Although it threw a nice tight head, the texture was almost stilled cognac. The color reminded me of Thos. Moser furniture, deep rich auburn and smooth, very smooth. The aroma, and flavor, had dried fruit richness – black cherries with a holiday sense to it. What a full hop finish, too, which caught me by surprise. Was the bitterness all hops? I thought that faded over time? Yet here was black pepper lasting for a very long time. The alcohol, at over 9 percent, added a slight burn but was hardly noticeable. Here’s the deal: This is billed as a barley wine but after ten years in my “cellar” it has smoothened out so much that it lacks the cloying maltiness and alcohol burn, instead having a holiday spice flavor on top of a silky cognac texture. And I’ve still got three of these babies left!

You know what….I agree. I do feel that we are blessed with an amazing beer scene. With so many talented brewers around these days, the number of styles is constantly growing. Styles that are defying the laws of tradition and pushing the boundaries of what beer can be. Yes, there is something to say for both guide lines and traditional styles, but isn’t it exciting to be challenged by these creative mavericks and try something unique? I think it is. It’s also an important time to support our regional and local scene. Put your dollars into American craft beer. I’m not saying you should give up those imports all together, just try to make a local substitution from time to time. It’s better for the environment as well. Clean out that growler and head down to your brewpub for some fresh and original brew.

Speaking of great craft beer, the World Beer Championships recently held their annual North American and British Ales tasting. We started out with the Golden Ale category, a fine style to choose for the start of your session. Try a Deschutes Cascade Ale (89 points), light bodied and very refreshing. Pair with some mild cheeses, or a snack of garlic-fried garbanzos would be welcome as well. It’s always a good idea to get a base layer lining the system before you start in on a session.

In the Amber Ale category, the Roy-Pitz Brewing Co.’s Truly Honest Amber Ale (84 points), Deschutes Green Lakes Organic Ale (92 Points) and the Rogue Ales American Amber Ale (88 points) all stood out as excellent examples of the style. It sounds simple, but a grilled burger with some sharp cheddar and caramelized onions is a perfect match for me. A comfort combo if there ever was one.

As far as the American Pale Ales are concerned, the West Coast dominated. Eugene City Track Town Triple Jump Pale Ale (92 Points), Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale (92 Points), and Full Sail Pale Ale (91 Points) represented with aplomb. Pale ales work well with a myriad of foods. I really enjoy some sharp cheddar to snack on with a glass of pale ale, but if you are up to it, try some ceviche. The citrus in the marinade plays nicely with the hops in the pale ale and any spiciness is easily tamed. A refreshing summertime pairing for your friends.

Of course, some IPAs made it to the party. Goose Island IPA (92 Points) is exceptionally well balanced and a pleasure to drink. Stone India Pale Ale (91 Points) proved to be wonderfully complex and well-poised. Bastone Brewery Royal IPA (89 Points) showed us another fine example from a Midwest micro-brewery. With IPAs I like to spice it up a bit: some Thai, Indian curry, or some Cajun will usually do the trick. If you’re planning on cheese, blue-veined varieties are excellent. Pasta with pine nuts and Gorgonzola would also pair nicely.

Barley wines are always a great way to end a session. Warming, rich and potent, they make for an excellent contemplative quaff. A few notable entries include Upland Winter Warmer Barley Wine (88 Points), Rogue Ales 2008 Old Crustacean Barleywine Ale (93 Points), and Stone Brewing Co. Stone Guardian Barley Wine. A bleu cheese such as Stilton is the traditional pairing and a perfect way to end a meal. You could also try a barley wine with some roasted duck for a decadent experience, and as long as the hop character isn’t too assertive, try some vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce with a snifter of barley wine. Your taste buds will be thanking you.

Again, be sure to support American craft ales when spending your hard-earned dollars. Your local breweries also need your support now more than ever. It’s practically a no-brainer with so much talent out there these days. Thanks again to the participating breweries and our excellent panel of judges. Remember, in these tough times it’s really ale’s what cures ya! Cheers.

Real Old Ale

We can only surmise what beer must have tasted like before the use of bittering, antiseptic hops. Quickly-fermenting brews that allowed minimal time for nefarious organisms to overwhelm the batch were no doubt common. The marriage of hops and beer in continental Europe a thousand years ago and in England by the sixteenth century was an enlightenment: hopped ales were protected against microbial corruption, and could be kept for long periods of time without compromise.

Within decades of this epiphany, English brewers were making ales of several strengths. Able to withstand prolonged storage, strong ale developed complex characteristics from assorted organisms inhabiting the aging barrels. Aging itself lent some oxidative and vinous qualities to the beer, and residual brewing yeast added another dimension by metabolizing any leftover sugars. Most importantly though, cask-resident Brettanomyces yeast contributed mightily to the desired character with the musty, leathery and barnyard notes synonymous with kept ales, those that had seen a minimum of a year in the cask. Additionally, they were mashed to be under-attenuated and sweeter, perhaps to offer more substrate for the Brett and the acidifying bacteria, Lactobacillus.

They were variously known as old, stock, strong, or stale ale, with stale being interpreted as “stood” and not something undesirable. One key to keeping stock ale was serving it while it still had that delicious depth of mature character, but before it became excessively sour or acidic. Brewing operations were often suspended from late spring through early autumn to shield the fermenting beer from the ubiquitous airborne contaminants during the warm months and to eliminate any possibility of unpleasant byproducts of high temperature fermentation.

Any ale brewed at the end of the spring season could be consumed fresh, or it could be blended with stock ale to roughen the profile and give it that aged impression. Stock ale that was leftover when the brewing season resumed in fall was consumed as “old ale,” completing the cycle. The practice of blending was common practice during the rise of British brewing in the first half of the eighteenth century, and vital in the saga of porter.

New Old Ale

Due in large part to the advancements made in malt production and a keener understanding of brewing science and recipe formulation, blending became less common in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. “Old ale” came into use more, as stock and stale were no longer needed to describe their condition.

Many strong ales lived on, and newly developed styles such as Imperial stout and Baltic porter were brewed specifically for export. Barley wine, old ale, Yorkshire stingo and Burton ale carried on this tradition on the home front, and all were designed with aging in mind. All of these brews were quite similar, but old ale may be a direct descendent of the darker Burton ale, while barley wine emerged in recent times as slightly stronger and lighter in color, with more attenuation.

Burton ale is of particular interest as an intermediate style in the evolution of modern old ale. Burton-upon-Trent had a rich brewing heritage for hundreds of years before their IPA gained acclaim in the 1700s. During the heyday, both IPA and outstanding strong, sweeter ales were brewed. They contained a small amount of “high-dried” or roasted barley, and were dry hopped prior to aging. The style endured simply as Burton Ale, even into the twentieth century. Sometimes they were called old ale, and blended with mild.

More evidence of their popularity lies in the fact that they were the preferred Baltic export from Burton, and that many brewers across England made them, keeping “Burton” attached to identify the character. Burton ales were widely popular through the nineteenth century, at time when beer styles began to distinguish themselves, and even as pale lager gained a strong foothold throughout Europe.

The first half of the twentieth century saw something of a downturn in the popularity of strong ales, primarily due to wartime taxation and scarcity of raw materials. But the tags old ale, barley wine and Burton ale could be found on many labels, even though collectively they would remain rather similar beers. A surge in popularity occurred again after World War II for a few years as some degree of prosperity and nostalgia returned, but it waned again until the 1970s and 80s, when the current revolution gained momentum. Since then, old ale and barley wine have separated themselves for the most part from historical strong ale, and are now again a significant feature on the beer landscape.

Recreated Old

As mentioned earlier, old ales cover a rather broad set of descriptors, sometimes overlapping with barley wines in character, and at others, sliding down to more modest proportions as seasonal winter warmers. This allows for unique stylistic interpretations among brewers.

The classics are deep amber to mahogany in color. They range from 5.6 to 9 percent in general, but exceed that on either end. The grist is in great measure premium English pale ale malt, mashed to increase residuals and decrease fermentability. Character malts include various shades of caramel, perhaps some chocolate or black, and occasionally some adjunct grain or brewing sugar. Often kettle time is dramatically increased to add intense caramelization and deeper, red-tinted color. This tried and true combination of composition and method imparts notes of treacle, molasses, and raisin or prune, with hints of nuts, chocolate or roast, all over a malty and dextrinous background.

Estery yeast is best employed to supply fruity notes that play well with aging. Classic English East Kent Goldings and Fuggles hops are most likely used, at reserved levels.

Though today’s old ales may lack the Brettanomyces and lactic acid character that defined them in bygone cask-matured versions, aging in itself does impart a vinous quality to those meant to keep. Barrels have largely been replaced by bottle-conditioning. Old Peculier, Fullers 1845, Harviestoun Old Engine Oil, and Sarah Hughes Dark Ruby Mild all can acquire the sherrylike, oxidative profile if cellared, and all are manageable in strength at 5.6 to 6.3 percent ABV. They are, without a doubt, firmly in the old ale style.

More formidable are Gale’s Prize Old Ale, Fuller’s Vintage Ale, Frederic Robinson’s Old Tom, J. W. Lee’s Moonraker, and Kuhnhenn Fourth Dementia. All have intense winey notes, can be kept for multiple years, and require a seasoned palate to fully grasp.

Those that straddle the old ale/barley wine fence have a subdued hop character relative to most barely wines and are worth including in the discussion. They are most suited for prolonged cellaring and contemplative vertical tasting comparison, and include Eldridge Pope Thomas Hardy’s Ale (11.9%), J. W. Lees Vintage Harvest Ale (11.5%), North Coast Brewing Old Stock Ale (12.5%), and Bell’s Third Coast Old Ale (10.2%). Years of aging only make these better. They are surprisingly simplistic in their makeup, generally using only pale malt and protracted boiling times to achieve powerfully concentrated flavors and ruby highlights in the color. Reminiscent of port wine and sherry, they also take on the auxiliary whispers of multi-organism maturation, with a tart and earthy edge. All examples exhibit an engagement of familiar ale and novel age character that untangle seamlessly. Harvest and Hardy’s ales could easily be put squarely in the English barley wine camp.

Seasonal winter warmers, like Sam Smith’s Winter Welcome, St. Peter’s Winter Ale and Young’s Winter Warmer are best enjoyed within several months of release. They are malty and have a fresher hop nose than more burly old ales. American breweries also tender winter seasonals in this vein.

The future for old ales and their ilk looks promising as vintaging and barreling is taking on a new level of appreciation, and brewers are looking eagerly to fill these niches. Even some of those listed above are either relatively new or recently revived to accommodate the emerging market. Take comfort in an old ale.

The commercial moniker was given by venerable brewer Bass, a marketing maneuver giving rough guidelines to contemporary strong beer, spawning imitators and contributing to an American renaissance decades later. Barley wine is often appropriately brewed as a commemorative or annual offering to demonstrate the skill of the artful brewmaster. Classic English and American versions differ, the former showing some refined restraint, the latter more impetuous and rowdy—a neat metaphorical difference. Formidable in both spirit and makeup, barley wine is a perfect nightcap, but also lends itself well to comparative tastings, given its lability over time and the many interpretations. American brewers’ embrace of barley wine over the past 20 years ensures that anyone can have a soothing goblet or a impressively-stocked cellar at their disposal.

Ye Olde vs. Brave New World

Barley wine is a vestige of ancient strong ales, but more recently of English parti-gyle brewing that was employed through the 19th century. Parti-gyle is a method whereby successive runnings from the grist are made into separate beers, with the initial one being the strongest. This hodgepodge of beers had an assortment of names, with the strongest going by names such as stock (for blending), old (well-aged) or strong ale.

The term barley wine (and malt wine) was noted in historical documents during the 18th century, when brewers tried to curry favor with wine drinkers by hinting at the strength, nutrition and quality of their beer. Whether that strategy worked or not is debatable, as most regions of Europe that are known predominantly for either wine or beer have long been that way, with some crossover of course. This has more to do with climate and agriculture than any sort of class distinction, perceived or otherwise.

With brewing innovations in the early 19th century, brewers moved away from parti-gyle brewing and towards sparged mashes and a single-purpose grist. English brewers had by then perfected brews made primarily from high-quality pale malt. Pale ales and bitters were the most common, but strong beers were often included in the portfolio, barley wines being really just strong versions of pale ales and bitters in many ways.

London and Burton were famous for their pale ales, but also strong brews. Records from the mid-19th century specified brews with original gravities identical to modern barley wines. They differed from one another though. London’s were hopped less, attenuated more and were not generally dry-hopped. Burton’s were more heavily-hopped, attenuated less and almost always dry-hopped rather abundantly. Based on this, it is easy to see that the strong ales of Burton are antecedent to today’s barley wines. In fact, the famous Burton brewer, Bass, launched the first beer commercially designated as a barley wine in 1903, Bass No. 1 Barley Wine. Many British brewers followed suit, going so far as to mimic the No. 1 label.

Today, English barley wines are not prevalent, but CAMRA has ensured enough interest to keep the style alive and coveted over the past 30-odd years. Thankfully, American brewers have more than taken up the slack with the verve and independence that has defined the microbrew revolution in the US.

The story of Fritz Maytag and the Anchor Brewing Co. in San Francisco is a familiar one. His acquisition of Anchor on the verge of its closing in 1965 is essentially the rebirth of craft beer in America. In 1975, Maytag introduced Anchor’s Old Foghorn barley wine, America’s first. Still one of the most popular and best thirty-some years later, it has been distinctly American from the start, but has much in common with its English forebears in that it is more full-bodied and fruity, and less aggressively hopped than many of its American counterparts. Not to worry, the ubiquitous American barley wine covers a wide spectrum of interpretations, so there is something for everybody, especially hopheads.

A Strong Personality

A well-crafted strong brew should age well and develop some depth, belying its actually simplicity. The barley wine brewer can tweak the components to individualize the brew, but the formulation need not be complicated.

Barley wines proudly demonstrate their alcoholic strength and may be well-attenuated, but they require a substantial backbone to support it. To that end, English pale ale malt may the best alternative to provide the clean, somewhat lean, malty profile and authenticity that a barley wine deserves. In fact, that is really the only grain necessary, if it is handled deftly.

The essential caramel background can be achieved with a prolonged boil, something that a brewer might employ anyhow to realize the desired original gravity. Usually though, the pale malt is buttressed with caramel malt to get the body, flavor and residual sweetness that offset the hops and alcohol. Without that peripheral caramel character, a barley wine would be a thin, alcoholic, unappetizing, lupulinized mess. American two-row barley is a more than capable substitute for English varieties, though it may need a bit more augmentation. To add further profundity, grains like Munich and chocolate malt might be used.

Hop choices depend primarily on whether the brewer wants to create an American or English interpretation, has a personal preference for one type or another, or seeks a diverse hop profile. In any case, hops are used rather liberally, from beginning to end. American brewers usually go heavy on both bittering and late hop additions, with dry-hopping quite common. English barley wine is a little less bitter on average, and lighter on the aromatic additions. Some brewers add hops at many points during the boil to get a continuum of hop goodness. Even German or Czech hops are not off limits to enhance the sensory explosion that is barley wine.

Fermentation and, hence, yeast presents something of challenge in brewing barley wine. Foremost, one must be selected that can handle alcohol concentration of at least 9 percent and as much as 12 percent or more. Anything less would result in a syrupy, under-attenuated wort. Barley wine brewers of yore would “walk” their casks of fermenting beer around the brewery to rouse and reawaken the yeast, coaxing the punch-drunk organisms back to work.

Yeast can also be selected to produce an estery brew, or not. A favorite American strain leaves little to no footprint in the brew, while other American and English strains offer up fruity, woody, or earthy aromas. Barley wine changes deliberately, but dramatically, over time, developing some winey, oxidative notes. English barley wines are especially famous for this, given that there is less hop intrusion, and usually a more characterful yeast at work. Some of these, such a J. W. Lees, are delicious after a decade or more. Barley wines range in strength from about 8 to 12 percent ABV, or more in some cases. Color ranges from light copper to amber to ruby.

As barley wines are often vintage-dated, it is a unique experience to sample several years running of a particular brand, a vertical tasting. Alternatively, try samples from different breweries, as no beer style is more extensively toyed with. In any case, barley wine has a way of stimulating beery discussion. On the other hand, a trip to the cellar on a private evening might be just what the doctor ordered, especially on a crisp winter’s eve.

I was going for the beer—actually, some of the world’s most complex and powerful brews at the Great Alaska Beer & Barley Wine Festival in Anchorage. The festival, which debuted nine years ago, has become the world’s premier winter brew event, drawing beer celebrities from as far away as Vermont, Ontario, and the British Isles.

Most Americans are unfamiliar with barley wine. The word was coined in Britain more than a century ago to describe a brewery’s strongest offering. Barley wines were brewed for special occasions, such as coronations, and seasonally for Christmas celebrations at home. While there’s no precise definition of barley wine, experts agree that it should be copper to dark brown in color, have at least 8.5 percent alcohol by volume, and be neither syrupy nor bitter.

High excise taxes all but wiped out British barley wine, but in recent decades, the beverage experienced an unexpected revival on this side of the Atlantic. When America’s craft brewing industry got up and running, brew masters concentrated on classic British styles. Before long, they were trying their hand at barley wine. Anchor Brewing Co. brought out the first, Old Foghorn, in 1975. The style soon acquired a following; and other brewers, especially in the American West, offered their own versions. Many of these were—and still are—sold as holiday and winter seasonals.

Big, Bold and Beautiful

But how did Anchorage, a city 8,000 miles from Britain, become the world’s barley wine capital? Local brewers insist that their state was a barley wine festival just waiting to happen. According to Anchorage brewster and beer writer Dawnell Smith, Alaskans “like things big, bold and beautiful.”

Barley wine fits perfectly in that mold. Mark Staples, the founder of Midnight Sun Brewing Co., adds, “Alaskans are a rare breed. They are very independent. And that is why the breweries really push the envelope on beer styles.”

Alaska’s homebrewing tradition also plays a role. The state is said to rank first in homebrewers per capita. Jarret Klein, for years the head man at Borealis Brewery, explains: “Winters get long, slow and boring. It’s dark outside. It’s damn cold. That’s when we start to play with our beers.” When Alaskan homebrewers went commercial in the 1990s, they found an enthusiastic audience. As Dawnell Smith explains, “We tend to like all things Alaskan and will support anything with that hardcore Alaskan style.”It took two Anchorage men to add the final pieces of the puzzle. Inspired by a beer festival in California, event promoter Steve Shepherd organized one of his own when he got home. It was such a success that he staged another, bigger event the following January. The timing was perfect. As Mark Staples put it, “Winter in Alaska adds a lot to the festival. What better beer style to go with cold, dark winter days?”

Meanwhile, Bill Opinsky, a tireless promoter of local craft beer, was hosting an annual barley wine festival and com-petition at his downtown beer bar, Humpy’s Great Alaskan Alehouse. Finding common cause in Alaska and its beer, Opinsky and Shepherd joined forces in 2000.

Ye Olde Strong Beer

Brewing methods have changed or been refined dramatically over the centuries. Even some of the most basic steps in the process were omitted or done differently in the past, to the point where today’s brewers would look at old-time brewing as being downright archaic.

For example, in order to make efficient use of the grains, brewers today employ a practice known as sparging. This is a steady sprinkle of hot water at the top of the grain bed in the mash tun to rinse the grain and eke out as much as possible of the flavor, fermentables, and essence of the ingredients into the brew kettle. This allows the brewer to have precise control over the strength of the brew.

In earlier times, instead of sparging, a method known as parti-gyle brewing was used. Parti-gyle is the art of making two or more beers from a single mash. The grains were crushed, loaded into the mash tun, and the hot mashing liquor was added. After the designated period of time, the sweet, luscious nectar was drained without sparging. This was the first beer of the lot. The effluent wort was staggeringly dense and the forerunner of today’s barley wines. The grain was then re-saturated and drained again, producing a much weaker wort and subsequently a much smaller beer. This might have been repeated up to three or four times to make beers of varying strength. The strongest would be for local people of status; the weakest, for children, women or servants.

Parti-gyle brewing is still practiced today in some breweries. The Belgian designations of tripel, dubbel, and single are remnants of this method, though today’s beers bearing those names are so different from one another that it is obvious that they are made from their own respective mash. Breweries in Scotland and England also use the process to limited degree.