Smith meanwhile, has now brewed kvass on four occasions. He says his remaining stock—about 55 gallons aging in an oak barrel—is characterized by a wonderful lactic sourness. Less wonderful, though, were the plastic bottles of imported kvass he tracked down at a Russian grocer in Pittsburgh, trading a growler of his own brew for a few samples of dark liquid. Smith says that while he tried the shelf-stable varieties, kvass, like most historical drinks, was meant to be consumed rapidly.
“They were almost undrinkable,” he remembers. “They tasted like cardboard and malt syrup and had no life, no carbonation. In kvass you want a starchy product, but it can be a pretty alienating drink.”
The Past is Present
Some recipes can be resuscitated with relative ease, while others, like Koch’s Norse Legend or Dogfish’s forthcoming collaboration with Birra del Borgo and Birra Baladin, can take years to get right. With Dr. McGovern acting as the time-traveling chaperon, Calagione sought to resurrect a beverage last consumed by Etruscan nobility some 2,500 years ago. Several test recipes were involved. The services of an Italian yeast expert were required. And eventually, huge terra cotta fermentation vessels were built for the project.
“We spent almost a year working with a lot of different people from the fields of science, history and brewing,” Calagione says. “We actually first discussed this when we were in Cairo working on Ta Henket.”
Etrusca, as the latest ancient ale is known, will arrive on shelves nationwide in October. Debuting at the Eataly Birreria in New York and Dogfish’s Rehoboth brewpub this summer, it has a dizzying number of ingredients: pomegranates, hazelnut powder, Italian heirloom wheat, Italian wine yeast from the Etruscan region, tree resin, gentian root and native honey. We will never know whether Etrusca tastes like the alcohol familiar to citizens of ancient Etruria, but for modern drinkers, it will be anything but ordinary.
In the end, what might be one of the most interesting things about the revival of Old World styles is the small yet dependable demand for them nationwide. Scott Manning maintains that his Joulupukki has won over a devoted group of followers in Wisconsin. Ben Edmunds at Breakside says that in Portland, where sour beers currently have cachet, presenting gose as a gateway sour has helped to enthuse his regular customers. And Alex Ganum of Upright claims that chefs as well as some of his wine-making friends enjoy his award-winning gose because it tends to pair well with rich and salty foods. Kvass, too, while considerably less trendy, has its admirers.
“I would stop making kvass if people would stop buying it,” Woodske says, “but there’s been a consistently strong response. There are at least four to five people a month that drive in from over 30 minutes away specifically to try the kvass. Many of them are from Russia, Latvia, Lithuania and other parts of the former Soviet Union.”
Perhaps the time will come when gose truly is considered a mainstream ale, or maybe one day sahti will no longer seem out of place on a draft list. Hoping that their creativity will continue to be rewarded, a growing number of craft brewers across the country remain optimistic. Who knows? They could yet end up being right, because when it comes to the future of American beer, almost anything is possible.
“The longest brewing tradition was making beer with whatever was natural and available,” contends Calagione. “We see the Reinheitsgebot as a relatively modern form of art censorship.”
