One of the oldest family of beers, before the days when brewers controlled their grist mix, wheat beers provide a range of light, tart, tangy refreshing flavor profiles that simply make for delightful summer sessions of beer appreciation. From sharp lactic flavors begging for a touch of syrup to lightly fruity tastes with a wedge of orange on the rim, this family of beers has something for everyone to make a summer day or evening just that much more memorable.

The story of wheat beers near death and rebirth spans two continents over two centuries and peels back the local history of a couple beer-drenched regions, not to mention provides welcome addition to the recent American craft beer renaissance. But what a revival! Over a dozen distinct styles have charged forward attracting acclaim from beer enthusiasts around the world. Those with a passion for flavor, including white wine aficionados, are in for a joyous adventure through a collection of beverages, which are, well, simply not very beery.

Historically, brewers have used a wide range of cereals to brew beer, constrained by what grew locally. Maize, rice, rye, oats, millet and sorghum have all been exploited for brewing, but the two leading grains have been barley, the dominant choice; and wheat, the distant second.

Wheat—in the form of emmer, a low-yielding variety—was one of the first crops to be domesticated in the Fertile Crescent. The Egyptians used emmer and barley as the main ingredients in both bread and beer. Ever since, these two potential uses for the grains—baking and brewing—have periodically led to competition over limited supplies.

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.

Lambic is made by spontaneous fermentation. A mash of barley malt and wheat is boiled with aged hops that have little bitterness and are used primarily for their antiseptic qualities. The extract known as wort is then left in shallow vessels in the attic of the brewery where it is inoculated by wild yeasts in the atmosphere. Once fermentation is under way, the wort is transferred to wooden casks where more natural yeasts and micro-flora in the wood attack the sugars in the wort. Several fermentations take place before the beer is ready to drink.

Lambic is a rustic form of brewing, its origins lost in time. It is based in the Senne Valley region of Belgium, the only location offering the cocktail of wild yeasts that can create true lambics. And it’s the ancient and bucolic brewing methods that have upset the food hygiene officers employed by the European Union.

“Harmony” in the EU

Formerly known as the Common Market, a free trade group of western European countries, the EU has its own currency, the euro, and is the biggest trade competitor to the United States. The EU’s attempts to “harmonize” trade have caused other problems in recent years. The British pint, beloved by beer drinkers, came under attack as a non-metric measure. A change has been shelved, but only temporarily. Similarly, Britain’s “tied trade,” in which brewers directly own pubs, has also been attacked but given a temporary “opt out.”

The attack on lambic beer will create more of a rumpus because it strikes at brewing practices in and around Brussels, where the European parliament meets. Food hygienists employed by the European Commission, the EU’s full-time bureaucracy, want to phase out production methods that involve food coming into contact with wood, on the grounds that wood harbors bacteria.

At first it seemed lambic was doomed, as its fermentation and storage methods require a direct link between liquid and unlined oak vessels. This fear has been allayed as the EU inspectors’ primary concern was leaking casks. Many lambic brewers use the same casks for decades. Wear and tear lead to leaks, and casks that drip sweet fermenting beer attract fruit flies.

Brewers traditionally allowed spider webs to grow between casks as spiders kill fruit flies. Even before the latest hygiene scare, lambic brewers had been forced to clean their breweries and remove the spider webs. When I visited Cantillon, one of the best-known lambic brewers, in Anderlecht last year, I was struck by its spick-and-span appearance. It is no longer a spider-happy zone.

The Cost of Cleanliness

But the food inspectors are not only at war with leaking casks. Lambic breweries must have washable walls, granular and porous walls are banned, and wooden supporting beams are similarly verboten. The costs of covering walls with washable materials and replacing porous bricks and wooden beams will be considerable. With the exception of Interbrew’s large Belle-Vue lambic brewery, most producers of the style are small and will have difficulty making these changes.

Last year, even before the food inspectors launched their campaign against wood, one revered lambic producer, Oud Beersel, closed down. The brewery owners were just tired of being smothered by red tape. Another lambic producer, Girardin, based on a farm, was rumored to be on the point of closure in January.

It’s likely that, in true EU style, some compromise will be reached. But, in the meantime, how many more lambic brewers will just give up in disgust?

The fact is that real beer is a far more versatile beverage than wine, bringing a wider range of flavors and aromas to the table.

Don’t get me wrong—I love wine and I drink it frequently. Wine, however, simply doesn’t go with everything. These days, America’s favorite condiment is salsa and we’re eating much more spicy, interesting food than we did 20 years ago. The craft brewing revolution is part of a larger revolution in our food culture. Traditional beer is now available almost everywhere, and it is the best complement to the new American cuisine.

Pay a little bit of attention to matching up the flavors and aromas of your beer and your food, and you can turn an ordinary dinner into a memorable flavor experience. But how do we figure out what beer will match what dish?

Impact

We start with what I call impact, which is the strength of the beer’s impression on your palate. Belgian witbier, which is light and spritzy, would be an example of a “low-impact” beer, while imperial stout, which is roasty and powerful, would be a “high-impact beer.” To have a successful match, you’ll want to match the impact of the beer to the impact of the food. We’re looking to create a dance, not a football tackle.

A big beer will overwhelm delicate fish, while a lighter beer may seem to disappear when you’re enjoying a rack of barbecued ribs. Wheat beer, kölsch or helles may match that delicate fish perfectly, while an American brown ale will stand up to the ribs. Go for light bitterness for more delicate dishes, and save bitter beers for richer dishes—hops slice cleanly through oils and fats, refreshing the palate.

Impact is a fairly simple matter—if you think a beer and a dish are pretty well matched in that department, you’re probably right. Now comes the fun part—finding the flavor hook.

The Flavor Hook

The flavor hook is the part of the beer’s flavor and aroma that matches, harmonizes or accentuates the flavors in your food. When the flavors meet on your tongue, they “recognize” each other and this creates a harmony.

Sometimes, rather than harmony, you’re setting up a pleasant contrast. Beer can have flavors of caramel, coffee, chocolate, bread, bananas, limes, herbs, smoke or raspberries—there’s a lot here to work with.

Let’s take caramel, for example. Caramelized flavors are among our favorites—anything that’s roasted, grilled, sautéed or fried develops some sweetness and flavors of caramel. There’s something almost primal in those flavors—everyone loves the crunchy bits on roasted meats and no one would happily choose a boiled chicken over a roasted one. If you’ve roasted your chicken well, it should have a golden brown skin, and that’s where a lot of the flavor is concentrated.

In this case, caramel is the flavor hook—we want to find a beer with similar caramel flavors. Amber ales, amber lagers, bockbiers, brown ales, and light porters all have caramelized flavors that will match the chicken beautifully.

Did you cover the chicken with herbs before you roasted it? Then you can make the match even more complex by choosing a beer with flavors of caramel and herbs—French bière de garde springs to mind. A beer like Jenlain or La Choulette Ambrée will do very nicely.

By the way, do you know what question is most frequently asked of wine experts? What to serve with Thanksgiving dinner. The answer, of course, is beer—bière de garde, in particular. The beer has enough bitterness to cut through fat, caramel flavors to match the gravy and the skin of the turkey, and herbal flavors to match the stuffing. The turkey, of course, will probably be dry, but don’t blame Mom—it’s not her fault. Just bring the right beer, get your fair share of the stuffing, and everything will be fine.

Of course, we’re not just talking about chicken and turkey. Roast pork, steaks, barbecued ribs, and even grilled vegetables can work well with caramelized beers. If you’re creative, you can come up with some surprisingly good matches.

A few years ago, I hosted a beer dinner for the Association of Westchester Country Club Chefs. It was a fairly intimidating crowd; I’d never tried to impress a whole room of chefs before. One of the dishes was a sautéed diver scallop in brown butter, and the chefs expected that I would match a very light beer with such a delicate dish. The beer I chose, though, was Samuel Smith’s Taddy Porter, a beer with plenty of caramel flavor on a smooth, silky, slightly sweet palate. Good scallops are somewhat sweet and they develop a dark brown surface when they’re sautéed. The caramel flavors of the beer matched perfectly, and the buttery flavors that Samuel Smith is known for dovetailed smoothly with the brown butter. The chefs were amazed. Several of them said that it was the best food and beverage match they’d ever experienced.

What you failed to appreciate is that too many women equate the word “beer” with god-awful bland, fizzy, yellow stuff. You blew it because you didn’t mystify her, plus you offered her the worst thing imaginable. Women want class, and “beer,” as we all know, has no class.

Women are prone to like wine. And what beer group is closest to wine? Think! A hint: art students are forced to draw horrible still lifes of it. Another: it starts with an f.

Fruit beer?

Got it in one!

Do It with Class

Try this the next time you’re down at the pub on your regular stool at the bar, and Salma Hayek—yes, the Mexican-born actress of incomparable beauty—walks in.

Both men and women drop their jaws. A barracuda strikes, but she unmans him with a glance. Looking about, she spots the only empty seat in the joint, which just happens to be beside you. Whoa!

Turn and smile. Don’t glance down, even for a second, at her, ahem—just don’t look down! And, for heaven’s sake, ditch your half-finished pint of whatever. Slide it aside as though it were someone else’s.

You must subtly baffle her and sow curiosity. Ask which is her favorite: cherries, peaches, or raspberries. Perhaps Salma replies, “Raspberries.” She’s hooked but doesn’t know it yet. She’s both intrigued and confused by your question because she expected a pick-up line.

Now, gently reel her in by planting a seed of expectation.

Take charge. Turn to the beertender and order a corked bottle of framboise lambic and two proper glasses. Sniff the cork, as though it were from a wine bottle. Then pour for both of you. Women love shared experiences. Offer her the first glass, but don’t blow it by gulping down half of your glass. Rather, act the connoisseur. Subtly sniff round the rim, then pronounce it an excellent vintage. Let it flow from there.

See, women are attracted to men who are experts on stuff other than repairing toilets and breaking things. Play your fruit right, and you might usher out Salma Hayek on your arm. The rest is up to you.

Fruited Beer

Let’s examine several constituent members that comprise a group of beers called fruit beer, or fruited beer, whichever you prefer.

So far (my research continues), I’ve identified 18 styles in the group, which places it third after the bock and the wheat groups, each with 22 styles.

There are several points to remember when discussing fruited beer. First, the term fruit—like cats, dogs, and horses—defines a group. We must look within to see all the species—apricot, boysenberry, cherry, et al. Second, each species has its own distinct characteristics that, when the species is used in beer, makes each beer different. Out of these differences spring individual beer styles. The Belgians are quite right to classify each beer made with a different fruit as its own style. Third, we must also include in the stylistic mix the base beer to which fruit is added. For example, gueuze, lambic, and old brune (brown) are three Belgian styles. When cherries are added to each, the result is not cherry fruit beer, but cherry gueuze, cherry lambic, and cherry old brune.

Furthermore, the number of styles within the group will continue to grow as adventurous craft brewers experiment with other fruit—currants (red and black), elderberries, gooseberries and blueberries come to mind. Apples and oranges have recently been used with good results. The total number of combinations of base beers and fruit is staggering.

The fruited beer group currently consists of Belgian fruited beers based on old brown ale, gueuze and lambic; North American variants of Belgian styles; fruited lager; North American fruited porter and stout, first developed by homebrewers (thank you!); fruited wheat beer; and generic North American fruit beer.

Of particular interest are the Belgian substyles, North American variants, and generic North American fruited beer.