Saisons exhibited a utilitarian duality: lean enough to slake a heavy thirst, yet robust enough to fend off spoilage and revitalize the weary. Highly individualistic, saison is the quintessential artisanal brew, with loose interpretations relative to other styles. Today’s versions are more robust than the ancestors, but pay proud homage to their rustic roots. Ten years ago saison might have been considered a rare lineage of brews, but that is no longer the case. Saison production is on the upswing, from its homeland of Wallonia, Belgium, to the ever-rambunctious microbreweries of North America: a welcome and exhilarating trend for sure.

Farmer’s Market

Saison is a remnant of centuries-past, rural Belgian farmhouse ales common to French-speaking Wallonia, especially in the west, and parts of Flanders. There, softly-contoured flatlands and fields of rich, dark soil buoyed prosperous agrarian communities where wheat, oats, buckwheat, spelt and barley were cultivated and included in indigenous brews. Malting was often done on site, but raw grains were also commonly used.

Each farm or cooperative made their own distinctive brew. Often farmers shared equipment and brewhouses, and pooled resources, ideas and skill to make communal concoctions. Imagine the personalized touch. Competent brewing ensured that a bumper batch of beer could be made if one crop or another was not up to snuff, lending even more variability to the native brews.

Centuries ago, beers were spiced with locally grown or culled herbs and botanicals, referred to collectively as gruit. Naturally, this would have varied regionally or locally, based on availability or preference. A thousand years ago, hops began replacing gruit in much of continental Europe, and almost entirely by the sixteenth century. Belgian brewers, though, often used hops alongside their herbal mixtures.

As trade increased, exotic spices partially replaced locally procured botanicals. Brewers employed hops as an essential ingredient for its pleasant balancing flavor and, as importantly, antiseptic qualities. This was, after all, a beer for keeping, and liberal use of hops quashed microbial invaders and infused that bitter, resinous background. One of the earliest significant hop growing regions in Europe straddled modern day France and Belgium (Poperinge and Ypres), essentially overlapping the seminal origins of French and Belgian farmhouse ales, including the sibling of saison, French bière de garde.

Every brewing region in the world made provisional beers during the centuries before refrigeration. Brewers essentially followed the blueprint of brewing in the cooler months to temper undesirable fermentation byproducts and keep bugs at bay. It was undertaken for a variety of reasons: to sequester nutrients and calories; make potentially lethal water potable; drive the modest, agrarian lifestyle and economy and offer a daily diversion. It was provisionally vital to the working class: in rural Belgium, this meant the villagers, farmers and seasonal farmhands (saisonniers).

The backbreaking labor dictated that special consideration be given to the beer offered to saisonniers. Like their English counterparts, Belgian farmhouse brewers made brews of differing strengths (the weakest were used as table beers), but the strongest farmhouse ales rarely exceeded 5 percent ABV. Often consumed throughout the day, casks were kept cool in streams or by nestling them in shaded soil. Tipsy, dehydrated farm hands would be counterproductive to efficient harvesting, and effectively reduce the work force. Toeing the line on nourishment, refreshment, and thirst-quenching was ingeniously necessary. The strongest of the bunch were robust enough to keep for months, or until they were needed for harvest. A lactic character upon aging would have augmented their refreshing nature.

As brewing moved off the farms and into commercial hands, farmhouse ale producers made use of the tiny country buildings as breweries. They were still produced with painstaking local sensibilities and flavor, and individualistic whim was highly valued. Year-round brewing (thanks to refrigeration) and bottling became more common. Perhaps the availability of Champagne bottles helped shape the shape the effervescence of saison. They were no longer brewed exclusively for farm hands and everyday family consumption, but as regional “specialties” as well. Often an existing, traditional recipe was retained, but the gravity was increased up to as much as 8 percent. Dosage with local beet sugar or exotic cane “Havana” sugar offered a lively and complex brew.

Farmhouse brews met the same fate that other regional specialties did in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Macro-brewing, imports and the infatuation with pale lagers shoved smaller operations aside, if only by making indigenous products seem unglamorous (imagine that!). The two World Wars cut even more into the quaint brew houses. Nonetheless, a smattering survived until after the war and Belgian saison made an unhurried comeback. Modern technology allowed single proprietary yeast, or blends thereof, and a consistent product, but brewers kept all of the charm and character of traditional farmhouse ales. That fragile hold on market share remained for 50 years, until the most recent renaissance.

A Brew For All Seasons

Though precisely defining saisons is problematic, they are, in essence, a perfect definition of Belgian brewing philosophy, and an epiphany to many. Restraint is a relative notion, but they are tethered tenaciously enough to their collective pastoral past to share some stylistic similarities. This family of beers is less like a “style,” and more like kindred souls. They share that uniquely Belgian spirit of unashamedly borrowing from others to craft their masterpiece. Malts from Germany, Belgium and France, and hops from virtually every producer in Europe can find their way into the recipe, as can personalized spice blends. Pilsner-style malts dominate the grain bill, but Vienna, Munich and aromatic varieties can add some juicier malt character and color. They are usually all-malt, but odd examples feature a less common brewing grain or candi sugar.

Saisons can be gold to copper, but the unique orange-tinted versions are considered classics. A billowing, rocky head speckled with yeast and a slight haziness is conventional, being unfiltered and bottle conditioning in corked 750 ml bottles. Hops are chosen for their earthy, spicy and floral qualities, and various combinations of East Kent and Styrian Goldings, Czech Saaz and German noble varieties do rather nicely. While not considered an overly hoppy brew, saison should present a firm hop backdrop with a lending noticeably to the aromatic milieu. Proprietary yeasts may share an ancestor in some cases, but in any event, they are robust, aggressive and prominent in the sensory tapestry with woodsy, zesty, fruity and phenolic contributions. Musty notes may in fact come from secondary Brettanomyces fermentation.

Saison takes a back seat to no other brew when it comes to overall complexity. The nose is rife with spice and fruit, the former an artifact of the yeast or actual spice additions, or both, and the latter a definite product of yeast and the modern practice of fermenting quickly at warm temperatures. Spice additions may include peppercorns, coriander, ginger, anise and bitter orange, but are not limited to those. Given the nature of the yeast, it is often hard to tell which have been spiced. Faint clove, vanilla and banana may also be present, reminiscent of German weissebier. Often a mild citrus, lactic, or acetic tartness accompanies the aromas.

The hop nose, as described above, is yet another brushstroke. The flavor of saison is always eventful, and fairly mimics the aroma, though it is yet another opportunity to contemplate the handiwork. Highly-attenuated, the mouthfeel should be on the lighter side with some residual fullness and sweetness. The finish is crisp and quenching. Bracing, but not overwhelming hop bitterness ties things together and heightens the finish. A component in the finish that is hard to describe is an impression of damp, rich organic earth, that bit of terroir often found in bottle-conditioned Belgian beers and a fitting, symbolic exclamation point in saison. In short, modern saison is everything its forbears were, simply more hearty. Most will have the designation of saison or farmhouse ale on the label, and many of the best are relatively new. They are exquisite with a diverse array of food.

The popularity of saison is nothing short of remarkable, given its lot just a few years ago. It is yet more evidence that these historical styles are being recognized for what they are, natural and flavorful products that offer a sum much greater than the parts. The bustle surrounding them reaches far, and their versatility and enjoyment knows no season.

It’s hard to say exactly how we got ourselves into this predicament, but technology, marketing, taxation and war have all played important roles. In this country, anti-German sentiments stirred up by WWI followed immediately by Prohibition shredded much of what could be termed “beer culture” in America. Lacking a richer social context, beer followed the model of soda pop, a commodity product in branded packaging. In this form it utterly dominated much of the 20th century.

But, like the desert, if you peer into the cracks and crevices, the beer scene teems with life. Specialty shelves in American liquor stores now bulge with a variety of characterful and delicious products. And when one squints into the depths of the past, a nearly psychedelic profusion of startling beers appears out of the mist.

Peering into the Past

As early as ancient Sumeria, 6,000 years ago, many varieties of beer existed. We have written references to strong, weak, sour, sparkling, aged, fresh, black, red and light (whose name, ebla, literally means “lessens the waist”) beers. A profusion of medicinal and culinary plants was available, but the ancient brewers, like modern ones, were reluctant to give up all their secrets. We will have to wait for some future chemical discovery to flesh out the recipes.

Early beer is unquestionably connected to religion, ritual and even spirituality. It is no fluke, for example, that one word for alcohol is “spirits.” Everywhere there was beer, a god—or more likely, goddess—was attributed to it. In Sumeria, Ninkasi was her name. In ancient Egypt, the legend of Sekhmet tells the story of how a beer saved the world of humans from destruction. The Goddess of Destruction was on one of her rampages, but a timely swig of a beer laced with the stupefying narcotic root, mandrake, calmed her rage. Never mind that this beer would have reeked of garlic; such psychoactive beers were widely used for ritual (and possibly medical) purposes in the ancient world.

In 1957, archaeologists digging in the region of ancient Phrygia (now Macedonia) broke through a shaft and discovered an intact royal burial, complete with the remains of a grand funerary feast. The occupant of the tomb turned out to be no less than King Midas himself. The profusion of elaborate ware used for the drink attested to its central role in the ceremony.

Traces of food and drink recovered from these ancient containers remained mute for decades. Then, in 1997, a University of Pennsylvania researcher, Patrick McGovern, submitted some of the scrapings to chromatographic analysis. Chemical markers for honey, grapes and malt were all in evidence, the makings of a strange and wonderful beverage.

McGovern teamed up with Dogfish Head Brewery’s Sam Calagione to produce a beer to serve at a celebratory dinner recreating the king’s funeral banquet. The resulting beer was such a success that Dogfish Head continued to produce it as a specialty product. A pale orangish gold, with a perfumy nose of aromatic grapes, honey and a wisp of exotic saffron, Midas Touch has a delicate crèmant champagne quality.

Brewing in France reached its zenith in the 19th century. Earlier, the French Revolution of 1789 saw the end of many entrenched privileges, including the power of the coopers (cask makers). This vacuum gave rise to the birth of a new trade of “brewing masters,” who thrived until 1900 in over 1,000 local breweries.

These breweries were the inns that made beer for their own needs, or very small artisan and farmhouse breweries. Two regions dominated the market—Nord-Pas de Calais and l’Alsace—followed by the Lorraine, the Ardennes, Picardie and Brittany, all regions in the northern half of France.

Then, as happened in so many countries, the “industrial progress” of the 20th century and two world wars nearly wiped out the artisan approach. By mid-century, a few large brewing companies dominated the scene, producing beers that had little connection to French tradition.

In the last 50 years, the concentration of brewing interests has intensified. Many small breweries sustained damage during the last war. They were not able to make the investments to modernize, or adapt to new habits of consumption or, above all, adjust to large distribution networks far from their home base.

The large foreign brewing groups have appeared on the French market, too. Heineken of Holland and the Belgian Stella Artois (Interbrew today) arrived, as well as the French Kronenbourg (Danone), and all began to buy up these failing breweries, sometimes only in order to close them. The concentration of beer interests heralded the globalization that continues even today. The last French breweries to be bought include Fischer, acquired by Heineken in 1996, and Kronenbourg, acquired by Scottish and Newcastle in 2000.

The new wave of microbreweries and brewpubs (cafés brasseries in French) since 1995 may appear to be a spontaneous modern innovation. Instead, these new breweries herald the renaissance of a once-established tradition. Within a few short years, 136 new brewing establishments have sprung up in the country’s four corners. Like their elders of a century ago, they are flourishing because the innkeeper is brewing his own beer adapted to local taste habits. But, in contrast to the older breweries, yesterday’s empirical approach is being replaced by new technology and modern methods.

David and Goliath

The new microbreweries did not appear on the scene out of thin air. As upholders of French brewing traditions, they were preceded by a few of the industrial “Goliaths” who nonetheless represent the heritage of the past. Often family owned, but above all independent and proud, these large breweries were characterized by their quality and successful brands.

Their names glorify the tradition of brewing: Meteor at Hochfelden and Schutzenberger et Schiltigheim in Alsace, Brasseurs de Gayant, Jeanne d’Arc, Terken (G.B.M.), Duyck, Castelain, Ricour, De Clercq, Dhaussy, Annoeullin in the region of the Nord Pas de Calais. From these national breweries come many beers in a traditional mold.

Many of these breweries produce a bière de garde, a uniquely French ale style. Top fermented, the bière de garde is fruity, most frequently amber in color, generally well structured in alcohol and conditioned between 40 and 60 days in a cave, in the manner of a lager. It is close to the abbey beers of Belgium, but a little sweeter and less malted. It is typical of the regions of Nord Pas de Calais, the Picardie and the Somme, that is to say, in the north quarter of France. The best known include Trois Monts, Jenlain, Sebourg, Choulette, Ch’ti, and l’Angelus.

Trois Mont from Ricour is a northern French blonde bière de garde of great quality, rounded and delicate—ideal with cheeses such as le Maroiles or Munster. For me, it is one of the best beers in France and, indeed, the world.

Belzebuth from la Brasserie Jeanne d’Arc is a very strong beer, similar to Bière du Desert from the Brasseurs de Gayant.

The Alsace region, which lies in the Rhine River basin, clearly imparts its German influence to beers such as Schutzenberger or Meteor, the latter of which offers Pils, Blanche, Ackerland Lager, Ackerland Brown, Mortimer, and Wendelinus Abbey. From Schutzenberger comes Cooper, Tütz (a light blonde beer with an aroma of grapefruit), Beer sur lie (“on yeast,” or bottle conditioned), Jubilator (a blonde beer), and Patriator (a brown beer).

Even the international breweries have played a role supporting distinctive beers. Their main focus may be on the virtues of the goddess Europe and the vices of globalization, but each beer born from the vats of their breweries contributes to French know-how. And through their affiliates, they support innovation. The Dutch group, Heineken, through the ever-creative Fischer, produces the beers Adelscott, Desperados, Tradition, Kingston, Bitter and Dorelei. Karlsbrau Saverne (Alsace), an affiliate of Karlsberg, brings us la Lincorne, and we have 1664 from Kronenbourg—all names that sing and dance on the international scene.

Against this backdrop, and on a marginal basis, the microbrewery constitutes a sort of “David,” linked both to tradition and to new technologies. For their growing numbers of supporters, the micros represent the next taste frontier in a country where gastronomy holds such a predominant place in the art de vivre. These microbreweries bring back nobility and vigor to a product brewed with passion.

School of Taste

Brewing is an art, but the master brewer’s trade is also one that is learned in theory and then applied in practice. Study and apprenticeship with a master brewer are essential for would-be brewers to achieve their dream. A microbrewery needs a specialized person who is able to apply methods rigorously.

In France, the Institute des Boissons, de la Brasserie et de la Malterie de Nancy Brabois, better known as I.F.B.M., located in Vandoeuvre (Lorraine), has been a key actor in this sector. This center specialized in research and development, information and training, and continuing education programs for brewers, maltsters, and hop growers. For years, it trained the majority of artisan brewers in the country.

This is not the case today, as its major shareholders, Kronenbourg and Heineken, judged that the institute contributed to unfair competition coming from the microbreweries. In fact, it is true that the strengths of microbreweries—the originality and complex tastes of their beers—stand in stark contrast to the common practices of industrial breweries in search of quick return on investment.

Although fed up with the taunts of David, Goliath did, however, allow I.F.B.M. in these last few years to train the “beer maniacs” who knew what they wanted but didn’t know how to go about doing it. For this purpose, I.F.B.M. courageously created an affiliate, Qualitech, certified ISO 9002 (the highest international standards). For the last 10 years, Qualitech has continued to train the very best of the microbrewers in all areas—understanding of raw materials, brewing chemistry, sensory analysis and marketing.

Better still, I.F.B.M. helps the young trainees to elaborate on their beers. This creative melting pot can claim credit for successful craft brews, among them the Alsatian Speltor, the Corsican Pietra, the brandy aroma of XO, or Oldarki and the Basque names of Patcharan and Ackerbeltz.

American Beer Month was created by the Institute for Brewing Studies and brewers’ guilds across the nation to raise awareness of the variety and quality of American craft beers. The designation of a beer month gave us an excuse to find out if Bell is right. We drank beer from Salida, CO, to New York City. Along the way:

• We toured one of America’s most modern facilities, New Belgium Brewing in Fort Collins, CO, and the oldest brewery, D. G. Yuengling in Pottsville, PA. Both are among the fastest growing breweries in the United States.

• We sampled gruit, an ancient style that predates the use of hops, from a brewpub that is part of a far-flung chain.

• We attended a large Fourth of July celebration in the Southwest where the only beers available were from small breweries.

• We saw plenty of high-quality imports at a tap house with 112 taps in Oklahoma City, in a state best known in beer circles for 3.2 beer.

• While in Baltimore, we had a delightful American version of an extra special bitter on hand pump, then visited a Mexican restaurant that pays tribute to both Elvis Presley and National Bohemian beer.

• We were reminded that beer remains a pleasure, sometimes enjoyed because it is a source of local pride, sometimes for the conversation that goes with it, and sometimes for the taste.

More people are drinking more interesting beer in more places than even three years ago. Many American brewers are glad to oblige consumers’ willingness to try more flavorful beers.

One evening, we sampled a variety of American pale and India pale ales along with patrons at KClinger’s Tavern in Hanover, PA. Among the beers was Hop Infusion from Weyerbacher Brewing in Easton, PA. The ale lives up to its name, leaving an impression as strong as better-known hoppy beers from farther west. Three years ago, brewer/owner Dan Weirback also produced a second line of beers under the Two Rivers Brewhouse label, aiming to broaden his market with more mainstream offerings. That line has been discontinued, since assertive beers such as Blithering Idiot Barley Wine and QUAD (a Belgian-style quadrupel) developed a loyal following.

A Gruit Revival

In Boulder, the fact that BJ’s Pizza, Grill & Brewery is part of a chain doesn’t keep Derek Osborne from experimenting. He brought a gruit to the Colorado Brewers Rendezvous on July 1 in Salida. In Sacred and Herbal Healing Brews, author Stephen Buhner explains that beer with hops began to supplant gruit in the 16th century, primarily as a result of the Protestant Reformation and the fight against using narcotic herbs in brewing.

Osborne made the gruit in May with the second runnings from a barley wine, using bog myrtle, yarrow and chamomile (instead of more traditional wild rosemary). He answered questions about gruit for almost four hours non-stop in Salida, explaining the traditional narcotic⎯and perhaps aphrodisiacal⎯effects of the beer.

“Will I be able to drug test next week?” one festival goer asked. Osborne explained that he had used small amounts of each herb. The result was a complex and beautifully balanced beer, with plenty of licorice and cinnamon. The chamomile added a bit of honey to the taste and the yarrow, citrus and tartness often associated with Cascade hops.

Osborne was disappointed to learn that two different brewers in New Jersey and another in Oregon have recently made gruits. “I was hoping I was the first in about 1,000 years,” he said, smiling.

The Colorado Brewers Rendezvous was an official American Beer Month event, complete with logo on the tasting glasses. Three days later there was no mention of ABM at the Rio Rancho, NM, Fourth of July celebration, but Turtle Mountain Brewing Co. of Rio Rancho and Tractor Brewing Co. of Los Lunas generated just the awareness that ABM organizers hoped for nationally.

The daylong celebration attracted an estimated 80,000 people for live music, kids’ activities and a laser light show that capped off the evening. Those who wanted alcoholic drinks had a choice of specialty spirits from a local restaurant/bar or Turtle Mountain and Tractor beers. Throughout the day, representatives of the breweries circulated through that area, offering small free samples. As the evening wore on, servers grew busier.

Tastes Great and…Tastes Great

The Boston Beer Co. and some other smaller breweries staged a variety of taste-offs during July, pitting American-brewed beers against some of the best-known imports. Since American beers consistently triumphed, this made a strong point. However, we found it more interesting to sample top-flight (if lesser-known) Belgian beers at Markt, a New York City restaurant serving Belgian cuisine, then have Ommegang from the Ommegang Brewery in Cooperstown, NY.

Would we have picked Ommegang over every one of those Belgian beers in a blind tasting? Probably not. Would we have given it a very high score, better than some if not others? Yes.

Imports are a vital part of the Oklahoma beer landscape. “We are seeing fewer micros,” said TapWerks Alehouse & Cafe owner Scott Woolum. “It seems like the ones who do best are strongest in the regions they come from.”

There are no distributing microbreweries based in Oklahoma. Thus, most of the 112 taps at the TapWerks in Oklahoma City’s up-and-coming Bricktown area offer imports. The same is true at the original TapWerks on Western Avenue, which has 80 taps.

Woolum founded the first just four years ago with 46 beers on tap. Then 15 of the choices were mainstream lagers; two years later TapWerks was up to 73 handles and Bud Light and Coors Light were the only mainstream beers on tap. TapWerks Bricktown opened last year with 112 taps behind both the upstairs and downstairs bars. Boulevard, brewed in Kansas City and the closest thing to a local beer, Anchor and Rogue Ales all have multiple handles, but the best selling beers are imports.

“Nobody else in the state bothers with these beers,” he said, “but we’ve showed the distributors we can sell them.”