The Cool Ship
Production and sales of Brett-beers and sour ales remain marginal in comparison to more traditional styles. And taste descriptives for lambic-style beers such as “horse blanket” or “musty barnyard funk” haven’t done much to lure casual drinkers into the fold. But as the audience for craft beer continues to expand, the number of beer enthusiasts willing to explore the exotic potential of theses ales seems destined to grow.
One brewery investing its resources in the magic of wild ales is Allagash Brewing. In contrast to Phil Goularte’s happy accident with wild yeasts, Allagash has deliberately embarked upon a journey in their pursuit. And they’re using a cool ship to get there.
A “coolship” (koelschip in Flemish) is a traditional Belgian device used to hold the wort as it slowly cools overnight. The long, relatively shallow stainless steel tanks create optimal surface area for the wort to expose itself to the open airs. Ambient yeasts and bacteria soon step in to initiate fermentation and impart their distinct character.
Last year, Allagash built an entire “koelschip room” exclusively for production of wild ales. Hot wort from the adjoining brewery is piped in, the windows are thrown open, and the native microflora of Portland, ME are given free reign for 24 hours. The inoculated wort is stirred in a mixing tank for a day, then transferred to French oak barrels where signs of fermentation are generally seen the next day.
Allagash uses 40% unmalted wheat in their wild ales. Slow cooling in the coolship keeps wheat proteins suspended in the beer. This provides “food for (fermentation) bugs,” says head brewer Jason Perkins. “It gives them something to feed off for several years during long-term fermentation.”
Another traditional Belgian technique Allagash incorporates is the use of aged hops. Their wild ales have been hopped with whole flower German Spalt and Hallertau hops aged from 3-5 years. Older hops loose their bittering properties while still imparting flavor and preservative qualities.
Allagash hopes to release their as-yet unnamed wild ales sometime in 2009. Or not. “Certainly there’s a chance that beer will never see the market,” says Perkins. The unpredictable character of fermenting without pitched yeast makes every batch highly experimental. Brewers quickly learn that wild ales earn their moniker and come with no guarantee of success.
To assure quality, the beer is routinely tasted as it ages and matures. The final product of Allagash’s wild ale production may be a bottle-conditioned blend of aged beer and newer batches, perhaps with additions of ripe fruit. This shifts much of the artistry of creating wild ales out of the brew house and into the conditioning room, as is customary with similar Belgian styles.
Keep ‘em Separated
Wild ales may soon have their place among the offerings of American craft brewers. But that place may be distinctly separated from the rest of their ale and lager production. Yeasts and bacteria are opportunists with no respect for the boundaries of fine beer recipes. Should they cross the line, wild ale yeasts may ruin any beer in which they are unintended. Vigilant sanitary technique is necessary to keep them where they belong.
Ken Andrews takes diligent precautions to assure that the propagation of native microflora at Bristol doesn’t contaminate their production brewery. Beers receiving wild yeast additions are inoculated in a warehouse separated from the brewery and Andrews prudently insists that a tapline at their tasting room stays reserved for native-yeast beers exclusively.
Porous surfaces such as hoses and gaskets are never crossed between beers brewed with wild and cultured yeasts. “We’re very anal about it,” insists Jason Perkins.
Ron Jeffries takes a more carefree approach. “All our beers are wild and sour,” he asserts. So a constant welcome mat is kept in place for native microbial guests, inviting their distinct contribution to the complexities of his Belgian-inspired beers. Jolly Pumpkin does clean its oak barrels to remove inorganic residues. But the barrels are never steam cleaned or sanitized with sulfur compounds to eliminate living organisms.
Nano-Brewery, Macro-Beers
The readerboard outside the Grey Parrot proclaims it to be the smallest brewery in the United States. It isn’t. But with a brewing system whose capacities are measured in gallons, not barrels, the Parrot is more nano than micro. Phil Goularte built and assembled the 90-gallon system himself.
His wild ales are all big gravity beers with ABVs finishing between 8%-10%. According to Goularte, “Wild yeast sucks every bit of sugar from the wort and leaves very little behind.” But the potential harshness of the powerfully sour ales begs to be tempered with aging. “It takes a year to a year and a half before I like them,” he says. “The longer they go, the better they get.”
Goularte has experimented with different seasonal exposures to native microflora. Early spring tends to yield the best results, when he suspects wild yeasts hitchhike on pollen from local cranberry bogs. According to Goularte, “There’s too many things in the air in summer, not enough in fall and winter.”
Every local environment hosts its own distinct community of microflora. The Grey Parrot happens to benefit from being the northernmost brewery on the west coast of the contiguous United States. It’s within earshot of the surf. But Phil Goularte has never formally investigated which micro-bugs create the friendly mischief behind his wild ales.
Perhaps their hidden identity makes his ales all the more wild—the wildest beers in the west.
