Thoughts on Samuel Adams Rustic Saison

So Samuel Adams brewed a saison. This is interesting enough that I can't pass it up. A brewery priding itself on patriotism and American craft brewing makes an ultra-traditional old Belgian farmhouse style. I really have no idea what to expect. They've tried "rustic" styles before. Their Cranberry Lambic comes to mind, which, sparing the details, is terrible. But they have a certain prowess with delicate styles, the best example being Noble Pils. I can easily imagine Rustic Saison going in either direction. So let's open it up and see.

First, the visuals. As you can see from this photo, it is a clear golden yellow with lively carbonation and a nice white head. The carbonation level seems just right for a saison--a little on the high side. This photo is after about a minute of pouring; at first the head was much taller. Just how it should be. I also like the golden color. But one thing grabs my attention quickly. Look how clear it is. Completely filtered. This worries me a little, as so much of a good saison is dependent on the characterful yeast, which has been completely filtered out of this beer.

Taking a whiff, I am somewhat relieved. It really does smell like a saison. Maybe too much, in fact. It is packed with fruity esters, a typical fermentation byproduct of this sort of yeast. I pick up notes of dried apricot, dried pineapple, fresh apples, white raisin, and a little bit of black currant. There is also a sweet floral note that I'm pretty sure is coming from the honey (yes, it does say "brewed with honey" on the bottle). A few distant spicy notes are in there, too, behind all the fruitiness. Along the lines of pepper, coriander, maybe even fennel or anise. It doesn't say what hops they used, but I suspect that the hint of black currant I noted is not from yeast byproducts (as are all those other fruit flavors) as much as it is from hops. Strisselspalt hops are common in farmhouse ales and often manifest themselves with a currant-like aroma. While the aroma as a whole is full of typical saison character, it lacks nuance; it doesn't seem like saison should be so in-your-face.

Ok, it's finally time to drink it. Fortunately, I quickly find that the flavor is a little bit more elegant than the aroma. The fruity esters are still dominant, but not as obnoxious. The fruit character is also less sweet in the mouth than it seemed in the nose. The black currant is more forward; there's a sort of funky papaya note; lemon and lime notes come into play, as well. The pineapple and apricot are still there, but in a more supporting role. Perhaps the difference is the honey. I have a hard time detecting it in the flavor at all, while it seems pretty obvious in the aroma. It could be that my perception of the sweetness of honey is what put the aroma over the top for me. The spiciness of the flavor, however, is exactly what I would expect from what I smelled. Echoing what I said earlier, pepper, coriander, fennel, anise. I might add lemon balm or sage to that mix, too. Behind all of this is a rather subtle malt backbone, probably the most well-executed aspect of this beer. Clean, even, warm graininess holds up all the other goings-on. As I swallow, the finish gets a little bit of a hop kick to it. Mostly it's herbal continental-Europe style noble hops (a little research confirms they used Hersbrucker and Tettnanger hops). But there's something else to the finish that I have trouble putting my finger on. Something that seems very... American. For just a moment in the finish (every sip), I get a quick note of tangerine sweetness that reminds me of an American pale ale. I think I'm getting this because the beer doesn't have as dry of a finish as I would like it to. They tried to use hops to give it a crisp finish, which is all well and good. But in a classic saison, I would rather have the finish dried out by higher attenuation instead of extra hops. It would seem they've hopped it enough to give it a slight resinous quality that is only briefly noticeable in the finish, which combined with a little too much residual sweetness, yields this pale-ale-like note. The finish also lacks the tangy, bready quality it would have if the beer still had live yeast in it. As it is, the aftertaste is dominated by edgy herbal hops; it needs so yeastiness to soften it. Come to think of it, live yeast would help even out the aroma, too. Yeast cells will continue to produce some esters and reabsorb others (as well as other fermentation byproducts) and have a tendency to naturally balance (for lack of a better word) a finished beer. This beer needs that.

So, long story short, I'm actually rather impressed with this brew, considering. Sam Adams did manage to capture many of the "rustic" elements of a traditional saison. Two simple improvements would have made it quite a good beer, though. First, it needs to be more attenuated. Dry saison = yummy saison. Second, it shouldn't have had the yeast filtered out. I think that would have made a world of difference.

But for now, I'm going to quit typing and finish my beer.
Cheers,
--joe

Picking a Style

I've been thinking about submitting a few recent successful brews to homebrew competitions. So, by extension, I've been mentally placing my homebrews in style categories. For those who aren't familiar with how this works, homebrew competitions are usually grouped by style (i.e., all the stouts will be judged together, all the pilseners will be judged together, etc), and it is the responsibility of the brewer to declare the style of his entries upon submission. I can brew the best witbier in the universe, but if I enter it as a porter, it will lose. Formal style guidelines are published by the Beer Judge Certification Program (BJCP), and pretty much every competition follows these. But, since homebrewers are a creative lot who tend to push the envelope, sometimes it can be difficult to select the correct style. I present an example: an amber ale I brewed this winter.

A headier-than-intended pour of my "amber ale"

I have both a glass of my amber ale and the BJCP guidelines in front of me as I type this. So, I've been calling this an amber ale, which it surely is, so it seems like 10A, American Amber Ale, would be a logical place to start. Here's the catch: my brew has a hearty dose of Munich malt in it, which is not typical of an American Amber Ale. BJCP says the aroma should contain "low to moderate hop aroma" and that "moderately low to moderately high maltiness balances and sometimes masks the hop presentation, and usually shows a moderate caramel character."  In general, my beer fits this description. The Centennial hops are noticeable, but overshadowed a bit by the maltiness. The malts are a bit on the caramel side (I did use a respectable amount of crystal malt), but here again is where it becomes complicated. The Munich malt character is dominant (Munich malt reminds me of wet autumn leaves that are starting to decompose. Unusual association, I know. If you aren't familiar with Munich malt, get an authentic German Oktoberfest; they are mostly, often entirely, Munich malt), and the guidelines make no provision for that. As for flavor, the BJCP standard strongly resembles that for the aroma: "moderate to high hop flavor from American hop varieties" and "malt flavors are moderate to strong, and usually show an initial malty sweetness followed by a moderate caramel flavor (and sometimes other character malts in lesser amounts)." Again, the hop profile is ok. But here is a problem with the malts. There is room for Munich in this description, as "other character malts," but only in "lesser amounts." I have a feeling this would be the downfall of my brew if I entered it as an American Amber Ale, because the Munich is far more obvious than the caramel.

So where does it fit, then? Try to be open minded here. The judges have no idea what I intended to brew. All they have is a sample of the beer and the style I entered it as. With that in mind, let's look at another style. With all that Munich malt, how about either Vienna or Oktoberfest (3A or 3B)? Both of these styles are lagers, and the brew in question is an ale, but the judges don't have to know that. If it has lager characteristics, the judges will never know that there is residual melibiose in the beer (trivia tidbit: that is the true difference between lager and ale yeast. Melibiose is a disaccharide sugar that lager yeast can ferment and ale yeast cannot). The flavor description of Vienna very closely describes my brew, and Oktoberfest isn't too far off, so maybe I'm onto something. But the aroma could be an issue. Oktoberfest requires "no hop aroma." Right now, the Centennial hops are still noticeable. However, the essential oils that provide hop aroma are unstable and decay with time (actually fairly quickly). So if I let this age, the hop aroma would dissipate and it might fit into the Oktoberfest style. But this beer isn't designed to age, and aging would probably develop other problems that would make it not fare well in competition regardless of category. So I'll nix that option. But, it's a moot point anyway, since both Oktoberfest and Vienna state that "caramel aroma is inappropriate." While the Munich aroma dominates, that caramel is there and unavoidable. Time to look at more styles.

At this point in becomes tempting to go to category 23-- Specialty Beer. This is simply a catchall category the BJCP added for crazy exploratory brews. Its only style descriptor is that the beer can't fit into another style. I would always hesitate to enter a Specialty Beer, preferring to enter as a classic style if possible. This is especially true of my amber ale, since while I'm having trouble categorizing it, it really is not an unusual-seeming beer, and would be lost among all the wildly experimental stuff that gets submitted in that category. So I'll look on.

Flipping through the categories, English Brown Ale (11) seems plausible. It's divided into three styles: Mild (11A), Southern English Brown (11B), and Northern English Brown (11C).  My beer obviously doesn't fit Mild, so I'll skip that. Southern English Brown emphasizes fruitiness, so that one won't fly. Then comes Northern English Brown. While in my mind I had no intention of this being a brown ale, all of the style descriptors seem to fit. The guidelines describe "gentle to moderate malt sweetness, with a nutty, lightly caramelly character and a medium-dry to dry finish. Malt may also have a toasted, biscuity, or toffee-like character." The Munich character of my brew could easily pass as a combination of nutty and toasted malts. The description also allows for a certain amount of hops, which is good. And what's this? The appearance should be "dark amber to reddish-brown." I suppose my dark amber beer fits quite nicely, then. The only place I can see the guidelines distinctly differing is in carbonation level, preferring less than is in my beer. But that's minor enough to not be a terrible loss of points. So, while I'll continue to call this an amber ale when discussing it, if I enter it in a competition, it will go as a Northern English Brown.

While being bound by style categories may seem restrictive, especially for the adventurous brewer, it is unavoidable when entering competitions. It is important to take care to enter in the appropriate category, and the appropriate category may not be immediately obvious. So be open minded. And if you can't settle on a style, just keep the beer to yourself where you know it will be appreciated.

Cheers,
--joe

Is Brewing an Art or a Science?

This is a question I think I've danced around nicely in the subtitle of this blog. Is brewing an art or a science? This is a common question and one without a good answer (I may muse about it for a while, but I promise I won't come up with a real answer, either). I recently watched a preview for Tim Webb's Beer Amongst the Belgians, which is a series about which I am very excited. In it, Tim Webb interviews Jean Van Roy, head brewer of the Cantillon brewery. Cantillon makes some profoundly amazing beers (all lambic/geuze), so I hold the greatest respect for Van Roy. In the interview, he states that brewing is 100% art. He sleeps with his beer, brews by feeling. He thinks of himself as an artist, and I, having had several of his products, am inclined to agree. But that quote makes me wonder what he would think of my own approach to brewing. I tend to think about it in a scientific way, though I'd like to think I'm not cold and mathematical about it. There is a world of difference between Cantillon and the large, industrial brewing operations that dominate the American market. They are the other extreme. Their mission is to replicate their product time after time as efficiently as possible; their brewers are engineers, their breweries are factories. My own approach is far more artistic by comparison. Do the brewers in these massive operations feel any kind of emotional connection with their beer? I doubt it. Now watch the interview with Jean Van Roy, and tell me he isn't emotionally attached to his work. It almost brings a tear to my eye. I think I fall in between. I believe there is a happy middle ground between the pure art and the pure science. The science of brewing is very useful. Understanding the chemistry of the beer and the biology of the yeast can help hone processes and design a very tasty brew. It's particularly handy for troubleshooting: if something goes wrong, a scientific approach is necessary to find and correct an error. But having said that, there are some aspects where pure science won't do and the brewer must be an artist (or, more appropriately I suppose, a craftsman). There is a conceptual difference in selecting hops for, say, a hefeweizen because their subtle floral aromas complement the dusty malt, and selecting based sheerly on cohumulone and alpha acid content. While the chemical makeup shouldn't be ignored, the abstract role in the overall beer is more important. I could say the same for most other aspects of the brewing process. So I guess my ultimate thought is that the brewer should play artist first and develop a beer as an idea, or to use an appropriate metaphor, paint a picture of it. Then the scientist should kick in to make hone the process to bring that beer into reality. These are just my own thoughts, and I'm sure everyone is going to approach this in his/her own way.

Thanks for humoring me.
Cheers,
--joe

Revisiting Corsendonk Abbey Pale

Somehow I got it into my head that I need to have a Corsendonk Abbey Pale Ale. I haven't had this beer in many years. It is a Belgian tripel, and due to its extremely wide distribution, in my head it is an entry-level beer into the sophisticated world of Belgian ales. But I decided that I'm being unfair, especially seeing as how I barely remember the beer at all given the length of time since I tried it last. So it's about time that I give it another go. I may as well share my thoughts here.

I started with a 750 mL corked and caged bottle. My very first observation is the Champagne-esque pop of the cork when I open it. I generally try not to do this with beer, but I wasn't able to prevent it. It's a well-carbonated brew. Pouring into my glass I'm actually a little surprised that it doesn't foam over, given the pressure that had built up in the bottle. Pretty impressive. There is plenty of effervescence, though. Vigorous bubbles maintain the white head for a very long time. The beer itself is a clear golden yellow. It's an attractive beer, so we're off to a pretty good start. I get my nose to it quickly to get a strong whiff of the aroma. The energetic carbonation helps disperse the aroma nicely. The first scent that registers is a phenolic yeast character common to Belgian ales of this sort. In this case the phenols come across as spicy, reminding me of coriander, fresh peppercorns, and lesser amounts of rose hips and sage. After I take in a few whiffs, the spiciness begins to take a backseat to the obvious Pilsner malts, marked by a subtle doughy malt sweetness. Also mixed in there I detect notes of lemon, subtle light honey, and just a bit of toasted bread.

Enough sniffing, it's time to take a sip. I notice the texture before I'm able to pick out specific flavors. That effervescence makes it seem to foam up in my mouth, giving a beer that may otherwise seem thin (it's fermented down to a fairly dry state) quite a full impression. Much like the aroma, the flavor is dominated by the phenolic notes. However, it tastes somewhat less balanced than it smells. Those phenolic notes outweigh the malt more than I care for. Not to say the malt isn't there; there is a slight honey and toast melange in the background. The beer does have some nice fruity esters. The lemon I noticed in the aroma is joined by some faint pineapple, orange, cantaloupe, and mango. Very faint, but present. It finishes on the dry side, as should be expected for a highly attenuated beer such as this. Dusty yeasty notes, a little bit of a wooden tone, and something like saltine crackers bring the sip to a close. Despite the dry finish, the aftertaste returns to the little bit of maltiness, but the spicy phenols stick around longer.

I decided that this beer needed a cheese pairing. Fortunately I had some Asiago cheese on hand. This turned out to be a very successful pair. Asiago cheese is fairly subtle, so doesn't overpower the beer, which lacks any very strong flavors. The earthy and musty tones of the cheese go well with the spicy phenols of the beer. And Asiago isn't creamy at all and gives an impression of dryness, also in harmony with the beer.

So, all in all, Corsendonk Abbey Pale Ale is a pretty good beer. I'm definitely glad I tried it again. It might even be worth drinking once in a while. It would definitely be a good beer for pairing with food (as in meals, not just cheese); Thai, maybe? I may have to do that one day. For now, though, I'm gonna sit back and enjoy the rest of this bottle.

Cheers,

--joe

Experimental Mash Math

Warning: this is gonna get kinda technical. If you don't like math, you should probably stop reading. This is more of a mental exercise than a useful procedure...

Anyway, I've been tinkering with an idea for a mashing technique a little bit different than my usual process. It has very limited applicability, but might come in handy from time to time. I started thinking about it when planning a multi-grain ale I'd like to brew soon, including barley, wheat, rye, and oats. With these other grains involved, it would be beneficial to include a rest in the mash to break down β-glucans before the main saccharification rest. Otherwise the mash can get very gummy and hard to work with; there could also be an unattractive haze in the finished product. The enzymes that degrade β-glucans are active at a relatively low temperature, between 98 and 113 °F. So I would like to hold the mash at this temperature for 30 minutes or so before raising it to 150°F or so for the amylase enzyme party. While this is not strictly necessary, I take pride in my craft, so a little bit of perfectionism is to be expected. It is also common to include a rest to degrade excess proteins when using different grains. In this case, however, I'm going to let the protein rest slide. Between the highly-modified base malt and the interesting mouthfeel I'm hoping to get in the finished beer, I think the protein level will be acceptable.

In short, I need to mash in at 105°F, rest, then raise the temperature to 150°F. Most homebrewers do this simply by adding a calculated amount of boiling water to raise the temperature. Some still use the old German practice of decoction (boiling a portion of the whole mash then mixing it back). I don't care for either of these. The water additions dilute the mash and usually result in a water-to-grain ratio much higher than I prefer. Decoction does more harm than good; boiling the grains extracts tannins and a host of other things (including the β-glucan I'm trying to reduce), and moving around portions of the mash can be a pain. Well, I thought, what if I raise the temperature by draining a portion of the wort from the mash (liquid only, no grains included), boil that, and add it back? Besides eliminating my complaints about the other two techniques, it will also help precipitate undesirable proteins and should cause a slight Maillard reaction (i.e., caramelization) that could add a subtle complexity to the brew. The one downside to the process is that quite a bit of amylase enzyme will be deactivated by the boiling. Make sure that the total diastic power of the mash is enough to convert the starches even with a loss of a large percentage of the enzyme. My base malt will be of high diastic power, so this should work.

So then. Assuming that this process is actually a good idea (still up for debate), we come to the problem of figuring out how much wort to drain and boil to achieve the desired temperature change. There's a fairly common equation used to calculate boiling water additions (in quarts, pounds, and Fahrenheit):

W_a = [(T₂ – T₁)(.2G + W_m)] / (T_w – T₂)

where W_a is the boiling water to be added, T₁ is the current temperature of the mash, T₂ is the desired final temperature, G is the amount of grain, W_m is the amount of water in the mash, and T_w is the temperature of the addition (boiling). In the process I've described, though, water isn't added, it's recycled from the mash. We can adjust the equation above by substituting (W_m – W_a) for W_m, since the volume W_a will have been removed from the mash. Solve again for W_a, and we get:

W_a = [(T₂ – T₁)(.2G + W_m)] / (T_w – T₁)

Fair enough, but this equation assumes either that the removed wort has the same thermodynamic properties as water or that it is somehow possible to drain pure water from the mash, devoid of grain constituents. Of course, neither of these is the case. I decided to re-work the equation to make it more-closely reflect the thermodynamic reality of my experiment. It will be interesting and useful to know how much difference these adjustments make in the result.

So, to begin, let's take a step backward. The equation above derives from a basic statement of the heat energy of a substance:

Q=mCT

where Q is the heat energy, m is mass, C is specific heat (that is, the energy required to raise the temp of 1kg of the substance by 1°C), and T is temperature. Also relevant is the fact that the total heat energy of a system or mixture is the sum of the heat energies of its parts. So, in our case (treating the water remaining in the mash and the wort removed as separate parts),

Q_total = Q_grain + Q_water + Q_wort

then, by substituting from the equation above:

m_totalC_totalT_total = m_grainC_grainT_grain + m_waterC_waterT_water + m_wortC_wortT_wort

The total mass of the system is obviously the sum of the masses of the parts. So we'll substitute that in. Likewise, the specific heat is the sum of the individual specific heats. The total temperature is the desired final temperature, so let's just rename it T₂ for the sake of simplicity. T_water and T_grain will be equal in this scenario, so let's rename them both as T₁. The wort removed will be boiled, so conceivably I could go ahead and substitute 100°C for T_wort. However, I'm going to leave it as T_boil just to allow some flexibility. So that gives us this equation to start tinkering with:

(m_grain + m_water + m_wort)(C_grain + C_water + C_wort)T₂ = (m_grainC_grainT₁) + (m_waterC_waterT₁) + (m_wortC_wortT_boil)

Now the fun begins. I'm not going to retype the equation for every step in this process, but there is a lot of tweaking to do from here. First of all, note that since 1L of water is 1kg, mass and volume can be interchanged. This is not the case for the wort, however. Since we ultimately want to figure out the volume of wort to draw off, we must consider the specific gravity of the wort (which can be read with a quick measurement). The usual specific gravity reading is conveniently expressed as a ratio of the wort's density to that of water. We can, therefore, substitute (V_wort × SG) for m_wort.

Next, we can also express the specific heats as ratios of that to water; C_water becomes 1 and reduces away; 0.4 is the typical value for C_grain. C_wort will again be dependent upon the specific gravity, so I'll leave it as a variable for now and address it later.

Again the amount of water in the mash will be however much is left after wort is removed. So for m_water we should insert (V_water – V_wort), where V_water represents the total amount of water in the system. Similarly, remember that the wort will contain starches from the grains as well, so some mass will have to be subtracted from it. The amount is again based on the specific gravity of the wort. To compensate for this transfer of material, we can replace m_grain with the term [m_grain – V_wort(SG – 1)]. Then it is just a matter of the tedious process of solving for V_wort. I'll spare you that. Take my word for it that the resulting equation is:

V_wort = [(T₂ – T₁)(V_water + 0.4m_grain)] / {(T₂ – T₁)[1 – 0.4(1 – SG)] + C_wortSG(T_boil – T₂)}

As I said a moment ago, I left C_wort as a variable. It is easier to figure its value first, then insert it into the equation, lest the equation become more cumbersome than it already is. The calculation involves the strange conversion to °Plato (which describes density in terms of percent sugar in solution) and takes into account the different specific heats of the water and the starches dissolved in it. Furthermore, remember that we used ratios relative to the specific heat of water, so that must also be taken into account. So when all of this is combined, we arrive at:

C_wort = {4.1868 – [7.577(SG – 1)] / [1 + .8796(SG – 1)]} / 4.1868

Plug in the specific gravity, then plug the result into the other equation.

It is important to note also that both the input and output of the equation are in metric units. If you want to use quarts and pounds (which I myself usually do), it's much simpler to do the unit conversion first, then convert the output back again, than it is to try to factor conversions into the equation. Also note that I did not account for the thermal mass of the mash tun; from experience, its contribution to heat loss is negligible.

Now let's make a hypothetical mash and see what we get. Let's say I'm going to mash 10 lb. (4.54 kg) of grain in 15 qt. (14.2 L) of water. The first rest will be at 105°F (40.6°C), then I'll use my unusual method to raise it to 150°F (65.6°C). For this example I'm going to assume the wort SG to be 1.050 for ease of calculation; in practice I would have to take a sample of the wort, cool it quickly, and take a hydrometer reading. For the sake of comparison, using the altered boiling water addition formula, I come up with 7.15 qt. To draw out and boil. My new fancier equation advises me to remove 6.965 L, or 7.36 qt. For boiling. The difference is 0.21 qt, or a little less than 7 fl. oz. That's only about 3% variation, which doesn't seem too major. But, out of curiosity, let's use my more accurate equation to see what temperature I would have arrived at had I used the 7.15 qt. (gotta remember to convert to 6.77 L!) suggested by the simpler equation. Turns out that would have landed me at 64.9°C, or about 148.8°F. Still just a small difference, but it only takes a few degrees of temperature difference to change the character of the finished beer. Also, the difference will increase with increased gravity of the wort, which will vary based on a number of factors. Remember that the 1.050 I used for my example was merely a convenient approximation. Your mileage may vary.

So, long story short, in the name of precision, I intend to try this process and this calculation. I'm not convinced that it will make a huge difference, but I'll settle for the satisfaction of successfully negotiating all of this math and physics. Thanks for bearing with me.

I promise lighter fare for my next few posts.

Cheers
--joe

Cooking with Rauchbier

Cooking with beer is far from a novel idea. In fact, I would contend that it is an essential skill in masculine cookery. But the use of beer in the kitchen extends far beyond dumping a Coors your chili. Selecting the proper brew for the dish takes some thought and can be a rather nuanced art (since I mentioned it, chili calls for an amber/red ale, along the lines of Leinenkugel's Red, Smithwick's, etc). I could ramble on about what styles are good for what, but my focus here is rauchbier, or smoked beer.

Rauchbier is simply German for “smoked beer.” It sounds more sophisticated for some reason to say it auf Deutsch, though I suppose it is more appropriate to only apply it to truly German examples. The style originates in Bamberg, where maltsters traditionally kilned freshly-malted barley over smoky beechwood fires. More recently, smoked beers have found an audience among craft beer enthusiasts and are becoming much less obscure. Try an Alaskan Smoked Porter if you get a chance. The rich smoked character of these beers makes them excellent for use in cooking certain meats. I like to use a good rauch/smoked to cook pork “boneless ribs” (actually a strange transverse cut that largely includes loin). My procedure follows. Apologies to the recipe-oriented: I tend not to measure anything.

My two main ingredients are pork boneless ribs and a bottle of smoked Scottish ale I brewed recently. Combine these in a pot, add a splash of apple cider vinegar and some cayenne pepper. Cover and let marinade for at least an hour (beer, by the way, is on the acidic side, so is good for tenderizing meat), longer if you can stand it.

Boneless ribs need boiled to avoid toughness, so just boil it right in the marinade. This will also facilitate the absorption of more smoky beer goodness. Boil for a while, say 20 minutes, then transfer to a baking dish. I usually put a few rings of onion on top of them, cover with foil, then place in a 425 degree oven. 20-30 minutes will do it. This can, of course, be done on a grill as well, in which case it might be wise to reserve some beer as a mop. Either way, while the meat is cooking, continue to boil the marinade. Rauchbier reductions make an amazing sauce. Add a small bit of mustard to it, a little bit of garlic salt. Just keep boiling until it's reduced and thick. If you're adventurous, I've included pureed habañeros in the sauce with great success. When the meat is done, let it rest for a while (you'll probably still be making the reduction anyway). Then plate and spoon some of the sauce over it. Pair this dish with, yes, a smoked beer.

For curious homebrewers, here are the ingredients for the smoked Scottish ale (though I'm too lazy to look up the amounts in my notes): Cherry-smoked malt, Golden Promise malt, 120L crystal malt, carapils, debittered black malt; glacier hops; wyeast Scottish Ale yeast.

Fruit Beers: How Much Fruit?

I recently decided to brew a cherry dunkelweizen in the near future. Seems like a good springtime beer; some cherry tartness should be a nice complement to the banana- and clove-like yeast esters and likewise balance the sweet malts. I scribbled out a sound base recipe for a dunkelweizen without too much trouble (see below). Now I just have to figure out how much cherry to use. And this is where I hesitate. Brewing with fruit is not something I do often. How much cherry flavor is appropriate in the finished beer? Furthermore, how much fruit is appropriate in a beer in general?

I usually have trouble with qualitative analysis of fruit beers. For example, consider an extremely overstated raspberry beer. One that both smells and tastes like fresh raspberry and nothing else. I like raspberries, so I may enjoy drinking it. But is it well-made? Not really. I can buy some raspberry juice or wine and accomplish the same effect. So while it may be a decent beverage, it is not an impressive beer. Balance is typically the hallmark of a world class brew, and these "fruit-bombs" are anything but balanced. But then the issue becomes the definition of "balanced." I think I've established that the base beer should at least be detectable, but at what proportion of base beer to fruit is the beer balanced? The usual axiom for spiced beers is that if the drinker can identify the spice, then it's too much (the cardamom in Stone Vertical Epic 07.07.07 comes to mind). Fruit beers, though, seem to have a different standard; they require more fruit presence. After all, eating plain blueberries is commonplace, but I don't know anyone that will eat a spoonful of straight coriander (dares aside).

Hanssens Oudbeitje, a nice fruit lambic
made with Strawberries.

Then there are lambics. These traditional spontaneously-fermented beers are usually musty and sour, and frequently include fruit to add a little bit of balance and complexity. Because of the strong flavors involved, lambics can get away with more fruit than other styles without becoming overwhelming. It's still possible to have too much, though. Most products from Brouwerij Lindemans are far over-the-top with fruit. Try a Lindemans Kriek and a Cantillon Kriek (both lambics with cherries) side-by-side and decide which one is better executed.

After all of this, I still haven't answered my initial question. The fruit in a fruit beer should be identifiable, but not overwhelming. There's still a lot of room for play between the extremes. I'll call this the zone of "open to interpretation." As for my cherry dunkelweizen, I think I'll choose the conservative route with the fruit. Present, but toward the background. We'll see how it goes.

Oh, and for the curious, here is the base recipe for the dunkeweizen:

68% wheat malt
25% dark Munich malt
3.5% chocolate wheat
3.5% Special B

~10 IBU worth of Mt. Hood hops for bittering only. Weihenstephaner yeast. Cherry (amount TBD) in secondary.

Cheers,
--Joe