A Tradition, Not a Style
It was these pagan solstice holidays—filled with unrestrained debauchery each winter solstice—that many historians say Pope Julius I sought to co-opt when, in the 4th century,he declared that the holy date of Christ’s birth was the 25th of December.
Yet, while the papacy managed to take the paganism out of the holiday, it wisely never tried to take the beer out of Christmas.
Indeed, over the centuries, the entire notion of “Christmas beer” became ingrained in the holiday as much as yule logs and mistletoe. The monasteries of Europe celebrated the birth of Jesus with Prima Melior, their breweries’ best of the best. Norwegian farmers were required to brew juleøl—yule ale—for their workers or face expulsion from their property. And throughout the 19th century, British workhouses—those Dickensian homes for the poor—broke the tedium with free Christmas ale for their residents.
And so it goes today, with hundreds of commercial breweries celebrating the season in their own way.
The long backstory of this iconic style is important because it establishes that Christmas beer isn’t really a style—it’s a tradition.
Other varieties, like India pale ale and stout and bock, were born out of tradition, too. But each is made to specific criteria—the type and amount of malt and hops, the flavor, the body, the alcohol content, all of it related to the available ingredients and brewing methods of their time.
Christmas beer, by contrast, is a sprite. It is as fanciful as stockings hung by the chimney with care, of a child’s dreams of flying reindeer. It follows no criteria. Or, to put it more bluntly: Santa Claus don’t need no stinkin’ badges.
