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.