The most impressive European contribution to brewing science came from Bavaria, where a special yeast was developed that had a unique ability to ferment beer at very low, nearly freezing, temperatures. At that time Munich, or Bavarian, beer was brewed dark but not always strong. The unique cold ferment was carried on in deep caves and the sub-40 F (4.5 C) temperatures were made possible by using ice harvested from frozen lakes in winter. The beer was made in winter and aged, or stored, until summer. Such beer was called “lagered” or stored beer, from the German lagern, “to store.”

The cold temperatures allowed an infection-free ferment with fairly low alcohol content and eliminated souring bacterial contamination, which could ruin its taste. This cold ferment was much slower and resulted in a smoother, mellower product. Munich beer was the first of the great modern European beer styles to be developed in the nineteenth century. It was mellow and malty, dark amber or copper in color, mildly hopped, and had a little less than 5 percent alcohol from a gravity of 12 Plato (British 1048). It was brewed in most countries about the world as simply “dark lager.” There were many fine examples.

Dark beers are brewed less frequently these days, even in the lands of their origin. Why? Our great American contribution to brewing science, aka Bud/Coors/Miller, is flooding European markets and the young drinkers (like our own young drinkers) are going for tasteless, colorless, character-free beer that is so popular in this country.

Czech Origins

Our own indistinctive beers weren’t always thus. They originally attempted to follow a particular style: “pilsner” is the name found on many of our beers, and indeed on those from across the world.

The original pilsner beer is from Pilsen (Plzeň), Czech Republic. The brewery was said to have been established in 1280 by royal decree and, if you believe the importer’s press agent, they have made the very same beer since that time. The beer, of course, is Pilsner Urquell. “Urquell” means original, the Original Pilsner.

Pilsner-style lager beer is very pale, almost straw-colored, from medium gravity (12.1 degrees Plato), with medium alcohol (4.3% ABV) and a dry crisp taste. It has mellow bitterness (about 43 IBU—International Bittering Units), accompanied by a highly aromatic hop bouquet. When you crack a fresh amber bottle of Pilsner Urquell in Europe, the hop bouquet is nearly overwhelming; the delicate flavor quite intriguing. The beer has been brewed in almost identical fashion for over a 150 years, but only an ad writer would imagine that this is the very same beer that was brewed in 1280. In this country, the bottle is green and the beer has often deteriorated badly.

The American product we call Budweiser (11P/1044 British, 4.7 % ABV and 10.5 IBU) uses a large amount of rice in its production. The company claims not to have changed the recipe over the last 130 years. Can you imagine that? We know that the taste threshold in hops is at about 12 IBU, which explains the lack of perceptible hop character in this beer.

The real story behind the so-called “pilsner” is much more interesting than any PR agent could imagine. In 1842, a number of small householder brewers united to form a Citizen’s Brewery in Pilsen. They produced 96,000 gallons (3,100 bbl) that year, and the beer, at that time, was unique. It was very much like the present-day product. This was possible owing to malting methods developed in the latter part of the eighteenth century, which had made very pale barley malt possible. Until then most beers had been relatively dark in color, even when called pale.

More importantly, there was a new yeast strain that had been brought from Munich, in Bavaria, to Pilsen by a monk in 1840. The combination of very pale Bohemian malts, lovely Czech Saazer hops and a long, slow, cold ferment brought about a revolution in the world’s brewing industry. With the possible exception of the invention of mechanical refrigeration (1860s), this was probably the most important development in brewing history. Modern examples of this beer type are most often called “pils” and they dominate the world market.

The Great Ale Nations

No discussion of the effects of the Bud/Coors/Millers invasion on the European brewing scene, however brief, can exclude the beers of Britain and Belgium. The range of British ale styles have filled many books on beer and the Belgians’ easily fill many others. However, let me just babble on about two favorites of mine: Belhaven Scottish Ale from Dunbar, near Edinburgh in Scotland, and Orval Trappist Ale from Villes-Devant-Orval, Belgium.

Belhaven 80 Shilling Ale is brewed from 10-degrees extract (1041) in 4,300-gallon (140-bbl) batches, using well water from deep Dunbar wells. Traditional English East Kent Goldings hops are added in the boil and a batch is boiled in two segments in the brew copper, (the British call the brew kettle a “copper”), which can only hold 2,600 gallons/9,800 litres (84 bbl) at a time.

The beer is fermented initially in 40 hours at 58 F/14.5 C, followed by four more days of slow ferment at 52 F/11 C. The result is a rather mild alcohol content of 4.25 percent, with no additives or adjuncts. Belhaven started brewing in 1719 and is a small brewery, by American standards. I tasted it here (on nitrogen draught) just last week. Wow!

Belgian Orval Trappist Ale is one of only a handful of Belgian beers allowed the Trappist appellation on the label. It is certified by the Brussels School of Brewing to be a totally natural beer with no artificial ingredients or flavorings. Three separate yeast strains are used in the triple ferment, along with Belgian-grown and malted barley and hops plus water from the famous Matilda Fountain inside the monastery. The usual initial (or primary) ferment is followed by a second ferment during the two-month aging process at 59 F/15 C), and finally a third ferment, in the distinctive baroque bottle, after the addition of a champagne-style dosage.

When bottled, the beer is allowed to age for at least three months. In Belgium, each label has a Roman numeral indicating the month of bottling, which is lacking in the import version available here. I’ve tried it both before and after the aging cycle, and the beer definitely does improve in the bottle. That’s what a bottle-ferment does for you—but the beer tends to cloud if it is not decanted carefully to avoid disturbing the yeast sediment on the bottom of the bottle. As for me, I don’t mind if the beer is not perfectly clear, and I know the yeast is good for me. Orval Trappist Ale has a typical “Belgian” flavor and 6.7 percent alcohol.

The Ark

What  lies ahead for these outstanding traditional beers? Too many of Britain’s young citizens are switching to America’s anemic brews, to the detriment and loss of many of their fine breweries. And a number of Belgian brewers seem to be taking a hit and that’s pretty serious, because the Belgian brewing scene, although-world class and very distinctive, is quite fragile. Many of their brewers are very small by world standards. More to the point, we need them.

The only good note we can find here is the great American craft brewing industry, which seems to be becoming (in Slow Food terms) an “ark” of beer. We are brewing and preserving some great examples of Belgian, English and German-style production, so all is not totally lost, at least not yet. In fact, American craft brewers are busy inventing great new beer styles as well as improving some great “old” beer styles. Witness the great wave of wonderful India pale ales, with IBU counts of up to a hundred. Not everyone’s piece of cake, but they certainly make my day!

We are still in need of low alcohol brews in this country, not just for those of us who want to drink more than two in an evening, but also for our youngest citizens, the 18 to 20 year olds who could easily use mandatory training brews they could order in public houses. This could help teach them about the effects of alcohol. Sadly that won’t happen soon because Americans wouldn’t buy a beer called “mild,” just as they didn’t buy ones labeled “low alcohol.”

“What would you like?” asks the woman who owners the pub.

“I would like to have a beer,” my friend says, his tone suggesting he’d welcome some suggestions. But the woman just nods and is about to rush back to her counter.

I capture her attention again. “What kinds of beer do you offer?”

She says shortly, “Krombacher.”

That’s the biggest pils brand in Germany: not a bad beer, but since it seems to be the only choice in this supposed wine and beer bar, I’m a bit disappointed: “That’s all you’ve got?”

She is not amused: “Yes, that’s all. That’s the way we have it here. If you prefer something else you’ve got to go elsewhere.” She explains that she has a hard time finishing even one cask before it turns bad. Eventually she calms down: “Krombacher Pils and Weizen is all I can offer you on tap. Next week, we will also have the new Krombacher Dark.” My friend and I order a small pils, served in a slim tulip glass. As we drink, I read through the wine list, which is two pages long. We decide to go elsewhere as soon as we’ve finished our beer.

The next bar is modern, more stylish. Honey-colored lights, some tables, many stools, and mirrors all over the wall. Not exactly a beer bar, but a place for good drinks. We choose a table. My friend again, in his seemingly helpless manner, says, “I would like to order a beer…”

The waitress, assertively: “0. 3?”

We must have looked confused, because she quickly adds: “We have 0.4, 0. 3, and 0.25,” referring to the liter sizes that are available. We each decide on a 0.3 and are served another pils—this time, Radeberger. It seems the only skill you need if you want to drink a beer in a German bar is to know the exact quantity you want.

A Beer is a Beer is a Beer

Germany has more than 1,300 breweries (half of them situated in Bavaria) that brew at least 20 different styles and about 7,000 brands. However, in this country a beer will always be a beer. When you order one, you will get the main local brand that is on tap. It may vary from place: a Kölsch in Cologne, a helles in Bavaria, a Bavarian weißbier at the Karg Brewpub in Murnau near Munich, an alt in Düsseldorf and a smoked lager at Brauerei Spezial in Bamberg. But in most of the bars and restaurants in Germany, you will be served a pils from one of the big domestic brands like Krombacher, Bitburger, Beck’s, Veltins, Radeberger or Warsteiner. The only ritual you have master is to find a quick answer to the short question: “0. 3?” The rest is out of your hands.

Even though, after the Czechs and the Irish, Germans drink the most beer per capita, most German consumers don’t seem to think twice about it: a beer is a beer is a beer. It is as simple as that. Beer quenches the thirst and goes with almost all the food in your everyday life. (As soon as the meal becomes elaborate, wine is served.) In Bavaria, beer is even considered to be a staple food, which, of course, is to say that beer belongs to Bavaria like bread on the table.

However, most Germans, when asked what beer they prefer, will answer, passionately, with a brand name. This is the German paradox: we love beer dearly, it is an integral part of our culture, yet it has become a commodity.

Against this background, young people who seek excitement and diversity are drawn to wine, spirits or beer mixes—the German equivalent to American “malternatives” or British “alcopops.” These colorful drinks first appeared in the late nineties, and became very popular with young drinkers. While overall German beer sales fell about 3 percent last year, more and more beer mixes were being sold. The category gained 18 percent in 2007.

Putting the Beer First

Sebastian B. Priller, the junior owner and manager of Brauhaus Riegele, the foremost independent brewer in Augsburg, holds a clear opinion: “When it comes to beer, Germans focus more on marketing, branding, sponsoring, pricing and all that, instead of talking about the product itself. I think it is high time to put the beer first: its taste, its ingredients, the way it is brewed, the food it pairs with. And we need to live this culture and celebrate beer like they do with wine.”

It’s his mission that every customer in the bar makes a conscious decision about what kind of beer to drink. “Of course, people need help there,” says 32-year-old Priller, who holds a Diplom-Biersommelier—a certificate in all aspects of beer service—from the Doemens Akademy in Munich. Priller enumerates the requirements: the landlord, the waiters or a sommelier should know the beer list and be able to give recommendations. The beer list should be elaborated and contain a good description including style, alcohol content and food references. The right glass with the right beer should be obligatory.

Priller points out: “Consumers won’t ask for beer culture by themselves. We have to celebrate it and show them how much fun it is to enjoy beer like this.”

The Riegele in Augsburg does just that: recently, the brewery offered various beer cultural events, including brewery tours, beer tastings, brewing courses and challenging “expert events” for beer lovers who wanted to experience professional beer judgings. By midyear, Riegele will also be equipped with a pilot brewery to make specialty beers year round, “to show the people the variety of styles that are possible within the Reinheitsgebot,” Priller says.

In a bold step, he is also establishing a cellar in order to introduce vintage beers, which thus far are unknown to German audiences. Brauhaus Riegele, a mid-size brewery founded in 1386, offers 14 different styles, including festbier, kellerbier, weizen and strong beer. In addition, Priller also promotes northern German styles or Belgian specialties in his tasting classes, just to illustrate the enormous variety of beer.

Besides his Biersommelier education, what has most influenced Priller is the Slow Food movement and its attitude: “The enjoyment of good beer does not only depend on its taste. It is also due to where the beer comes from and who made it. It is due to the brewer’s philosophy and his commitment to the region as well as what he does to celebrate beer culture,” he says.

Bucking Tradition

“The variety is there, but it is not apparent to consumers,” states Frank Bettenhäuser, owner of the north-Hessian Hütt Brauerei in Baunatal near Kassel. Hütt is a mid-size brewery: with the recent purchase of the smaller Hessische Löwenbier Brauerei in the nearby village Malsfeld, it has become the biggest brewery in the region, with an annual production of about 69,000 hectoliters (about 59,000 barrels). The portfolio consists of two pils styles, a kellerbier, a black lager, several weizen styles and beer mixes.

The 50-year-old brewery manager goes on to say, “In Germany, beer is a thirst quencher, not a drink to be savored. We have to work hard to change this image.” As with most of his fellow independent brewers, he hopes to cultivate a new approach to beer: on his agenda this year are events to raise the sophistication of his employees and other culinary professionals, and beer seminars for the general public.

German beer drinkers might be conservative, but Bettenhäuser knows from events that his customers love to learn more: “People have a good time when they get more insights into beer production, and they love to explore the different tastes.” The Hessische Löwenbier Brauerei, with its small batches of 120 hectoliters (102 barrels), offers him new creative possibilities, like the malty Brauer Schorsch’s Haustrunk (a Märzen-styled house beer), which is only available at the site in Malsfeld.

But Bettenhäuser points out the pressures of a shrinking market: “Independent mid-size brewers have to think about quality and quantity likewise,” he states, “and bringing out a new beer is always a major effort.” Besides, he adds, beer is too cheap in Germany—creativity would not pay off.

Invention and Tradition

Brewing creative beer? Matthias Trum, owner of Bamberg’s Schlenkerla Tavern, is not too optimistic that brewers’ creativity would be welcomed by German beer drinkers at the moment. “The consumer is not ready for it,” the 32-year-old states. Yet, he is happy to see that beer variety has become an international trend and that craft beer is more and more sought-after, even in Germany. He points out that, with his rauchbier, he offers a niche product within the specialty niche, of which he would never be able to sell high quantities. Thus, it doesn’t make sense for him to expend effort on an ongoing invention of new beers.

Trum’s world-famous brewery, which has operated since 1405, produces 13,000 hectoliters a year (11,000 barrels), with less than 20 percent shipped abroad. With the barley malted over open fire like in ancient times, Schlenkerla’s is an historic approach to brewing.

The Weihenstephan-trained brewmaster remains faithful to this heritage even when it comes to new products: three years ago, Trum released a new fasting beer brewed in the smoked beer tradition and based on an historic recipe. It has less smoked malt than the renowned Schlenkerla Märzen and tastes refined and elegant. “It’s a beer dedicated to our local customers in Bamberg,” Trum states, as it is only available during Lent when not many tourists are in town. In terms of beer culture, Trum believes that the Reinheitsgebot can ensure the quality of German beer, and hopes to see the beer mix category fade.

Reaching Across Borders

Georg Schneider, owner of the Private Weissbierbrauerei G. Schneider & Sohn in Kelheim, doesn’t mince words: “The German beer market is deadly boring,” he says. “It is all very much the same. The tendency towards sameness is encouraged, for example, by our domestic beer tests rating beer only by its typicality and flawlessness. Creativity is only acted on in the beer mix category.”

The 42-year-old Georg Schneider IV, the sixth generation of his family to lead the business, is among the most eminent independent entrepreneurs in the country. In terms of beer culture, he is one of the most active German brewers: thanks to his efforts, Schneider Weisse has been recognized for leadership and sustainable management. With the brewery celebrating its 400th anniversary in 2008, Schneider Weisse is clearly one of the most traditional specialty brewers in Germany.

And yet, Schneider has embarked on one of the most forward-looking brewing projects in the country. Through the friendship between Schneider brewer Hans-Peter Drexler and Garrett Oliver of the Brooklyn Brewery in the U.S., the Schneider house hosted a collaborative brewing, probably the first in its history. Oliver came to Kelheim last May to concoct the Schneider & Brooklyner Hopfen-Weisse, a hoppy weizenbock, with Drexler. Most of the Hopfen-Weisse was shipped to the U.S. after its release in June, with only 200 cases sold in Germany. The unusual creation delighted the few German beer lovers and insiders who took notice of the event and tasted it. However, some customers who expected a regular weißbier were unenthusiastic.

Schneider is happy about this experience: “If you brew a beer that not everybody likes, you have the wonderful effect that people talk about it,” he says. His brewmaster adds, “We’ve got to take people by the hand and lead them to new worlds of taste. Customers, as well as chefs, culinary staff and traders, are searching for innovations.”

Schneider wants to continue brewing tasteful beers that are far from the mass market profile, one being the anniversary release Georg Schneider 1608, a full-bodied weizen with nutmeg and clove flavors and a grassy note from the hops. The beer is only available in a limited edition. Further, says Schneider, “We are looking for fellow brewers who are interested in doing a guest brewing with us. We are looking for them all over the world.” He insists on working together with foreign breweries because he expects the cultural exchange to be more fruitful than with a German brewer.

Diversity in taste does not, as one might think, contradict the Reinheitsgebot—Schneider and Drexler, like all other German brewers and brewmasters, claim to remain true to these premises. “The Reinheitsgebot is our unique selling point,” Schneider argues. But there is downside to it as well: The purity law not only helps sell the beer, it also reinforces the average German beer drinker’s conservatism. The first thing Germans object to when they hear about great beers from other countries is “But these beers are not brewed after the Reinheitsgebot, are they?” In this respect, the Reinheitsgebot leads them to make a quick but safe choice and insulates them from new beer experiences.

Things might change, though, as the taste for diversity is growing. One symptom of this trend is the great success of Bierclub.de. Frank Winkel and Matthias Kliemt founded the commercial beer subscription service in 1996. They started out with 200 subscribers. Today they count 5,500 customers who receive a package of nine regional beers each month, including beer descriptions as well as cultural and culinary information about the beers’ origins. The number of subscribers is constantly growing. According to Winkel, the motivation to become a member is a growing interest in specialty beers to which consumers otherwise would only have limited access. And subscribers to Bierclub.de do not only live in Germany. The Bierclub has to send out care packages to beer lovers in the U.S., Italy, England, Holland and Denmark.

With a German club helping provide beer diversity to enthusiasts in other countries, perhaps the future of German specialty and craft beer will surprise us yet.

Hot weather has long called for small beer that can be tossed down in quantity without fear of rapid intoxication. Crisp, cool, refreshing and plenty of it—that’s a summer beer. In earlier times, small beer was about all that was available in the summer. In most places, the brewing of full-strength beer was forbidden between April and September, due to the heat, airborne microbes and the fact that every able man and boy was needed in the fields. Besides, most of last year’s malt and hops were used up making March beer that sat in the maturation tanks, quietly taunting one and all through those long hot months.

Small beer was critical to keeping things running, as a safe form of hydration. There were rarely sources of safe water, and certainly no soda available until towards the end of the 19th century. Because small beer didn’t keep well, it was brewed frequently all through the summer. There isn’t a lot written about the small beers of those days—no poems, or celebratory prose of the sort that were lavished upon bigger beers. Wherever they were brewed, small beers were either just the last runnings of the local full-strength beer, or concocted to give similar results when brewed entirely on their own.

So, we’re on our own as far as recipes go, but there are some hints we can use from those in the past who were brewing and drinking low-gravity beers. And of course, we, as craft beer sophisticates, have a few notions of our own.

Everyday small beer was always weak. But during WWI, gravities of all beers fell to abysmal levels across Europe. After the fighting ceased, the shortage of raw materials continued, so people were looking at techniques to make weak beers brewed from substandard ingredients more palatable.

In particular, George M. Johnson was relaying information on Belgian techniques to English brewers by way of the Journal of the Institute of Brewing. He had spent decades in Belgium studying and consulting, and he reported details of very low-gravity beers there with acceptable flavor characteristics. Witbier in particular seemed to fill the bill. With up to half unmalted wheat and a mashing technique that produced a wort laden with unfermentable sugars and dextrins, these beers had a good deal of texture and a fantastic creamy mousse. Add the funkiness of Belgian yeast and the lactic sourness that came from barrel-fermentation, and there was a lot of flavor as well. Hard to do with beers in the 1025 to 1035 (6 to 9 °P) range.

That’s a couple of solid ideas to start with. Oats are another, used in many small beers because they added a creamy mouthfeel, and were cheap and available as they were useless in stronger beers meant for aging. So there’s another tool in our kit.

The wild yeast, Brettanomyces, can add another layer of flavor, but because it’s such a slowpoke, it might be best incorporated into a small beer by blending in a percentage of stronger, longer-aged beer already inoculated with its barnyard taint.

American industrial lagers and light beers already reign all across lawnmower land, but as homebrewers, we can see obvious room for improvement to suit our own ultra-refined tastes. But the basics are there, and we should be able to supercharge them while still serving quench duty in the hot season. So here are a few mini-recipes, which I leave to you to flesh out into actual malt, hops, wheat, oats and whatever else you can think of.

Lil’ Wit

If you want to do this properly with unmalted wheat, seek out info on the Belgian turbid, or Slijm mashing procedure and get ready for a long brew day. Otherwise, mix about half six-row malt, half malted wheat and a small amount of instant oats, shooting for a gravity of 1.030 to 1.040 (7.5 to 10 °P). Mash it all together at 155°F (68°C) for about 20 minutes, then mash out at 170°F 77°C) to lock in the high ratio of unfermentables. A pound or so of sour malt will add a nice lactic tang if you so desire—and you should. For an extract version, do a mini-mash with the oats, a pound of six-row and half a pound of dextrine malt. The balance of the gravity should come from wheat malt extract. Hopping should be reasonably light, no more than about 20 to 25 IBU, although this would benefit from some nice aroma hops or even a little dry-hopping. A dark version of this could be made by adding half a pound of German Rostmalz/Carafa to the mix. Use a Belgian yeast strain, and ferment it fairly warm, 70°F (°C) plus.

Pilsale

This takes the idea of American mainstream lager and twists it to our liking. Start with two-thirds good-quality pils malt, and one-third malted wheat, to gravities similar to the beer above. Same ratio if you’re using extract, although you might want to steep half a pound of dextrine malt. Mashing can be a little lower, let’s say 152°F (67°C). I’d hop this at the 25–30 IBU level, and as with the first beer, use plenty of nice aroma hops. You could use an English ale yeast, but I think a Kölsch yeast would do nicely here, and you could even cold-condition it for a smoother flavor. Carbonate at a higher than normal level. Use Belgian yeast and you could call it “half a single.”

GW, Redux

The Father of Our Country left us with an absolutely hideous small beer recipe in his own hand, containing little more than bran and molasses. Of course, folks in those days had limited access to quality brewing ingredients and had to make to with whatever they had. We deserve better, so let’s go for a crisp, molasses-tinged brown small ale. I’d shoot for a 4:1 mix of pale ale and biscuit malt at the same gravities as above. To that, add a pound of light molasses—dark if you’re feeling frisky. Standard 150°F (66°C) mash temperatures are fine. Extract brewers, do a mini-mash with the biscuit and a pound of pale or pils, and fill-in with amber extract and the molasses. Hopping should be around 20 IBU of English-character hops, although you could go a bit higher if you must. Aroma hops are not so important in this one. Use a good ol’ U. S. of A. ale yeast at normal cellar temperatures.

This is just a start, of course. There are many other inspirations to be sought out and twisted to our infernal purposes: altbier, American IPA, hefeweizen, and many more. Just knock ‘em down to a small size, pump up the body, and don’t go too crazy on the hops. Then, grab the handle, yank on the cord and vrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmm!