Beer School: Sour Beer – The Last Frontier
I would like to think I’ve come a long way in my beer journey since my humble beginnings. Despite being known as a “beer guy” in my circles, I actually did not like beer for the longest time. Once I finally converted from hard cider – embarrassing, I know – I took a typical path, starting with standards such as Bud Light and Miller Lite.
I remember one night during my senior year at the College of Charleston, I was out with some friends at a nightclub called The Acme (it’s now City Bar). Since I had a reputation for drinking Woodchuck (which we affectionately referred to as Bitchchuck), my companions decided to take advantage of the 25 cent draft special and feed me Bud Light after Bud Light. Ever since, I’ve been able to drink beer. Apparently, you can acquire a taste for anything out of self-preservation.
Like many people who are willing to experiment and try new things, my tastes and preferences have evolved over the years. I began by branching out into English beers, such as Newcastle, Bass and Sam Smith’s. I had an affinity to malty and sweeter brown ales. On one special St. Patrick’s Day, I even broke through the stout barrier with Guinness.
I didn’t get into hops until I was exposed to Sierra Nevada Pale Ale a couple years into my journey. At first I thought it tasted like soap and did not dig the bitter finish. Given enough time, I grew to enjoy the hop character and started craving more and more of it. Luckily, the hop revolution hit right around that time with a plethora of hopped up IPAs hitting the market.
After a few years of trying to find the hoppiest beer I could get my hands on, I now find myself looking for something new. At my core I’m still a hop-head, but I feel like my tongue has been titillated by hops in almost every way possible. It’s getting harder and harder for me to find something unique with a lot of hop character.
The urge to satisfy my quest for something unique and different has led me to seek out and explore new styles that I have not experienced. This has led me to what I consider the “Last Frontier” of beer: sour beer. Of the primary taste categories, beer drinkers are most familiar with sweet and bitter. Sour is something not many of us are used to, at least not in the United States. (If you’ve ever had a salty beer, someone was playing a trick on you.)
I am the first to admit, I am no expert when it comes to sour, funky beer. I am really just beginning to explore the style. I’ve tried several, but I haven’t yet acquired a taste for it. I love the complexity and differences of flavor and aroma, but I often have to force myself to finish the entire glass. It’s reminiscent of back when I first started drinking hoppy beer. I have confidence that I’ll come around with time.
What Is Sour Beer?
Sour beer styles traditionally originated in Belgium, specifically Brussels and Flanders. The brewers in those regions would open up their fermentation tanks after brewing and let in the wild yeast and bacteria. While in most other parts of the world, spontaneous fermentation like that would produce terrible results, the native beasties in Belgium produce some very good, complex beer.
Almost all non-Belgian commercial breweries and homebrewers work very hard to make sure that no wild yeast or bacteria get into their beer and cause off flavors. It wasn’t until “yeast wrangling” became more widespread in the 1980s that these native Belgian strains were cultivated and made available to commercial and home brewers in other parts of the world.
According to the BJCP Style Guidelines, sour beer is divided up into six categories:
- Berliner Weisse
- Flanders Red Ale
- Flanders Brown Ale/Oud Bruin
- Straight (Unblended) Lambic
- Gueuze
- Fruit Lambic
You can read about the specifics of each style if you care to, but some of the more common descriptors used for these beers include: sour, acidic, “brett” (barnyard, earthy, goaty, hay, horsey), fruity (black cherries, oranges, plums, red currants, raisins, prunes, figs, dates), dry, malty, oak, sweet & sour and red wine-like.
These styles are also typically light on hops. As you can see, it’s a big departure from what most of us are used to in the mainstream craft beer scene. These characteristics can range from subtle to full-blown funky.
Sour beer is obviously not going to appeal to everyone, but is becoming increasingly popular among beer geeks that are seeking a new experience. Many of the more adventurous American craft breweries are now trying their hand at sour beer, including Avery, Jolly Pumpkin, Russian River and Allagash, among dozens of others.
Since these beers can be difficult for people to drink at first, I find pairing them with food makes for a more pleasant and well-rounded experience while I’m trying to get used to the style. If you are having difficulty finishing a sour beer on its own, try pairing it with cheese, rich or fatty meat, fried food, or a fruity dessert.
What Makes It Sour?
Without turning this into a science lesson, the characteristics of sour beer come from the yeast and bacteria that are purposely allowed to ferment the beer. Most beer that we’re accustomed to is fermented with some strain of Saccharomyces yeast. Brewers go to painstaking lengths to sanitize all their equipment to prevent anything else from getting in once the beer is brewed and cooled.
The two primary protagonists in sour beer are Brettanomyces yeast and Lactobacillus. Brettanomyces, or “Brett” as you’ll commonly found it referred to in beer reviews, produces the funky barnyard and horse blanket aromas that are often found in lambics and Berliner Weisse.
Lactobacillus is a type of bacteria that turns sugar into lactic acid. In the food world, it is used to produce fermented foods such as yogurt, cheese, sauerkraut and pickles. In beer, it produces a sour, acidic aroma and flavor. In large amounts, it can actually produce a vinegar-like quality. I once had a Gueuze that tasted like vinegar. I did not like it.
I recently acquired a few sour beers to sample. Here is what I found:
Examples of Sour Beer
The Duchesse, brewed by Verhaeghe in Belgium, was recommended to me as a beer that doesn’t have an over-the-top sour or funky character, so it is accessible to those not accustomed to the style. Yet, it is still an excellent representation of the style. It received an average rating of 3.69 on RateBeer, in the 95th percentile for its style.
It had a beautiful and unique reddish-yellow color. It looked like liquid topaz. The aroma was sweet and malty with a touch of vinegar. It wasn’t an overpowering vinegar smell, and it wasn’t too funky like the barnyard aroma that some types of sour beer have.
The flavor was sweet and sour, but not in a Chinese food kind of way. There was a lot of caramel malt and a touch of vinegar. There was also a distinct ripe fruit character, which is indicative of a lot of Belgian ales. I tasted prunes and raisins. The finish was moderately acidic.
On a side note, if you are just getting into sour beer and haven’t quite developed a love for it, drink it with a meal. The combination with certain foods can enhance the flavors in the beer, as well as give your tongue some relief if it’s a bit overwhelming.
I had the Duchesse with a grilled chicken salad with craisins, avocado and balsamic vinaigrette dressing. It was an excellent combination. You can also try sour beer with funky cheese, fatty meat or fish, or tart fruit.
This lambic pours a bright red without much head. It looks like cherry soda. The aroma made its way to my nose before I even bent down to smell it. Very intense sour aroma with just a touch of funky brett.
The body is light and refreshing. The flavor is very tart and acidic. Again, just a tinge of funk in the flavor, much the same proportion as in the aroma.
In much the same way as eating a sweet tart, the tangy sensation dominated the beginning and the sweet cherry fruit came out in the finish.
In the distant aftertaste, about 10 or 15 seconds after swallowing, it actually reminded me of prescription cough medicine I used to take when I was a kid. Like a syrupy cherry flavor. It’s not unpleasant, just a little deja-vu moment.
The best way for me to describe this beer is as a cherry sweet tart bomb. It’s not offensive, but the acidity takes a bit of getting used to. It definitely will make you pucker up.
The Fantôme Saison has a cloudy, yellow-orange, caramel-like color. The head is white and frothy.
The aroma is sour with a slight twist of brett funk. I also picked up orange fruit.
The flavor starts out sour with very little tartness. The Fantôme certainly didn’t knock me on my butt like the Kriek did. It does have a mild funk flavor that fades pretty quickly. I also get some earthiness in there, too. Kind of like… dusty, for lack of a better word. The finish is dry with bitter orange peel and honey.
Overall, I think I like the Fantôme Saison the best of these three selections. It isn’t over the top like the Kriek, and I enjoy the dry, honey flavor more so than the sweet and sour of the Duchesse. Perhaps it’s the bitter orange kick I get at the end that brings me back to a familiar, safe place. I would certainly give all three high marks.
I hope this illustration shows the variety and possibilities among the sour beer styles. It is a study unto itself, and I can only see it catching on more and more as time goes by. Exciting times we live in!
14 Comments to “Beer School: Sour Beer – The Last Frontier”
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Brian, thanks for the well written article on sours. I’m not particularly certain about Fantôme Saison’s inclusion, but it has been a few years since my last tasting. I remember it more as an earthy and rustic affair with a balancing tartness and less as a proper sour beer. It is definitely a good intro to the generally stranger side of beer at any rate.
Also, I think some mention of Acetobacter and Pediococcus should be given as well. Acetobacter is more commonly than Lactobascillus the producer of acetic acid (vinegary) in sour ales. Pediococcus belongs to the same family as Lactobacillus and also produces lactic acid along with diacetyl (buttery).
Additionally, some species of Lactobacillus are heterofermentative and can produce ethanol or acetic acid in addition to lactic acid. But I believe the more commonly used specie in beer is L. delbrueckii, which is homofermentative and produces only lactic acid.
However, I’m no expert, I just play one on television. Correct me if I’m wrong, nerdier nerds than me.
Thanks for the additional info, wunderbier. I don’t even play an expert on TV, so you have an edge on me there. I don’t think I could beat a 5th grader when it comes to my knowledge of bacteria and microbeasties.
And you are correct on the Saison, it was a stretch for me to include it in this post. According to the BJCP Style Guide, Saison is a sub-category in the Belgian and French Ale category. I thought it was a bit more subtle in its characteristics than the other sours I had, yet it still displayed some of those funky characteristics being a farmhouse ale. I thought it might be a good “gateway” choice for those that aren’t quite into it yet.
Great comment!
Fantom saison is brett laced. It may not be sour, but it is barnyard funky.
As for salt in beer…it’s no trick. Look for a Leipziger Gose, a sour wheat beer from Leipzig, Germany. It’s a holdover of the old “white ale” styles that used to be popular all over Europe. It’s the salt that makes Gose magic. Not enough to be called “salty”, but enough so that you notice salt. When well done it is a beautiful and refreshing beer.
I too felt like I had tried most styles of beer and the sours were that untamed arena. With a name like sour it was almost scary to try them, why would I want to try something sour. I don’t like sour foods. But, once I got my first taste with a Rodenbach, I was hooked. I try every sour I can get my hands on.
I went from malt bombs, to a hard core, can’t have too many hops, hop head, and now a sour junky! I’m starting to even brewing my own sour beers. I wonder, we do you go from sours?
Have you ever had a gruit? It’s a style of beer that was prevalent in the middle ages, before hops took over as the predominant herb in beer.
Gruits were made with all kinds of herbs, including mugwort, bog myrtle, wild rosemary, juniper, and many others.
I have no foundation for this, but I think gruits will make a comeback and will be the next trend we see in a few years.
Here’s a post I wrote over the summer about my experience homebrewing a gruit. It was a very interesting experience, and the beer turned out pretty good!
It’s funny to read the evolution of your beer knowledge/likes, as it mirrors mine almost exactly!
-Don’t like beer
-Choke down some crappy beer and eventually acquire a taste
-Branch into English beers
-IPA’s
-Start to dip your toe into the Sour world
It’s comforting to know we’re not alone!
Brian, allow me to play a trick on you – after congratulating you on your brave article.
Salt(ed) beer not only exists, it’s common! True, that is stretching it a bit, but let me explain.
As somebody mentioned already, the Leipziger version (not the elusive Gozlarer version, I’m told) of Gose actually contains kitchensalt – if in minute quantities. It is more spicy than salty in character, however.
Really salty beer is well-known under the form of Rauchbier, as usual in Bamberg, Franconia and its surrounding area. The smoked malt imparts a really salty flavour, reminiscent of smoked ham or mackerel. American and other brewers have made their own versions of this old type of beer.
But a lot of common, not specifically prepared beers (can) have a salty streak. “Mineral quality”, as it is often known, expresses itself by being slightly salty, but this stays often hidden by other tastes as sweet, bitter, etc. When you start looking for it, and develop your palate, you will start finding it more often. Though I know it is considered derelict, the classical tongue-area map for tastes can help: search the alleged “salt-area”, and see if you find a reaction. Last, also the classical S-S links, that confer cooked vegetable flavours in small quantities, can get salty streaks when in larger doses: oysters, sea water – if not to all tasters.
One remark on sour beers. While it is true that most sour American ales are styled upon Belgian examples, it is not so that we invented sour beers. We just preserved them longer than the rest of the world – with some exceptions as Berliner Weisse. I would wager that 250 years ago and longer, sour was the norm everywhere, rather than the exception.
Success with more tasting and writing,
Joris
Brian, Fantastic article. It is so timely because I too am trying my feel for sour beers. It must be a universal theme of beer drinkers. I also started off with nasty beer and then tried venturing out. Even though my favorite beers now are dopplebocks and dunkels, I do love good, hoppy beers. I have been trying to acquire a taste for sour beers (for years actually); I just can’t seem to “get” it. But I keep trying. On the subject of the next frontier, may I suggest the William Brothers’ Heather Ales. They have one called “Fraoch”. It uses heather instead of hops and it is delicious. They have several others that venture into unusual ingredients (like seaweed) and they all have wonderful flavors. Again, great article.
I commend you on your persistence in continuing to try sour beers. However, don’t put too much pressure on yourself to force yourself to “get it” with the sours. I think we should always try new things because you never know when you’ll find a new favorite, but the fact remains you like what you like. Can’t always change that.
I had an interesting experience with gin that might give you hope. I didn’t like gin for the longest time. Too piney. However, I was at a Christmas party a couple years ago and decided to make myself a Bombay Sapphire and tonic, because it was free and I wouldn’t feel bad if I had to toss it if I didn’t like it.
Well, I really liked it, and gin has been my liquor of choice ever since. It’s like a switch was flipped. I’ve heard that our tastes change as we get older, so who knows, maybe your sour switch hasn’t flipped yet.
I’ve had a heather ale or two. I’m very fascinated with beers that are brewed with other herbs than hops. There are so many possibilities out there with other ingredients. I think it’s time we bring them back and start exploring again!
Good luck getting there! I am on the same mission too! I however short handed the years to about 5! I packed a lot of light weight beer when I was 18. Then a trip to Belgium and good friends helping me out elsewhere soon changed that!
I can not thank Half Moon brewery enough in Belgium and English ale of course. I was transformed. I enjoy gueze and lambic despite the negative reactions from folks I know. I enjoyed Cantillon and love Frank Boon’s classic work. The man deserves a medal for his efforts.
I have recently decided to join rate beer in order to improve my beer writing and obviously my knowledge too. Good luck. I’m only 27 btw.
Good material, Brian. I started drinking sours about two years ago and developed an almost instant affinity for them. I guess my Dutch blood must have something to do with that. I now prefer wheats and sours almost exclusively, given the option (some restaurants only have the classic and boring staples).
So here’s the broader question I have for everyone. Can we acquire tastes for anything? And if so, is there such thing as good or bad or, is every experience either something we like or something we haven’t acquired a taste for yet.
It’s a strange concept to imagine. After drinking Sam Adams Cranberry Lambic a couple of years ago I was certain there was no more vile tasting liquid and it was a cruel prank played on the world by a disgruntled Sam Adams employee. I was shocked to find other people tolerated this “beer” and even enjoyed this Satan in a glass.
So, the question is, do I need to just drink more lambics to acquire the proper taste? If so, is that nothing more than culinary Stockholm Syndrome? Are there forms of food, music, drink, design, and politics that are simply bad or are valid and good if the consumer has the proper taste?
I kinda hate to imagine a world where things like
* Cranberry lambics
* Communism or
* The mid-90’s New York Knicks basketball style
are consider good or valid.
At the same time I hate to imagine a world where
* Dogfish Head 120 Minute IPA
* Capitalism or
* The mid-00’s San Antonio Spurs basketball style
are consider bad or boring.
I guess the proper answer is to say that most are valid and just the further to fringe an idea or a flavor gets the greater the chances of failure are. However, we should embrace these fringe flavors and try to acquire as many differing taste as possible. After all, variety is the cliche of life.
This could all be true. But I simply enjoy hating Sam Adams Cranberry Lambics too much to try to acquire a taste for these bottles of liquid sadness.
I need to seek out this Sam Adams Cranberry Lambic just to taste what makes you so sad.
I’ve read that our sense of taste changes over time. So is this really a chicken/egg debate? Is it the repetition of a flavor that causes your body to adapt and thus begin enjoying the flavor. Or is it the natural adaptation of your sense of taste that changes to encompass a flavor you didn’t like previously?
I offer two examples from my own experience: coffee and gin.
I did not like coffee for years and really didn’t start drinking it until I was in my mid-20s. When I did start drinking it, I loaded it up with cream and sugar. Over time, I began cutting back on the sugar until I didn’t use it, then cream until I didn’t use it. Now, I only drink my coffee black, and adding cream and sugar is mildly repulsive. It seems that I caused the adaptation in my sense of taste.
Then there’s gin. I was repulsed by gin for years and only tried it a couple times. Didn’t like it at all. Too piney. Then at a Christmas party a few years ago, I decided to make myself a gin and tonic because, well, it was free. Suddenly, I loved gin and it became my favorite liquor. There was no long adaptation over time. It was like a switch was flipped.
So what’s the answer? Perhaps both occur. Sounds to me like a good blog post topic for one of my upcoming weeks…