One Down and Dirty Brew (Makin' Lambic, Pt 1)

Every homebrewer recognizes the basic commandments of homebrewing, the laws that dictate whether or not your beer will be in any way drinkable.  Ask any of us what makes good beer and the answers will rarely vary: Use only the freshest ingredients, keep your equipment clean, and sanitize, sanitize, sanitize!  These commandments were delivered by the homebrewing gods long before microbes were discovered, before the chemistry or physics of beermaking were well understood, and they will still be true no matter what innovations future generations make.

But today, I look up to the homebrew gods and tell them, “But, I’m making a lambic.”  To which they reply, after a moment of introspection, “Oh.  Well, in that case, nevermind.”

I love rulebreakers, and lambic is the brew that breaks the rules.  And makes rude gestures in the face of everyone who thinks they know what they’re talking about, too.  This is the beer in which the words “sweaty, farmyard smell” are meant to be complimentary.

Steeping some old socks,
to get the traditional flavor.

Lambic is a sour beer style originating in Belgium, closely related to the sour ales of Flanders.  It relies heavily on the wild yeasts and bacteria of that specific geographic area, meaning it is impossible to create a true lambic outside of Belgium.  But thanks to the miracle of microbiology, the predominant yeast and bacteria strains have been identified and cultured to give us homebrewers a fair chance to make our own.  It is aged for long periods and often blended, sometimes with fruit, sometimes with older and younger brews, sometimes sweetened, but all with a unique sour tang that makes it unlike any other beer out there.

So how do you make lambic?  First, you throw the rule book out of the window, say a prayer to Arnold, the patron saint of Belgian brewers, and then break out the hops!

We have to start with the hops, because the lambic style calls specifically for old, stale hops.  Where does one find old, stale hops?  In my case, I find them in my basement, six months after I opened a package of fresh hops, put them in a paper bags, and left them down there to age.  Lambics require a lot of patience.

To actually make the beer itself, I mashed together pale malt and flaked wheat, and added those old hops to the boil.  After the boil, I poured the wort into the fermenter bucket (which I did clean and sanitize, because some things are too ingrained to ignored), and let the wort sit, without adding the yeast, giving the wort time to turn sour.  Lambics require a lot of patience.

Before pitching the yeast...

...And after.  "Excuse me, sir, your fermentation is showing."

Finally, I added the yeast, which was a particular blend of cultured Belgian yeast and a bacteria called lactobacillus.  This is kind of like making bread from a sour starter (or bourbon from a sour-mash starter).  I let the yeast begin fermentation without putting the top on the fermenter.

Now, I wait for primary fermentation to finish.  And after that?  I wait some more.  This beer will sit in the secondary fermenter for at least a year.

Lambics require a LOT of patience.

In the end, I hope to make another small batch of lambic, and blend the old and new lambic together before bottling, making what is called geuze.

In the meantime, I’m feeling a little excited anxiety about the whole lambic process.  The carelessness of sanitizing, the lactobacillus bacteria, the open fermentor.  It’s all a bit much for me.  I think I need to lie down.  Excuse me.

Don't Drink the Green Beer!

Not cool, man.  Not cool.
What did that beer ever do to you?

Yes, it is St. Patrick’s Day once again, that annual celebration of all things Irish, a veritable stew of all the good things that Irish immigrants have brought to this country, like the color green, corned beef, potatoes, Riverdance, and good beer!  And to help celebrate, bars around this country will be featuring a Frankenstein creation with no cultural relevance what-so-ever: green beer.

Folks, there is nothing remotely Irish about green beer.  Now, I know that you know that it’s made with green food coloring.  But chances are, since the beer is being artificially colored and sold to guys who are already half-drunk, it’s probably a pretty cheap pale lager, barely worth your hard-earned money.  And when you consider the hundreds of years of beer brewing history around Ireland, and the fact that there is NO traditional Irish lager, green beer seems like a waste of time. 

Instead, enjoy a good Irish ale, or perhaps a stout.  Yes, Guinness, though mass-produced and now owned by Diageo, headquartered in London of all places, is still an easily obtainable example of Irish beer.  Not my favorite, but I understand why people like it. 

Red ales are also quite popular, even though the red ale style seems more connected to France than Ireland, the color come from the toasted barley, and Ireland has no shortage of that.

Just don’t drink the green beer!

Leave that to the college kids, let them enjoy the green beer-induced hangovers.  This is a time to celebrate culture over gimmicks, and quality over quantity.

I for one am making a milk stout in honor of my Irish heritage.  I think milk stout might be a little more English than Irish, but as I say, I don’t like bitter dry stouts.  The idea of a sweet stout, on the other hand, makes my mouth water.

The only real difference in style is that milk stouts add lactose, which is a sugar derived from milk (see, they don’t actually contain milk) which the yeast cannot digest, resulting in a sweeter taste.

Will my stout be ready for St. Patrick’s Day?  No chance, I haven’t even started it yet.  It won’t be ready for at least a few weeks, and even then, I’ll probably let it cellar for a couple extra weeks.  Good beer is like good wine, and gets better with age.  No, I’m planning on enjoying my Irish beer just in time for Cinco de Mayo.

This is not meant to be ironic.  Many Irish immigrants fleeing the potato famine found few job prospects in the United States, owing to Anglo-Saxon Protestant prejudice against their Catholicism.  Few options remained, one of which was an army desperate for soldiers to fight an unnecessary war against Mexico.  However, the Irish soldiers were so badly treated by their officers, many deserted and joined up with their fellow Catholics, the Mexicans.  To this day, the Irish hold a special place in the heart of Mexico, which goes a long way toward explaining why this Scotch-Irish kid from suburban Rhode Island likes spicy food so much!

So, grab an ale!  Grab a stout!  Grab a taco!

Just don’t drink the green beer!