottish ale” is used for a group of modestly hopped, malty and sociable brews. Somewhat generic, it often leads to rather limited expectations. But the clan of authentic Scottish ale being made today is actually quite diverse, the progeny of the brews that survived the relative famine of the 1960s and came of age during the rejuvenation of Scottish craft brewing thereafter.

The historical family tree of Scottish brewing includes honey and herbal ale, lager, strong ale, stout, porter, mild, bitter and IPA as well as classic Scottish ale. Many of these are being offered again, thanks to 40 years of brewing renaissance, but it is the malty, rich and full-bodied Scottish ales that these brewers claim as their own. 

Based on archaeological evidence from the Isle of Rùm off the western coast, Scottish brewing is estimated to be at least 4,000 years old. Neolithic vessels unearthed there contain residues of oats and barley laced with either heather and meadowsweet botanicals or its honey. 

Heather ale was highly coveted in centuries past and is usually associated with the Picts, a tattooed tribe that inhabited the British Isles from Pre-Roman times to the 9th century A.D. It was also made by the Irish, English, Norse and possibly the Vikings. Heather ale is central to a common folktale of an elder who keeps the sacred recipe from his captors even upon threat of death. 

Heather ale brewing survived far longer in Scotland than elsewhere, attesting to its link to the rural culture, primarily as a farmhouse or home brew, well into the 20th century in the hinterlands. It was revived commercially by Bruce Williams at the former West Highland Brewery in Taynuilt, Argyll, in 1992.

Though hops were being used in beer in Continental Europe by the 11th century, the British steadfastly rejected them, preferring unhopped ale instead. Slowly, they acquiesced. Hopped beer was shipped there in the late 14th century from the Netherlands and first brewed in Britain in the early 15th century. Cultivation of hops for brewing began in the early 16th century, likely in Kent. Soon, nearly all brews, including ale, contained them, and an industry was born. 

During the 18th and 19th century, porter, stout and pale ale brewing became enormous and lucrative business in England, and the Scots emulated them at every chance. The Scottish cities of Edinburgh, Glasgow and Alloa subsequently matured into brewing centers. 

Eager to cash in on the popularity of porter (and stout), the most widely exported beer style of this era, the Scots hired experts from London to teach them their methods. 

IPA, trendy and innovative, could be made as well in Edinburgh as in Burton upon Trent, the city famous for the style. Edinburgh’s brewing water is nearly identical to Burton’s, high in gypsum and ideal for hoppy pale ales. It made Edinburgh the second biggest producer of IPA. The Burton Union system, a simple, yet ingenious, apparatus that rid fermenting ale of excess yeast, was also used in Edinburgh, and was especially effective for producing impeccable IPA.

Edinburgh ale, essentially today’s wee heavy, was that city’s version of Burton ale, sweet, dark and strong. 

Hops were easily imported from England and beyond, since most of Scotland’s brewing centers were near busy ports. Scotland’s fertile land yielded high-quality barley, as well as oats and wheat. With a copious supply of homegrown grain and malt, access to imported hops and efficient trade routes, Scottish brewing boomed, supporting about 280 breweries at its peak in 1840. 

Success, often a double-edged sword, brought unbridled power to some large brewers, leading to the consolidation and closure of many smaller breweries and a sharp decline in numbers by the beginning of the 20th century. Brewers were now mostly clustered in Alloa, Glasgow and Edinburgh (which had 35 of the remaining 90). War rationing, tax burdens and temperance slowly eroded the industry further, from 63 breweries in 1920 to a nadir of 11 in 1970. 

This trend has since reversed, but at a relatively slow pace. Belhaven of Dunbar held the fort as the single remaining “traditional” Scottish brewery in the 1960s. Traquair House opened in 1965, quietly and unknowingly signaling the dawn of steady growth over the next four decades. With this nascent industry came our modern notion of Scottish ale. 

So how did what we consider Scottish ales come to differ from other ale and top-fermented beer being made in Britain? Much of the characterization (and general introduction to the masses) comes from Michael Jackson, who described them as being “enwrappingly full-bodied and malty” in his groundbreaking opus Beer Companion. Those descriptions were based on the few Scottish breweries and limited wares in the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s. Scottish brewers had a brewing culture unto themselves, modest as it was, a case that could not be made a few decades earlier. Though all great brewing regions make malty beer of some sort, Scotland’s were generally so, and hoppy beers were largely absent. It is what brewers made, and made well, and what the consumers enjoyed.

Today there are more than 70 breweries scattered throughout Scotland, most of which have opened within the past 20 years. Many offer ale that would be in the Scottish tradition, as well as other British-style ales, porters, stouts, lagers and experimental brews. Real ale is also being featured once again. 

The full, malty character is often attributed to slower, cooler fermentation with presumably British yeasts acclimated to the generally chillier climate. Of course, modern brewers can tailor conditions to the comfort zone of those strains now. It is often said that they even resemble bottom-fermenting strains in temperament. The fact is, in the 1830s lager brewing pioneer Gabriel Sedlmayr II of Munich came to Britain to further his brewing knowledge, particularly new technology used to manufacture pale malt. He gave some bottom-fermenting yeast to John Muir at the Calton Hill brewery in Edinburgh. This was before refrigeration, so Sedlmayr must have deduced that lagerbier brewing could thrive there. Muir brewed with it several times, allegedly with great results, but he couldn’t maintain the yeast properly and scrapped the experiment. 

The shilling system number frequently associated with Scottish ale is a historical touch implying tradition. It was first used in the mid-19th century and refers to the invoice price of a hogshead. The 60-, 70-, 80- and 90-shilling designations were replaced by light, heavy, export and wee heavy, terms that are also still in use. Wee heavy is generally considered by many to separate from plain Scottish ale, traditionally more of a specialty offered in smaller portions. 

A search of current Scots breweries and their product descriptions shows the new wave of brewers to be quite fond of making self-described distinctive “Scottish ale.” These are representative of their interpretation of tradition, history and otherwise noteworthy brews, even if much of it is recent. 

They tout the malty aspect (but don’t ignore the hop profile by any means), the foundation and flair that create a spectrum of color from amber to brown to nearly black. Gravity ranges from session strength (4% and less) to about 6%. The quaint shilling designation is a pertinent historical reference point and a reflection of gravity. Those called simply Scottish ale are pronouncements of national identity in ale. Based on these factors, we can lump these brews into a broad family of definitive brews, a fluid, interpretive, yet historical perspective. 

There is nothing fancy or overblown about Scottish ales, but they are instead simple, smooth and genuine. Malt is the true star, and Scottish barley makes some of the best. Wheat and oats of various forms are also frequently used. Color comes from the usual range of specialty malts and grains, including caramel, chocolate, black and roast. Those brewed in North America, of which there are many, follow the same template. 

Hops are reserved, though some brewers are not shy about dosing some of their ales with a heftier measure of hops, including American cultivars. There is even a fledgling hop-growing industry in the Clyde Valley near Glasgow. 

As the Scottish brewing industry grows, the range of beers is likely to fill out once again, and the presence of Scottish ale, along with other traditional styles, seems to indicate that the brewers have a keen sense of where they stand today and where they’ve been.  

This article appears in the September 2014 issue of All About Beer Magazine. Click here for a free trial of our next issue.

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Belgian brews were once considered mysterious and idiosyncratic, but have become mainstream and far from unusual. Now, it is more the sentiment of tradition that makes them so engaging. Belgian brewers are famous for wild and woolly lambics and sours, rustic farmhouse and wheat brews and spicy, savory abbey and monastic beers. Monastic brews made in the seven original Trappist abbeys are most revered. They’re also profoundly inspirational to other Belgian venues, microbreweries in North America and the three newly certified Trappists in the United States, The Netherlands and Austria.

Mostly, the brews include single/blonde, dubbel, tripel and quadruple/strong dark. Dubbel is a near-perfect combination of dark malts, sweet, fruity depth and spicy yeast byproducts. It has become a well-represented style.

For centuries, European monastic brewers pursued and perfected their craft within cloistered abbeys, driven by a philosophy dedicated to sustainability, self-reliance and divine trust. Their singular mission and diligence cultivated a methodical, empirical approach that farmhouse and town brewers could hardly match. They were brewers without peer through the Middle Ages, and the Trappists especially have been as influential as any over the past 200 years. Their story of brotherhood and perseverance over the past millennium is even more impressive, one that straddles simplicity and modernization even today. Their influence has never been more evident.

The French Revolution, having driven the Trappists from their monasteries in the late 18^th century, came to an end in 1799 and allowed them to return home. Through cooperative efforts over several decades, they rebuilt their abbeys and way of life, including the rich brewing tradition.
Westmalle was the first Trappist monastery to re-establish itself, in 1802, and began brewing in 1836. Westvleteren (St. Sixtus) came next in 1839, then Achel in 1852. Westvleteren assisted the 1850 restoration of Chimay (Abbaye de Scourmont), which started brewing in 1862. Chimay offered public sales shortly thereafter, ushering in an era of commercial brewing. Rochefort (Notre-Dame de Saint-Remy) came next in 1887. Orval (Notre-Dame d’Orval) was rebuilt in 1926, having lain fallow since 1790. La Trappe, founded in 1884 (Bierbrouwerij De Koningshoeven), the original home of the strict Cistercian Order at La Trappe, France, and namesake of The Order, is now housed at Berkel-Enschot in The Netherlands. The International Trappist Association grants rights to the label “Authentic Trappist Product,” an appellation that protects the brands of the monks.

The period after Belgian independence in 1830 coincided with a great surge of brewing science and subsequent development and diversification of many modern styles during the second half of the 19^th century. The numerous abbey and independent Belgian breweries founded during this period emulated the Trappists to stylize their own offerings, oftentimes invoking similar imagery of stately architecture and suggestions of divine leanings. 

Should a secular brewery specifically deign to use the abbey designation, it, too, must adhere to well-defined guidelines for the privilege, one controlled by a trade organization, known as The Belgian Brewers, and display the Certified Belgian Abbey logo. It may use or associate with abbey facilities and/or the name.

North American brewers have been quite keen on Belgian styles over the past 20 years. Many have proved quite adept at the genre, and some, such as New Belgium Brewing and Ommegang, venerable brewers by American standards, have largely staked their reputation on it. Both make excellent abbey-style dubbels.

The general style is usually referred to simply as Belgian dubbel. Many that fall into this category, however, have no such designation. Chimay calls them Première, Achel, Bruin and Rochefort 6. Some also use Brune, or simply Abbey. Dubbel has, collectively, come to be the term that encompasses the medium-to-strong, sweetish, dark, top-fermented brew.

Before the modern practice of naming beers individually, alternative systems were used to designate and distinguish them. The parti-gyle method of using successive mashings to produce beers of different strengths would have been named tripel, followed by dubbel, and then single. Those terms have come to mean different things altogether, as each now has its own identity and distinct recipe.

Another method was to use a number corresponding to wort gravity in “Belgian degrees.” One of 1.060 would have been named 6, and one of 1.030, 3. Westvleteren, Rochefort and Achel use this system.

Chimay gives each a unique name and cap color. The red-capped dubbel is Première, followed by the white cap tripel, Cinq Cents, and the blue cap strong dark, Grande Réserve.

Since dark beers were the norm throughout Europe before the 19^th century, and unmalted grains and sugar of some sort were historically used in Belgium, we can assume that something similar to dubbel had been brewed for centuries. Dark malts, sugar and adjunct grains all figure into the modern version.

The true modern style set roots in the mid-19^th century, as monastic breweries were resettling themselves post-independence. Both Chimay and Westmalle point to their dubbel as being brewed during this period, as both made a dark, stronger beer to complement a weaker, paler table beer. The current Chimay Première was modified after World War II by Brother Théodore and meant to emulate the recipe from the original 1862 brewery. Westmalle dubbel, last reformulated in 1926, was based on a dark brew made since 1856.

Dubbel can best be generalized as fairly strong, at 6 to 8%, reddish-brown and moderately hopped. Dubbels are fermented with yeast that presents fruity and spicy aromas and flavors. As usual, this oversimplification does little justice to the nuance of these complex beers. Dark malts contribute sweetish malty and dark fruit notes in addition to color. Adjunct grains and sugars lend mild character, but serve mostly to lighten body and aid in attenuation.

Since the objective is to produce a full and flavorful beer without heaviness, a base of pilsner malt, and sometimes pale malt, is the foundation. Chocolate, black, caramel, toasted and aromatic malts contribute color, flavor, aroma and depth. Sugar syrups and crystallized sugars are commonly used, sometimes in combination. Adjunct grains or grain flours are another means whereby brewers can add fermentability without overburdening the palate. Overall, recipes are surprisingly simple.

Perhaps the most interesting facet of Belgian brewing is the yeast. The Trappists helped one another rebuild the abbeys and breweries in the 19^th century. They also shared yeast and knowledge. The Westmalle strain is used by Achel and Westvleteren, and no doubt many other brewers across Belgium. Chimay has its own house strain.

As the strains adapt over time to fit ambient conditions and those imposed upon them by the brewers, they develop the nuance unique to each brewery. The same strain fermented at temperatures just a few degrees apart and/or conditioned under different circumstances will result in subtly different sensory profiles. Thousands of beers and countless generations of propagation and evolution have diversified the strains even more.

Lastly, one key to making these luscious beers is the art of proper attenuation. Several things factor into this critical aspect. First, the yeast must be capable of fermenting beyond the normal range of other yeasts. Eighty or more percent attenuation is common.

Careful mashing and proper management of fermentation, with respect to temperature and conditioning, will ensure appropriate and full attenuation. Bottle-conditioning is de rigueur, and the yeast must also be able to restart in the bottle to carbonate the beer and allow proper melding and maturation of flavors and aromas. That effervescent, billowing, sturdy head that accompanies fine Belgian brews is the coup de grâce, a manifestation of proper conditioning and healthy yeast.

No beer of moderate proportions packs as much complexity and sophistication into one package than does dubbel, proof that simplicity is the most rewarding route.

This column appears in the July issue of All About Beer Magazine. Click here for a free trial of our next issue.

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The Roots of Modern Brown

Brown ale of some sort has existed in Britain for centuries, mostly because fire-cured brown malt was used as the primary raw material. Despite pale malt becoming more accessible in the late 17th century, London’s staple brew of this era was the sweet and lightly hopped “common” brown ale. It was often of poor quality and generally not well-regarded. Common brown gave way to a darker brown “beer,” porter, and given a heavier dose of hops that allowed extended aging and maturation, drier character and better keeping qualities. This displacement sounded the death knell of common brown, as the ascent and domination of porter sent brown ale into virtual extinction. However, as the masses tired of the status quo in the latter 19th century, sweeter beers made a comeback, including mild ale and milk stout.

Mild was initially used to describe the young, sweet condition of ale, porter or stout before acquiring satisfactory “aged” character. It came to also denote ale specifically made to consume fresh, without intent to age. Generally pale in color, modestly hopped, sweet and served shortly after cask conditioning, mild ale was designed to turn over expeditiously. Darker renderings, made with caramel, black and pale malt, began showing up near the turn of 20th century. Brown malt had long been replaced by then in favor of pale and specialty malts recipes.

Coincidentally, bottling technology was progressing nicely about this time, as recently invented screw and crown caps replaced corks. With that came a largely untapped market for bottled beer.

Southern and Northern Browns

The Southern style of modern brown ale originated in the East End of London at Mann, Crossman & Paulin’s brewery, where some of London’s finest mild was brewed. Managing Director Thomas Wells Thorpe went to work crafting a bottled beer, introducing Mann’s Brown Ale in 1902, seizing upon the growing demand for bottled ale and taste for sweeter, dark brews. Brewed to about 5% early on, it is today at 2.8%, a remnant of the general gravity drop in England during and after World War I.

It took a couple of decades for Mann’s Brown Ale to find appreciable success, a timeline that parallels the interest in bottled ale (which was more stable than low-gravity cask ale). Brown ale, ditched a century earlier because of poor keeping qualities, regained favor as a different brew because of its stability. Sales of bottled beer were now increasing (a trend that would continue for decades) and within a few years, bottled brown ale was being produced by nearly every brewer in Britain.

Brown ale and dark mild have always had something of a kinship, though are not necessarily one and the same. Generally speaking, mild was draft ale and brown ale, bottled. Some brewers did bottle their mild, though, billed as brown, while others made different versions of brown based on strength or attenuation. Those that bucked the gravity-drop trend made “double” browns in the range of 1.050 OG.

The most famous of the so-dubbed “Northern” style, Newcastle Brown Ale, came from the Newcastle Breweries to capitalize on the bottled ale trend. Brewmaster Col. James H. Porter and brewery chemist Archie Jones worked on the project for three years before Newcastle Brown Ale was introduced in 1927. It was paler and stronger than the Southern style. It won the Challenge Cup for bottled beers at the 1928 Brewers’ Exhibition in London. Samuel Smith’s Nut Brown Ale is a darker, fuller, hoppier and more flavorsome example of the Northern style.

Brown (and mild) ale held significant market share until the 1960s as consumers’ preferences changed once again and breweries closed. The brown ales came to be seen as a bit antiquated. Only the recent nostalgic interest in traditional styles has helped them hang on in Britain.

Northern and Southern English brown ales have very little in common (the reddish-amber vs. dark-brown color alone reflects that), just as they have no real connection to London’s old common brown or those that came before. But at least there are reference points to separate the two. The Northern style is more familiar, as there are a few available through wide distribution, whereas the Southern versions are far more obscure, and essentially limited to Britain. Most beer historians would consider Mann’s the authentic, archetypical modern English brown ale. Author Martyn Cornell calls the Southern style “critically endangered.”

But beer styles are historically labile, and so they continue to evolve, especially as modern brewers take their turn. It is possible to make contemporary American interpretations with deference those venerable versions, as many brewers do. We can take solace in knowing that at least Northern brown is alive and well in America, and recognize it for what it is.

American Brown Ale

English-style brown ale was actually brewed in America on the East Coast as a fall/winter seasonal by a few brewers before and after Prohibition. They were advertised with English imagery and a promise of fuller flavor. Those fell victim to the watering down of American beer in the mid-20th century.

American brown ale was essentially reinvented by Pete Slosberg in 1986. Proficient enough to deem his homebrewed brown worthy, he acted on his commercial aspirations. Pete’s Brewing Co. was founded and Pete’s Wicked Ale introduced in 1986. Wicked Ale, meant to emulate Samuel Smith’s Nut Brown Ale, was ruddy brown, rich and pleasantly hoppy. It was a relatively modest and broadly agreeable ale that added yet another style to the expanding American portfolio.

Most brown ales spawned during the early heyday of the microbrew revolution in America were based on Slosberg’s original, and even today the majority   that prototype: lightly roasted, chocolate and caramel malty character, fair to firm hop presence, red-brown color and medium gravity.

Of course, American brewers added a bit of their own Yankee flair. Hopped-up and imperial renditions were brewed to satisfy the hopheads and high-gravity lovers, as were those toned down some to express a sweeter, malty character. Brown ale can deftly handle all of those. Given all of this, it is apparent that American brown ale exists as a rather broad family of brews, with well-balanced, hoppy or strong versions, as well as those that blend those attributes.

Brown Ale Character

As the name would imply, they are quite reliant on dark-character malts. Medium-to-dark caramel and chocolate malt are most often the preferred flavor/aroma/color/body enhancers, followed by black patent malt or roasted barley. Toasted malts, such as Munich or biscuit, are not uncommon, and the odd recipe may include an authentic touch of brown or amber malt. Oats and wheat, malted or otherwise, may also be included. Alcohol by volume from 5% to 7% is pretty standard, with imperials at 7% to 9% or occasionally higher. English ingredients are often used, perhaps as a nod to tradition and respect, but mostly because those fruity byproducts and earthy undertones marry perfectly with the dark malts.

As one of the oldest types of beer, brown ale has seen many changes, but has rightfully endured. In Britain, an interest in nostalgic brewing and beer styles may yet restore some of brown ale’s popularity. In America, they remain a vital part of the story, both in its brief history and in the taproom. Beers such as this should always have a place at the bar.

This story appears in the May issue of All About Beer Magazine. Click here for a free trial of our next issue.

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