Showing posts with label BRETT BEER. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BRETT BEER. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Mixed Culture Wet Hop Saison - Hop Harvest Collaboration with the Brewery at Bacchus



The northeastern US, plucky go-getter that it is, will have a whole lot of hops in the coming years. In five years, ten years, the entire country's hop industry could start to look very very different as new growers, new flavors, and even more new varieties start hitting the market at scale. This is old news, of course, but it still feels like we're waiting to observe the real impact of the restored northeastern hop growing region, and we'll be waiting a little while longer.

There are two big primary questions yet to be answered, from my perspective:

1. How will these new hops taste? Plenty of beers have been brewed with northeast hops now, but even the most established hop farms in the region are still quite young, and thus, I'm guessing the character of the hops will only really begin to take up an identity in the next few years. We'll hopefully start to see new varieties (or renamed varieties) with flavors distinct to this region.

2. How will breweries be able to use the hops? This seems like a fairly mundane logistical question, but it's going to be pretty significant in what kinds of beers these hops are used to make. Pellet hops are much, much easier for most breweries to use — conversely, leaf hops can be almost impossible for some breweries to use at different stages of the process. But pelletizers are expensive, and at the moment, inaccessible to most hop growers in the region.

What we're left with is a lot of mildish leaf hops. And a lot of leaf hops means a very large mound of hops indeed — hell, another reason it's not practical for us to use leaf hops at Kent Falls is that we'd simply have no space to store what we'd need. While the go-to strategy to dispose of any large pile of hops would typically be to throw them in an IPA, you'd have to be very deliberate when taking this approach. Wet hop IPAs have become a huge thing every harvest season of the last few years. But even an IPA blasted with a comically-large pile of hops may turn out with a surprisingly mild flavor. The returns, in other words, maybe be somewhat disappointing in proportion to what went into the beer. There's also the fact that wet hops simply taste very different from traditionally-used dry hops, and this needs to be taken into consideration when adding a wet hop IPA to a brewery's profile. If all of Kent Falls' other IPAs are juice-forward, an earthy, mild, grittier harvest IPA may stand out as a bit odd next to the rest of the lineup.

Barry and I were talking to Mike from the Brewery at Bacchus (editor's note: Mike and Jay, who have been brewing the beer for Bacchus for a couple years now, will soon be taking the lead at Hudson Valley Brewery, in Beacon, NY, so watch out for their stuff to hit the market in a big way soon) about doing a collaboration, and it quickly arose that we should do something based around our hop harvest in early September. From there, we decided that a wet-hopped farmhouse ale was the way to go. Both Bacchus and Kent Falls brew a lot of saison-ish beers, and we decided that the communal nature of the hop harvest was a very fitting start for a collaboration. For fermentation, we literally mixed together our cultures — saison yeast, lactobacillus and Brettanomyces from both Kent Falls and Bacchus went into the batch. There's quite a variety in this batch, though the cultures here are very aggressive. Fermentation was quick. While Tiny House has had several months to age and condition since we brewed it, the turnaround on a beer like this can be much faster than conventional wisdom used to have it. Such sourish mixed culture saisons rarely need more than three months before they can be packaged, in my experience — but obviously, different procedures, cultures, gravities and other extenuating conditions have to be taken into account.

The brewday itself for this beer was quite fun — as some of you may know, as there were a hundred plus people in attendance, and maybe you were there yourself . We're going to be hosting a hop harvest festival every year, and to make it Fun For The Whole Family, we make a big to do out of it. Pig roast, live music, beer, etc, and the general good vibes of a community gathering. Lots of fun, etc. All day long, the hops being harvested were thrown directly into the beer. I mentioned that leaf hops / whole cone hops are quite difficult to use in our setup, and the only place we can practically toss in such large quantities of vegetable matter without an epic bagging nightmare are the lauter tun. Fortunately, this is quite easy — I cleaned the spent grain out of the lauter tun real good, and transferred the wort out of the kettle and into this vessel instead. The false bottom allowed us to dump close to a hundred pounds of wet hops in without fear of clogging anything. At the end of the day, I simply knocked out as I normally would, and cleaned up the used hops as if they were a soggy mass of spent grain.

The resulting beer is simple but delicious — a well-balanced sour farmhouse ale with a good blend of acidity, Brett funk, and tannic rustic earth-notes from the hops. It's extremely complex for its low weight of only 4% ABV. I'll be looking forward to brewing something like this each year. If you would like to try this beer and are / know someone who is in the western Connecticut area, we will be releasing this at the New Milford farmer's market (indoors, basement of the school) this Saturday, January 16th. Keep in mind that while you may think I am a hack and my beer is all dumb, this *was* a collaboration with the Brewery at Bacchus, and those guys are pretty legit, and have never really bottled much before. So! Also, thanks to Mike's fiance Natalie for the lovely beer label. She knows how to art it up real good.


Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Buckwheat Sour Saison - Recipe, Brewing with Unmalted Adjuncts, & Cereal Mashing Techniques



Let's explore our memory banks for a moment. Even as hombrewers, making beer can get pretty stressful when lots of things start to go wrong. What's the worst brew-day you've ever had?

If I thought about it really hard, I could probably come up with a couple epically annoying brew days in my short career as a brewer. But the one that stands out foremost is the day I brewed this buckwheat sour saison and tried to package an imperial stout at the same time. I can remember it distinctly, because: that day sucked. Hey! Why don't I tell you about it?

I've been fascinated by buckwheat for a while, especially after trying eye-opening beers like Hill Farmstead Le Sarrasin, and reading some intriguing things about the chemical precursors it may set up for microbes to transform. I love stuff like this, the sympathetic magic of fermentation, able to take one simple input and really surprise you with its output. No one seems to completely understand how all of this alchemy works just yet, which makes it even more intriguing to those of us, like me, obsessed with obscurities and unknown horizons.

It's also really nice when things turn out in spite of bothersome complications. But that's like, half of all homebrewing.

For this brew, a 5 gallon batch that I made last fall, I picked up 3 lbs of buckwheat groats from a local health food store. It was probably not wise to brew this on Halloween, inviting some kind of curse down upon me, but whatever, I went for it. With so much unmalted buckwheat in the grain bill, I knew that I wanted to try a cereal mash. At 21%, it seemed like too much to use without trying to extract the sugars. Plus, I was simply curious to try out a cereal mash; I'd never used the technique before, but I knew the modifications we were getting on our brewing system at Kent Falls would make such elaborate mashing procedures at least somewhat easier for future brews. (We have rakes in our kettle that allow us to mash into the kettle, step mash or cereal mash, and transfer into the lauter tun).

Most homebrewers have little reason to ever cereal mash. The large majority of ingredients we use simply don't require it. When unmalted, many raw grains will not release their starches in our typical single infusion-style mashes. But on either the homebrew or the commercial scale, a cereal mash is a ton of effort, and most grains can be obtained in a malted form, or thrown into the recipe in smaller percentages without using a cereal mash simply to steal their flavor qualities, without much concern for their fermentables. If you do want to obtain those fermentables, you need to process the grain in a way that will unlock them. Within a certain temperature range, a cereal mash will gelatanize the starches in the kernel / seed / whatever, by destroying the structure, and thus allowing mash enzymes to later access these starches. It's sort of the "nuke the site from orbit... it's the only way to be sure" of mashing techniques. The exact range of gelatinization varies from plant to plant, but a spread between 120 F to 140 F (50-60 C) will hit it for most grains used in home brewing. Like so:


  • Unmalted Barley: 140-150 F (60-65C)
  • Wheat: 136-147 F (58-64 C)
  • Rye: 135-158 F (57-70 C)
  • Oats: 127-138 F (53-59 C)
  • Corn (Maize): 143-165 F (62-74 C)
  • Rice: 154-172 F (68-78 C)

  • I haven't been able to find this info for buckwheat, just this generalized summary from a research paper: "The gelatinization temperature of buckwheat flour is higher than that of wheat flour, its gelatinization resistance is greater, the water absorption of its starch granules is stronger, the viscosity is higher and increases quickly during cooling." Looking back at the bullet-chart above, one can surmise (okay, guess) that the gelitinization range of buckwheat is probably similar to that of rice.

    For most of those grains listed above, much easier for the homebrewer is simply buying flaked or torrified versions. Commonly available through homebrew supply shops, these two options also gelatinize the grain by breaking down its cellular structure through heat and pressure. Buying grains processed like this is a whole lot easier than cereal mashing, and if you have that option, there aren't too many situations in which there's reason not to take it.

    Buckwheat, being fairly obscure, is not easy to obtain malted, especially not at the homebrew scale. Unsurprisingly, flaked buckwheat and torrified buckwheat are not common features on homebrew shop shelves either, or even easy to obtain for commercial breweries (though there is one source). Speaking of obscure, here are some fun facts about buckwheat: it's not a grass or related to grain at all, and is actually related to rhubarb, except the seeds are the part consumed (rhubarb is a vegetable where the stalks are eaten — not a fruit, as you might think by its frequent placement in pies).

    Procedurally, a cereal mash goes like this:

    1). Mill the cereal adjuncts down to a fine grist, and supplement with about 15% of the overall total malted barley base malt. The malted barley will help to add the enzymes necessary for conversion, which many cereal adjuncts lack. 2). Add hot water at 3 quarts per pound. You want a thin mash here, because you'll be edging it through a boil later, and don't want an overly-gummy soup that'll scorch (as I would later find out). First, though, you're targeting a simple infusion-style mash, so 3). bring the temperature to within the gelitinization range and hold that for 20 minutes to allow the gelitinization to occur. 4). After the geli stage, you can raise your cereal mash up to a gentle boil. Here's where I ran into trouble: the mash will go from a soup of loose grains to a thick, porridge-like gruel. But my understanding of the procedure on brew-day was different: I had thought I was meant to hold the temperature of the boil for an additional 20 minutes. So upon reaching a gentle simmer, thinking this light boiling was that which would ultimately destroy the starches, complete gelatinization, and achieve great success, 5). I kept stirring feverishly. This was actually unnecessary — 6). upon hitting the boil, apparently I could have added the cereal mash right into my main mash — but I stood there and diligently blended the congealing porridge goo with a wooden mixing spoon for another 20 minutes, 7). like some kind of asshole.

    Long story short: my cereal mash got a little bit scorched. Just a little though.

    Coming out of a cereal mash — especially one that got cooked for longer than necessary, a mildly-toasted extra-thick porridge — buckwheat muck is super mucky. Added to my standard mash of pilsner malt, it got really extra muckity muck. And I got a stuck sparge. A stuck sparge like I've never seen before. I think this was a stuck sparge so stuck it actually went back in time to find my run-off and kill its parents, thus altering the time-space continuum so that my run-off never existed at all. 

    I stirred in some rice hulls. The buckwheat muck went back in time again and killed the parents of rice hulls. Rice hulls no longer exist. When I write the words "rice hulls," you have no idea what those symbols on your screen are even meant to represent, because the concept of rice hulls no longer exists in our world. For a moment, or a minute, I just stood there fuming and perplexed. I momentarily considered just dumping the batch, thinking I would never manage to extract any liquid out of the quagmire.

    Long story actually-not-that-short, I had to shovel my entire mash tun over into another vessel, add another like a truckload of rice hulls (what? rice huh?) to the bottom of the tun all over the screen until it had an impenetrable security blanket. I then scooped the mash back on top. From there, things finally actually went smoothly. With this beer. Also on that day, I was trying to keg an imperial stout. Have I mentioned how much I hate leaf hops and their tendency to clog things? Anyway, that's a story for another time.

    I fermented this guy in my 6 gallon homebrew barrel that's home to one of my house cultures, which, upon taking residence in the barrel, has definitely grown more and more sour over time. Something else that I mean to write about another time: how mixed cultures can change in their performance after repeated repitchings. This was about the third use of this particular house culture, and the lactobacillus in the barrel clearly were ready to leap out ahead and get to work — over the four months I let this age, it's developed a nice strong acidity, but firmly in the lactic side of things. No acetic, and nothing harsh, fortunately. In fact, the very subtle smoke character imparted by scorching my mash a bit didn't hurt the beer at all, to my great surprise. You can taste it in the background, but it tastes just like a very subtle smokiness, to the point where I enjoy it as an incredible complexity, rather than a flaw. That, in addition to whatever nuances the buckwheat added (it grows harder and harder to determine what came from where), make this taste like a much older sour than it really is; I find it to be excitingly complex for a beer so young. It's far more multi-layered than other young sour saisons I've had.

    Coincidentally, yesterday I brewed a buckwheat saison on the commercial scale. It'll be going into a 10 bbl stainless tank and getting a new construction of my mixed house cultures. Needless to say, I didn't try to emulate exactly the same mashing procedure — but writing about this new batch is an entry for another time.



    Recipe-
    6.0 Gal., All Grain
    Brewed: 10.30.14
    Bottled On: 1.17.15
    Fermented at room temp, 72 F
    OG: 1.065
    FG: 1.004
    ABV: 8%

    Malt-
    77.5% [#11] Pilsner malt
    21.1% [#3] buckwheat
    1.4% [3.2 oz] acid malt (pH adjustment)

    Hop Schedule-
    1 oz Brewer's Gold @flameout

    Yeast-
    White Labs Saison II
    House Sour Saison Culture - White Mana



    Wednesday, June 24, 2015

    What is Brett IPA Supposed to Taste Like?



    When I agreed to be the brewmaster at Kent Falls Brewing Co., the first thing that Barry, the co-owner and brewery manger, told me was: "Make sure the beer is as confusing as possible. I don't care what you brew. I don't care what it tastes like. I just want everything to be the maximum amount of confusing."

    We're working at all sorts of inventive, cutting-edge ways of confounding beer consumers, like making a lightly-sour saison one of our core beers (for the mainstream Connecticut market), and releasing a refreshingly soft table saison that clocks in at only 3.8% and is dry-hopped with American hops, so if you want to call it a saison, that's fine, but if you want to call it a table beer, that works too, or if you just want to consider it a farmhouse ale, technically yes, it's that also.

    Actually, those two beers have been received shockingly well, even the incredibly low-ABV saison. One of my Things lately is that over-explaining this stuff to people from the very start can be detrimental; just give the beer to them, they will taste it and realize it tastes very good, and not have to try to pretend to care about all the style complexities your inner nerd is dying to spit out in exhausting detail at them. Start with flavor and educate based on what they like and their interest level. Unfortunately, though, that only works when you're starting from a blank slate. When the person drinking the beer has half-formed preconceptions, things get trickier.

    Brett IPAs are weird. Often, the very people that need to be educated on what a Brett IPA is supposed to taste like, what makes it tick, are those same beer nerds who actually sort of understand what Brettanomyces is. Lots of beer drinkers know: Brettanomyces makes beer funky. It's associated (confusingly, it turns out) with sour beer. But it isn't usually responsible for the acidity in beer, just the funk — and maybe a bigger push of tartness due to the low residual sugars it leaves behind. Brett is as weird and hard to pin down as it is intriguing and complex.

    I've written about this before, but now that I'm commercially brewing a 100% Brett beer that, theoretically, thousands and thousands of people (oh shit whoa wait that's weird) are going to taste, I feel like I need to get it out there again: what is a 100% Brett beer supposed to taste like? What is it? Why is it?

    100% Brett beers, in general, do not follow the rules that aged, mixed-culture Brett beers do. Being already a mouthfeel, that's hard to explain to someone over a shouted bar order. A year in a barrel with Brettanomyces simply changes a beer in ways that a quick 2-6 week fermentation (our Brett IPA only takes 7 days to ferment out completely, now that the culture has adapted) won't match. Faster, in beer, usually means less intense, sometimes possibly simpler. 100% Brett beers, fermented quickly, are in no way inferior, just different. They bear a different flavor profile. Their funk is a different kind of funk. They're maybe less intense, but their impression of Brettanomyces character is distinct and readily apparent to anyone familiar with it. I've drank enough 100% Brett beers that I think I could still pick one out of a lineup if my hair was on fire and someone was trying to put it out with a dirty hiking sock full of old trash. Trust me, 100% Brett character may be subtler, but it is unique and identifiable, just different from its aged incarnation.

    In many 100% Brett beers, you will find crisp notes of zest, possibly some phenols (though most seem to prefer these beers without much of the phenolic notes), usually a hard-to-pin fruit character, and something like dried sweat. That dried sweat is tastier than it sounds, like berries that are cooling off after running a marathon. But this sweaty note, usually what I perceive as the most funky element of a 100% Brett beer as compared to an aged Brett beer, is still fairly tame and subtle, in the way that an anthropomorphic fruit sweating would be far more appealing than an actual human sweating, But, most importantly, 100% Brett beers don't usually approach full barnyard. And they might be mildly tart, at best, but not actually acidic. Brett doesn't make beer overtly sour. It may create an impression of tartness, but a 100% Brett beer is not going to be full-on sour.

    That's the general gist, but each 100% Brett beer will of course be slightly different, depending on the brewer's preference and how they steer it. The general consumer is very likely not to know all this upfront, as a lot of confusion regarding Brettanomyces remains. I've heard from many brewers that this has broken them on the style. They've gotten so much misguided negative feedback, often from the very beer nerds that seek out Brett beers, they simply stopped brewing the beer. This is deeply frustrating and sad to hear. And as with any matter of education, it's up to us handsome, knowledgeable few to address this.

    Personally, my goal for a Brett IPA is to have that same juicy, aromatic, fruity, refreshing, accessible, not-very-bitter-at-all-actually beverage that I already seek in a good clean IPA, but with a slight edge of Brett pushing the fruit hop character down minor paths tangential from the usual. The brunt of hops, with an undercurrent of something just slightly strange but equally refreshing. I've been working on a Brett IPA recipe for years as my perfect hiking beer, because that's what I want on top of a mountain. Refreshing, but a little wild, a little disorienting. Not cloying or clobbering or overly severe. I want a beer that tastes like a glass of juice from an unknown alien species of fruit.

    That, to me, is what Kent Fall's Waymaker Brett IPA tastes like. I'll write more about this specific beer and the history behind my brewing it more extensively in the future, but for now, I just want to write about how it doesn't taste how you might expect. It's probably not nearly as funky as you'd think. While unfortunately I'm sworn to secrecy about the particular strains of Brett we're using (it's a blend of a number of strains, not one single Brett), these particular Bretts are rather clean as a primary fermenter, with just a bit of that funky zest I find in 100% Brett ferments. They work fast: the first batch was a bit funkier due to me knocking out too cold, and the batch taking longer than expected to ferment, but since then, this beer finishes up just as quickly as a Saccharomyces-fermented ale. There's an edge to the beer, like a weird glass of orange juice spiked with some guava juice, but the fruit and the citrus and the juice is very much the focus. It recreates much of the flavors of an IPA, but many of those flavors happen to come as much from the yeast as from the hops. That's the point. I can't decide whether that's the point of a 100% Brett beer to some hypothetical consumer; I can only offer that that is the point of this particular 100% Brett beer to me, as a brewer.

    One Untappd review amusingly said, simply: "I've been had." I'm not even sure in which direction they were insinuating they'd been tricked, misled, which is the frustrating aspect of such things: did they think this wasn't enough of an IPA, or wasn't enough of a Brett beer? Too funky, or not funky enough? My favorite thing about this beer is how much it balances both aspects of what it is in equal portions, but maybe that's a negative to you. Either way, in either direction, I really just can't particularly allow it to bother me, because Waymaker tastes exactly like I want it to. And my job, then, is to help show drinkers what a 100% Brett beer can be, what new things it can offer, rather than playing to whatever misconceptions and erroneous goals they may have formed for it. In my mind, this is a style of beer that did not and could not have existed before, I don't know, ten years ago. Naturally, it will lead to some confusion.

    What it tastes like is far more important than all the nerdy details surrounding its fermentation. What it tastes like, I hope people agree, is refreshing and juicy and interesting. Wild enough for the top of a mountain, unique enough for a tulip at the bar. So wherever it is that you drink it, whether or not it tastes like a glass of weird orange juice to you too, I just hope that you enjoy it for what it is. The same should probably be true for all beer, come to think of it.



    Thursday, March 5, 2015

    Barrel-Aged Sour Saison on Doughnut Peaches - Recipe & Tasting Notes





    Brewery: Bear Flavored
    Style: Sour Farmhouse Ale / Saison
    Brewed: 4.24.14
    Bottled On: 9.24.14

    ABV: 5.6%

    Life in a barrel, round two.

    The first thing out of my beautiful new-to-me (used) 6 gallon oak barrel was a weird concoction, partly just to see if anything even weirder than what I was planning would arise. So I aged a 14% ABV Brett cyser in the guy. When that checked out, clearly its next passenger would have to be beer. And since its previous inhabitant had been funky, its next inhabitant would be so too. I'd committed this barrel to funkdom for life.

    Many homebrewers don't get the chance to mess around with barrels. Small barrels have this annoying tendency to be both aggressively over-priced, and yet less practical in use than their bigger brothers, due to the drastically increased ratio of surface area. Which means they'll set you back a lot of dough, and yet you can't easily age in them the types of beers a brewer would be most inclined to age in a barrel. Like long-aged sours.

    Fortunately, I brew a lot of sour farmhouse ales that only take a couple months to finish up. Just about perfect for small-barrel aging.

    Sour saisons have become big lately, and I wonder if it's just because saisons in general really took off, and obviously we're going to try to sour just about anything, or if everyone realized the same thing at the same time: you can ferment out a sour saison in much less time than a lambic-like aged sour, and yet still achieve a beer that's complex and interesting enough to be worth the effort. Saison yeast are so highly attenuating that there's generally not a lot of residual sugar left for the other microbes to work on — meaning, theoretically at least, less time required. And sour saisons generally don't invite the entire complex ecosystem that most aged ferments have, so there's less of the long-term breakdown of complex sugars; more big pushes of initial primary fermentation. Since I incorporate Brettanomyces in mine, you still have at minimum the standard aging process of a Brett beer. But that's a matter of months, not years. Some sour saison blends use only Saccharomyces and lactobacillus, and those could probably finish up in weeks.

    I've been tempted to move a long-aging sour into this barrel, believe me. I have a few going that would be solid candidates. The problem then, is, your barrel is now permanently an aged-sour barrel, as far as the cultures inside go. So you've either got to keep moving aged sours in and out of it, keep an aged sour in it for a while (until another is ready to fill it) and risk an ingress of too much oxygen, or else leave the barrel empty of beer for long spells in between brief aged-sour excursions. (Even writing all those logistical concerns out hurts my head). I've given this much thought, trying to decide what cultures I wanted to have a home inside this wood permanently. The sour saison culture (White Mana) living within now is, I'm pretty sure, the best possible tenant.

    One of my favorite souring cultures, a barrel that had already proven to be reliable and trustworthy, and a good base saison. What else could a beer need?

    Fruit, maybe?

    And so I ventured to Fishkill Farms, one of my favorite local growers of Food, where I've also done a few homebrew demos and sauerkraut workshops. They're good people and take their shit seriously, so I knew they'd have something for me. Sure enough, I found not just beautiful peaches, but a type of peach I didn't even realize existed before: doughnut peaches. Look if you're just going to go ahead and combine two of my very favorite things together in one weird looking fruit, I am so on that.

    Adding fruit to a beer in a barrel is a royal pain in the ass. The easy way would have been to cut the peaches into cubes and jam them through the bunghole of the barrel. For some reason that is no longer clear to me but was clearly the result of sheer stupidity, I felt strongly at the time that puree'ing the peaches would be the way to go. Cubing and dropping would have been much faster. But I got out my blender and spent a lovely Thursday evening covered in peach detritus as I blended, two liters at a time, and poured the puree into the empty barrel. Once the peaches were all blended up real nice and inside the barrel, I finally transferred the beer on top of them. Piece of cake doughtnut!

    Actually, I remember now: I figured turning the peaches into puree would save me the trouble of potentially having peach cubes lodged in my barrel afterwards, impossible to remove. Shit, that was actually smart. I take back portions of the last paragraph. There might just not be a good way to easily add fruit into a barrel. At least this was just one 6 gallon and not dozens of 225 liter barrels. It's the small things in life.

    Peach is notoriously subtle in beer, hard to express even in tame sours. An average for fruit in sour beer is probably somewhere around 1 lb per gallon. With peach, some brewers go as crazy as 4 lbs per gallon. I went with half that. The result, and the success, is subjective... as with so much in brewing. At first I felt this still didn't come out with enough peach character. Many I gave it to said that it had the perfect amount of peach character. As it aged, I came to agree: sure, it could be peachier, but the subtle nature of the flavor is perfectly balanced by the gentle acidity and smooth, richer oak character. Oak and peach together seems like a no-brainer to me, with the vanilla and lingering tannic structure from the barrel positioned just enough to compliment the fruit character, you've established one of the quintessential flavor pairings of the culinary world (peach and vanilla). And I think this is part of the reason that the peach itself doesn't have to be overwhelmingly present, but just present enough. What you want here is the third corner of a well-balanced triangle. There's a brisk, clean acidity, and some residual funk from the last occupant of the barrel: I'm actually quite surprised how much of the cyser carried over. It takes this maybe from a three-pointed beer to a four, but as all of the elements exist in harmony, I find it works quite well even with this unexpected additional dimension.

    I found the main down-side to this "fruit in a barrel" business the hard way, when it came time to drink this batch. Pureed fruit still leaves lots of little bits and pieces, which mostly settle to the bottom of the beer by the time it's ready to package. But it would be impossible to avoid sucking them up entirely, and suck up many pieces of peach I did. As a result, the "late fills" off my bottling bucket received huge amounts of sediment. And as a result of that crazy amount of sediment, the bottles all gushed (tons of nucleation points for CO2 to start foaming) and poured like sour peach smoothies. The majority of the bottles, which have only a typical amount of sediment, are perfectly carbed. Except for the ones I bottled in these weirdly-shaped Belgian-cap bottles I love, which, apparently, my Belgian crown capper does not love. And as a result of that, some of those bottles pour basically flat. As a result of all of these things, this may be the most inconsistently carbonated batch of beer I've made in years. Sours are always a pain in the ass to carb properly and consistently, but my main takeaway: always use something to filter out fruit chunks. A fine mesh straining bag, or a steel screen like I use in my dry-hop setup, would both make a huge difference in the amount of gunk that ends up at the bottom of your bottles.

    Then again, a sour peach saison smoothie isn't the worst thing in the world, either.


    Recipe-
    5.0 Gal., All Grain
    Brewed: 4.24.14
    Bottled On: 9.24.14

    Fermented at room temp, 72 F
    OG: 1.048
    FG: 1.005
    ABV: 5.6%

    Malt-
    72.7% [#6] Pilsner malt
    12.1% [#1] rye
    12.1% [#1] white wheat
    3.1% [4 oz] acidulated malt (pH adjustment)

    Hop Schedule-
    0.5 oz Citra (old leaf hops) @FWH
    0.75 oz Citra (old leaf hops) @flameout

    Yeast-
    White Labs Saison II
    House Sour Saison Culture - White Mana

    Other-
    10 lbs Doughnut Peaches
    1 Oak Barrel


    Wednesday, February 18, 2015

    Barrel Aged Brett Cyser (Cider + Mead) - Recipe & Tasting Notes



    Fact: Americans mostly have pretty awful taste in cider.

    Americans tend to like things that are overly, grossly sweet.

    This is bad and we should feel bad.

    Few things have fallen to such homogeneous victimization of our terrible enthusiasm for crazy sugary shit than cider. Up until very recently, cider was viewed as little more than a gluten-free substitute for beer, or a fruity option that wouldn't get you drunk as fast as wine. Complexity and innovation came later, but fortunately, it is coming. Cider is the fastest growing segment in the drinks business right now, probably because it's a business that grew from virtually nothing, and was able to tap into the same consumers that have already made 'craft' beer a huge phenomenon. For example, if you are like me, and like experimenting with new combinations of flavors, you will probably also be inclined to dabble in cider and mead as extensions to your playground, if not simply additional ingredients for some beer. For others, cider may not be looked at as a possible avenue for weirdness, but as just another interesting and quaff-able beverage that's maybe sometimes barrel-aged or dry-hopped or spiced.

    Makers and drinkers are recognizing it as a familiar yet distinct playground. And with this shift, it was only a matter of time until American cider got better.

    While most large cider makers tend to produce stuff that tastes like the thin sugary filtered apple juice that I remember my younger sister drinking (and drinking nothing else) for her entire childhood, (despite big cider makers' hilarious attempts to market their juice as if it's some kind of brutal Viking fuel), there are some good American ciders. Places experimenting. And a few making ciders that aren't grossly sweet. The cider market is growing in leaps and bounds, and as it's a much younger movement than 'craft' beer, most folks making good cider are just getting started.

    My main gripe, at this point, is the lack of anything with real wildness. Where's the funk?

    For all the American cider makers I do enjoy, hardly any of them makes weird, funky cider. This is disappointing. Even our driest ciders are generally clean and relatively tame. Where are the funky Spanish and Basque style ciders, made in America? Apples host yeast in abundance, and many funky European ciders take advantage of this with their native fermentations, their Brett-embracing, over-carbed feral character. Either our apples are just arbitrarily host to cleaner yeast strains here in America (an explanation that may not be as ridiculous as it sounds, actually, as I do know of some cider makers producing native-yeast fermented cider that turns out incredibly clean), or else the widespread embrace of funky beers just hasn't lapsed over to cider yet.

    As my grandma always told me, if you want a weird funky cider with Brettanomyces that clocks in above 14% ABV and is aged in an oak barrel for a summer until it ferments to dryness, sometimes you just have do it yourself.

    Cyser is a combination of apple cider and honey — a blend of hard cider and mead, depending how you want to view it. The main reason I went this route was simply to build a stronger beverage that would survive for years to come, and boosting the ABV with simple sugars is easy enough. Rather than cheap table sugar or corn sugar, might as well throw in some local honey and make it real Viking fuel. Maybe even let some local microbes hop on board from the diluted honey. Cider and mead are simply two complimentary flavors: cyser is a no-brainer, if you ask me.

    So I started with 5 gallons of cider from a local orchard, Fishkill Farms. Fermented that out with champagne yeast, in a carboy. Transferred into a barrel that the gentlemen of the Brewery at Bacchus were kind enough to donate to me. The barrel had gone through a few previous lifetimes, so I didn't expect to get a ton of oak character out of it, which proved to be true. What little I did get just added some nice balance to this hefty beverage and made a home for the Brettanomyces. Fishkill Farms does UV pasteurize their cider, but UV pasteurization is only a stopgap measure against fermentation, in my experience. Most UV treated cider that I've picked up will eventually start to ferment on its own — amazingly, even if you keep it in the fridge. I've set aside many a cider for two weeks only to find the container bulging and ready to erupt. (Side note: I've always wondered what yeast could be native to these apples that is capable of fermenting at chilly fridge temps. Are apples naturally host to lager yeast? Are other Saccharomyces cerevisiae strains able to ferment this cold, and just haven't made their way into brewer's toolboxes?) So, while the champagne yeast that I pitched was probably able to out-compete most of the native stuff, it's likely / possible something already in the cider was left to make its own impression.

    Once the fermented-out cider was nestled in its barrel, I kept a steady fermentation going by slowly adding wildflower honey, as well as a few Brettanomyces strains. An alternate method would be to simply ferment the mead and the cider separately, then blend, and that could work fine too. But here was my theory: by fermenting the cider first, I had a nice healthy yeast culture ready for a boost in alcohol. By slowly adding the honey pound by pound, I kept the feast going, creeping up to the high ABV levels without shocking anyone with a big ol' surge of sugar. If you simply blended mead and cider, one of them would have to be high in alcohol on its own to reach a high ABV blended beverage. Here, the creep from 8% to 14% could go slow.

    Apparently, this strategy worked incredibly well. Some very experienced drinkers have tried this concoction, and when I ask them to guess the ABV, no one has thought that this would be over 8% ABV. So that's something. The slow trickle of sugar surely helped with that. Honey doesn't ferment out quite as quickly as other simple sugars, either, giving the Brett the opportunity to work on it slowly. And to bring the funk. As dry as this finished, down to essentially zero residual sugar, the Brett still had the opportunity to work up some weirdness.

    What this particular weirdness tastes like is pretty hard to describe. There's a big punch of weird funk in the aroma, while the taste is a bit cleaner, and more fruit-forward. As it warms, it shuffles a bit closer to the direction of a clean mead and cider hybrid, with the crisp flavors of both present, complimentary, and actually nicely refreshing for something so big. I think part of the reason the ABV is so well hidden here is the balance. The oak helps, and likely adds some backing to the weirdness, giving it a rich quality despite the dry base. The crisp character helps cut through the weirdness, at the same time; cider and mead are obviously both very tasty when not clouded by distracting excess sugar. And the weirdness does what it does, being weird, because it's just weird, and whatever That Flavor or That Aroma is, it's another layer you don't typically find in American ciders. I enjoy it. I wonder how many Normal cider drinkers would, though.

    Weird, or whatever, the character here isn't exactly like that I've gotten from other funky ciders, and fairly unlike the character most commonplace in aged Brett beer. I used mostly the same strains that I've used in beers, so I wonder if that's a result of something lurking in the cider itself, something that took residence in the barrel, or merely a combination of all these things together resulting in something new and odd.

    Maybe just the latter. That's why we experiment: you never know when new weirdness will result from recombining old elements.



    Recipe-
    "Brewed" on 2/22/14
    Bottled 7/15/14
    0 Plato | 14% ABV

    5 gallons cider
    Champagne Yeast
    Brettanomyces - BKY C2 + BKY C3
    Add raw honey until desired ABV is reached (5 lbs-ish)


    Tuesday, January 27, 2015

    New Brett Hoodies Plus Restocked Brett Shirts, For All Your Brettanomyces Apparel Needs




    As foreseen by the Prophecy, my Black Metal Brettanomyces and Space Metal Brettanomyces shirt designs have returned from the dark void of Outofstock, and made their terrible respawn in the new form of sweet zip-up hoodies. Fly, fly, to the safety of my webstore, so that you may be cloaked in the grim illusion of comfort afforded to your frail humanity by these merciful and sweet Brettanomyces garmets.

    I've only ordered a limited quantity of the hoodies to start, to see how they go over, so act fast if you want one. They're light-weight hoodies, zippered, with the design on the back and a blank front.

    The same Black Metal and Space Metal designs are also now restocked. They've proven to be by far my most popular designs (I was actually anticipating that the Wild Yeast Appeared! design would be), so I was able to order new variations of these two before any of the others. So, that means there are now some XXL sizes available for these two.

    Finally, so that I can sell through them faster, I've marked down my Bear Flavored "Fermenting Bear Skull" design to $15. Get 'em now, because I'll probably sell the blog to AB In-Bev soon, and you'll want to have something to burn in protest.

    The link to my store, one last time.

    And once again, thanks for being interested in my silly website and silly t-shirts!


    Wednesday, October 1, 2014

    No-Hop, No-Boil, Lime-Zest & Kiwi Gose - Recipe & Tasting Notes



    Beer: Alagoas
    Brewery: Bear Flavored
    Style: Gose
    Brewed: 8.05.14
    Kegged On: 9.06.14
    ABV: 4.2%


    Appearance: golden yellow, slight haze, ample head, good retention
    Smell: lime, citrus, lemon, lactic sour, mild funk
    Taste: lime, lemon, upfront lactic sour, rounder soft fruits, tangy acidity, slight salty finish
    Mouthfeel: high carb, light body, crisp, puckering lingering sour in finish


    Perhaps being the Fermented Man has its advantages as far as my control of bacteria, or perhaps the lactobacillus strains I welcomed into my house last year have gotten a whole lot more comfortable since I began inviting so many of their peers to party. Whatever the reason, I took an even bigger gamble with this summer's "quick sour" beer, but in spite of the added difficulty, the result is far more delicious than any of last year's attempts. If I'm feeling really generous, I might even go ahead and call this one of my favorite batches of sour beer that I've made.

    Why did I decide to do a sour, salty gose with kiwis and lime zest to be ready just in time for late September? Let's pretend it's not just because I don't have very good organizational skills to keep my brewing schedule on track and say it's a f*** you to July-released pumpkin beers via reverse seasonal creep. Sure.

    There was actually a brief window in which I considered dumping this batch, funnily enough. Not because it tasted bad or anything, but because I thought my sheer, glaring negligence must have ruined it in some way. I had always wanted to do this as a gose with no hops added and no boil — just run straight off the sparge into a keg. I would then purge the keg of oxygen because kegs are really great for that kind of thing, and oxygen is bad for sour mashes and can lead to domination by bacteria that make your beer smell like puke. I've tested out various methods to avoid this with last year's Bearliner Weisse and a few other previous brews, but the basic strategy is pretty straightforward: avoid oxygen when doing something like a sour mash and using bacteria from raw grain. 

    A keg is the perfect way to purge oxygen from headspace and keep it out. But you'll have to excuse my short-sightedness here: this summer was, quite frankly, a bit rough. I was a little fried, a lot stressed, distracted, and disoriented. And it didn't occur to me until I already had the not-boiled wort in the keg: what would happen if the bacteria started kicking off a lot of CO2?

    My original plan beyond this point was not to rely on just the lactobacillus from the grains (whatever survived the mash, since I wasn't boiling anything at any point), but to pitch some of my house culture to ensure ample souring. As this was all happening in early August, I even thought about putting the keg of souring wort in my car for a day, which was the hottest location I could think of at the time. But okay: what if I put the keg in my car and it started fermenting furiously? Not all strains of lactobacillus produce much CO2 — there are homofermentative strains and heterofermentative strains, but it's hard to know which you have, especially when, like me, you planned to pitch a blend of house cultures. And while I could check on the keg fairly frequently to pull the pressure relief valve, I suddenly didn't feel very comfortable about those sporadic purgings of CO2 build-up being the only thing between me and a car bomb.

    So I stalled, kind of got busy and distracted and unfocused, and the wort / beer sat in the keg in my apartment for a few days without any additional microbes pitched. Once or twice a day I would pull the pressure relief valve to vent any built-up gas that might be accumulating, should some spontaneous fermentation be occurring. After a day or two it was clear that there was no gas building up, and therefore likely not much fermentation happening. Should I pitch bacteria into the keg anyway and just keep on pulling the pin, hoping that would be enough? Or should I just transfer the whole thing into a bucket, even though that maybe defeats the point of my oxygen-avoidance plan in the first place? And should I be worried about some sort of unfriendly microbe taking up residence in the wort due to the multiple days it sat without fermentation to ward off hostiles? Cthulhu knows I've read plenty about botulism this year, and still haven't been able to determine exactly why it never seems to be a concern in unfermented wort. While debating the safety of this batch — and yes, even briefly considering dumping it — I reminded myself that many breweries buy wort and ship it in sealed containers. In Europe especially, a lot of this packaged wort is destined for lambic production, where the full onset of fermentation may not occur for a few days. There are definitely situations out there where it sounds like botulism should be a concern, and yet I've never heard of anyone dying of botulism from beer (have you?). My guess is that the pH of wort even before fermentation may already be too low or something. In either case, I had also added 14.5 grams of sea salt to this batch, it being a gose, and with that added buffer, I decided I'd once again embrace my destiny as a death-defying, botulism-dodging crazy-person badass and go for it.

    [Editor's note: Speaking of which, while I have your attention — please consider pre-ordering my book, which will allow me to tackle even more crazy experiments, and allow you to read about them. In addition, if you'd like to drink some of my crazy experiments, such as this gose and many other sours, I'll be hosting a book reading preview party / fermentation sampling event next May. I will go out of my way to ensure epicness. Sign up for it now via my IndieGogo dealy. Okay, thanks, cheers, back to the brewing!]

    The exact fermentation of this gose would be hard to replicate for anyone lacking the means to break into my apartment and steal some of the jars I keep sitting around, as much of my souring cultures are not available commercially, and, I'm guessing, have mutated quite a bit as I've maintained them and let them adapt to their new bear-focused environment. However, with this batch, I did introduce Lactobacillus brevis, newly available from Wyeast, to the cocktail. But in general, I've found that I'm getting a much cleaner, rounder, fuller lactic sourness from letting the lacto do its thing over time, rather than trying to pump it up for a frenzied, brief sour mash period.

    As this entry is already getting long, I won't get into how brewers have this weirdly intense fear of letting lactobacillus survive in their beers... even brewers who are otherwise happy to embrace Brettanomyces. We'll save that one for another day. But as you may have noticed, this beer was never boiled or in any way pasteurized (other than from the temperature of the mash itself), and so the bacteria remained very much alive throughout and to the present. I don't find any danger of lactobacillus making the beer "too sour" or something; but then again, I like my Berliners and gose to have a very full tangy sourness. (For comparison, if you've had Westbrook Gose, I would say the sour character in this batch of Alagoas is very comparable). Nor does letting lactobacillus live require extended aging periods, in my experience. I always add Brettanomyces to my quick sours, and even so, they're done after about a month. Speaking of which: why add Brett when there's already so much going on here? The main danger of having an aggressive sourness in a beer like this is that Saccharomyces could stall out due to the pH level falling too low before it can fully attenuate. Brett is much more pH tolerant, and will help the beer finish out dry; at least, that's the idea. This finished out at 1.008, which might be on the high side for the style, but has the benefit of providing some body and balance that a drier version might otherwise lack.

    Finally, what says "October" better than kiwis and lime zest? I had 2 lbs of kiwis sitting in my freezer for months that I was just waiting to use for something, and while I knew they wouldn't add much character (especially at that very low ratio — typically I'd add fruit at 1 lb per gal. or more) I figured I'd toss them in anyway. I added 2.8 grams of lime zest (and also squeezed out the juice from the limes into the beer as well), targeting about 200 ICUs based on Shaun Hill's scale. The plan was to add more, almost double that, but when I tried the beer a few days after that first addition of zest, the lime aroma was beautiful and the flavor perfectly subtle, supporting of the sourness, it was already exactly what I was looking for. Not wanting this to be an aggressively lime-forward beer, I decided to keep it at that lower dosage and went ahead and kegged the beer.

    The result is the most crushable beer I have ever made, and a base I'm looking forward to trying with many other variations of fruit and zest.

    BRB time for a keg-stand.


    Recipe-
    5.0 Gal., All Grain
    Double infusion mash at 122 F / 148 degrees F
    Fermented at room temp, 72 F
    OG: 1.040
    FG: 1.008
    ABV: 4.2%

    Malt-
    43% [#3] Pilsner malt
    43% [#3] white wheat malt
    14% [#1] special roast

    Hop Schedule-
    N/A

    Yeast-
    House Lactobacillus cultures
    House Brettanomyces cultures
    London Ale III

    Other-
    14.5 g sea salt
    2 lbs. kiwi fruit
    2.8 g lime zest
    juice from 3 limes


    Thursday, August 28, 2014

    Blended Farmhouse Technique - Fermenting Brett and Saccharomyces Separately Before Blending



    Brewery: Bear Flavored
    Style: Farmhouse Ale
    Brewed: 6.02.14
    Bottled On: 7.10.14
    ABV: 6.5%


    50% Saison + 50% Brett C:
    Appearance: pale straw yellow, thick head, lingering foam, good retention
    Smell: citrus, orange, grass, soft spice, meadow, yeast, mild clove / pepper
    Taste: zesty citrus, orange, lemongrass, soft spice, yeast, dry fruit, low bitterness
    Mouthfeel: high carb, velvety nouthfeel, light body, dry, clean finish


    50% Saison + 50% Brett Trois:
    Appearance: pale straw yellow, huge fluffy head, lingering foam, good retention
    Smell: grass, spice, meadow, citrus, orange, perfume, pear, mild clove
    Taste: zesty citrus, soft fruit, orange, pear, spice, yeast, low bitterness
    Mouthfeel: high carb, creamy mouthfeel, impression of body, dry, clean finish


    What's the primary difference between most serious homebrewers and most professional breweries? There's the equipment and scale, sure, but regardless of your system, the goal is just to produce good beer. And that can be done at any size, so long as a few basic factors are met. But the perhaps the most significant difference is operational: most professional brewers are brewing a lot; a couple times a week, or maybe even around the clock. If not brewing exactly, then there's someone in the brewhouse, doing... something. Most homebrewers brew a few times a month, maybe. They have limited fermentation space, and knock out one batch at a time. In general terms, it's just the difference between a hobby and a job, but in practical terms, it means a professional brewer can, theoretically, do more things with more beers.

    As a homebrewer, it can be very hard to get into blending. The variety of batches, the number of fermentors, the time involved — the opportunities for blending don't always present themselves, and require some planning. Of course, those elaborate blends that we mostly think of when we think of blending — geueze blenders taking shares from an entire cellar worth of barrels — are perhaps beyond the scope of what would be a sensible amount of effort for most of us. Sour blends from even just a handful of beers require a reasonably deep pipeline.

    But lately I've been wondering: what about more straightforward, head-to-head blends? Maybe it's misleading to call this blending at all; it's more... pairing two beers, uniting separate, established flavors, and seeing how they split the difference. It's not a novel idea, to be sure; my inspiration was simply all the times I've seen discussion of using English and American yeast side-by-side. Two complimentary strains, each doing their own thing in their own way... and then combined. Why not?

    Of course, to me, this experiment seemed particularly appealing with the complimentary profiles of a saison yeast and a Brettanomyces strain. Not that there's anything wrong with the usual methods of fermenting a Brett saison, and I've found that pitching both Saccharomyces and a small dose of Brettanomyces at the same time can get you a beer that's fermented out in a very reasonable time-frame — a month or so — and still has a nice, mellow Brett character. So why ferment them separate and then blend? It's not like 100% Brett-fermented beers are funkier, as we know. But they are, nonetheless, distinct. I often find myself mostly loving the unique weird funky fruit essence of a new Brett strain, but just not super into throwing back pint after pint of it. Brett strains sometimes have a hard time creating a desirable mouthfeel and body in a beer, so where the flavor and aroma may even be super appealing, they still drink like something weirder than they truly are.

    I went with Wyeast 3711 French Saison for the "straight saison" portion of this batch, because it's such a monster attenuator (meaning, I figured, the batch could be done faster if there wasn't much gravity for either side of the split to munch on), and because 3711 is known to create a slick, full-bodied mouthfeel despite the lack of residual sugars. The idea being that even if Brett didn't create much mouthfeel, the other half of the blend will help to boost it — each split, hopefully, complimenting the other. French Saison can get a bit spicier than I prefer, on the other hand. I do like my saisons rounded off and balanced either by some fruity Brett funk (which literally reduces the sharper saison character by consuming some of the other yeast's by-products) or some acidity, or both. The saisons I most enjoy find a way to balance that farmhouse character without losing its complicated essence. Here, instead of letting Brett chew on the esters and phenols like a scavenger, the idea was to blend the character down, cut it with the more fruity Brett fermentation. My friend and I did some proportion tasting before we actually blended, but for simplicity, we ended up going with an even split of 50% Brett and 50% saison into each final blend.

    The results are promising, though not yet what I would call a unqualified success. My conclusion, for now, is that you'll have to really select the right strains in order for this technique to set itself apart. Proportions of the blend will make a big difference, as would the timing of when you blend — things we weren't really able to fiddle with due to the aforementioned challenges of the homebrew scale. And I guess that all goes without saying; this was just a very basic demo of a concept. Worst case scenario, here, you have a beer that just kind of tastes like a standard farmhouse ale.

    Trois fared the poorest of the two blends I tried, but I think my particular stock of that is getting on in age, as the base beer didn't have the depth of explosive juicy character I've come to expect from it. The blend that came out is totally overshadowed by the saison yeast, with its coarser, slightly spicy yeast-notes more apparent than I'd like, and a finish that's very much like a typical saison. It's still a really nice saison, dry and highly drinkable with some intriguing and complex fruit stuff going on in the background, but there's not quite enough different about it to be worth the effort.

    Brett C held up better in the blend, as that strain (quickly becoming one of my favorites for versatile 100% Brett batches) leaves a succulent tropical orange flavor and drinks almost as clean and smooth as a 'normal' Saccharomyces beer on its own. Blended, it cut down a bit more on the forward 3711 notes, added some more complexity, and actually managed to taste like it brought something new into the beer. 

    The merits of this technique, or some variation of this technique, will come down to whether or not it can produce a beer that's unique and distinct from those made with more conventional fermentation and blending methods. With a whole barrel room full of various farmhouse and Brett beers, you could combine them in any way you wish until something tastes fantastic. But for most, that's not an option. I'll try a few more simple experiments with this blended farmhouse / Brett technique in the future, because I do think something very exciting could come out of it with very little extra effort or resources. Simply using different strains may make all the difference: I actually think I'd use something other than 3711 French Saison for this, because it is too dominant in the resulting beer, and doesn't seem to give the Brett as much to work with afterwards as I would have thought. I've always been a fan of White Labs Saison II, and would like to try this again using that strain. The Brett strain (or strains) used obviously make just as much of a difference, so that presents dozens more opportunities for experimentation, as well. Finally, even the timeline of blending should have a significant impact. I brewed this at my friend Phil's house, since he's got one of those 'basement' things that come in so useful for carboy storage, but the result was that we didn't get to blend the beers as early as I would have liked — it was over a month after fermentation until they were united. Had we blended, say, a week or two into the fermentation, when the yeast were still actively doing their thing, the finished character may have been a more seamless merger, with Brett having had more time to reduce phenols and round off the beer before fermentation ceased.

    As always, there's plenty more work to be done. For #Science.


    Recipe-
    Brewed 6.02.2014
    Mashed at 150 degrees for 60 minutes
    Fermented at basement temp, 75 - 80 F
    OG: 1.053
    FG: 1.003
    ABV: 6.5%

    Malt-
    78% [#8] Pilsner malt
    9.8% [#1] flaked oats
    9.8% [#1] rye malt
    2.4% [4 oz] rye malt

    Hop Schedule-
    0.5 oz Nugget @60 min
    0.5 oz Nugget @10 min
    2 oz Cascade dry hop for 6 days

    Yeast-
    Wyeast 3711 French Saison [Split #1]
    Brett C [Split #2]
    Brett Trois [Spit #3]



    Thursday, July 10, 2014

    Seeking Your 100% Brett Strain Experiences for a New Bear Flavored Guide



    Hello! You may remember me from such previous Bear Flavored Guides as "Bear Flavored's Complete Guide to Hop Varieties," and "How Many Hop Varieties Are in the Best IPAs? - A Statistical Analysis." Usually, I accomplish these extensive and exhaustively-researched guides through dedication to my inherently anti-social nature and days of avoiding tasks that would be far more practical uses of my time. For the last year or so, I have been thinking that I need to put together a Guide to Brett Strain Characteristics in 100% Brett Fermentations. As more and more unique strains hit the market from an increasingly varied number of sources (which is another story I'm working on, as it happens), it will grow exponentially harder to keep track of them all. It already is pretty hard to keep track of them all, honestly, in no small part because the nomenclature for Brettanomyces strains is a mess, and the language to describe their weird qualities is just entering the beer conversation.

    So I've been passively working on this guide for some time now, and have at this point brewed 100% Brett beers with a lot of the strains that are more-or-less commonly available. Because there are literally thousands of Brettanomyces strains floating around out there, this guide will for now focus only on strains that are available in some widespread capacity, ranging from the regular White Labs / Wyeast strains, to offerings from newer / smaller yeast labs as they arise, down to those isolated by homebrewers such as Dmitri of BKYeast which have found fairly widespread use in both the homebrewing and commercial brewing world, and are thus theoretically obtainable for the average brewer. It's going to be difficult to draw a line between the various "hobbyiest" isolated strains, and I'll try to at least reference as many sources of Brett strains as I can, but any strain so underground that it can only be obtained by standing in front of a mirror and chanting "Brettanomyces!" three times in succession while describing a pentagram with bloodfire is definitely right out.

    Now, there's simply no way I could personally ever get to brewing with every Brettanomyces strain out there; nor could I ever claim to have a completely accurate, representative assessment of how each strain works based on whatever limited experience I may have had with it in one beer. (It's not like I've brewed a single hop beer with every variety on my hop guide list, either.) And beyond that, my own experiences often cause me to doubt information online that sounded pretty established — White Lab's Trois is said to be the same strain, rebranded, as the popular Brett Drei, but my own experience with each version leads me to question this. Maybe I just caught a weird mutation of one of them — which is why having more references is important. Without collecting more experience(s), I'm left to merely speculate.

    So with this project, I'm asking for backup. Want to contribute your experiences to a guide that likely tens of billions of humans will read for countless millenia to come? Help me supplement my own experiences by sharing your own. As I said, I'm looking to chronicle the attributes of any Brett strain that has at least some recurring availability to homebrewers. Aroma, flavor, overall impressions, favorable styles, attenuation, length of fermentation, flocculation, super powers bestowed, and really, any other impressions notable or useful. Flavor descriptions tend to be all over the map for these kinds of beers, which is a large part of the reason I want to get some different opinions in here other than my own. The ultimate take-away for each may be: what would you brew with it, and why? Hit me up in the comments (or over email, if you prefer.) If you want to simply link to a post you already wrote, that's good too. And of course, citations will be provided in the eventual guide that I publish myself, with heartfelt thanks to all who contribute.

    So, hopefully this sounds like a good idea to everyone, and thanks in advance for your help and support. Cheers to a future of exciting Brett strains and accessible documentation. Maybe even eventually they'll have less confusing names.

    And, in related news, my Brett IPA that I brewed with the gentlemen at Bacchus Restaurant in New Paltz, NY, is getting tapped tomorrow (Friday, July 11) at 7 pm. If you happen to be in the area, stop by and have a drink with me, pick up a sweet Brettanomyces-themed t-shirt, or we can just high five. Cool.


    Thursday, June 26, 2014

    Announcing the First-Ever Commercially Available Bear Flavored Ale, July 11




    Hello, readers of bear-flavored.com and inhabitants of the internet. I'm happy to announce that if you are interested in trying a certified Bear Flavored Ale, you now have your first chance to do so (unless you know me in real life or have previously robbed my apartment.) I realize that most of you do not live in the Hudson Valley, but for those that aren't too far away, or enjoy traveling long distances for unfamiliar and untested beer: let's party.

    On Friday, July 11th, Bacchus Restaurant in New Paltz, NY, will be tapping the first keg of a batch of Bear Flavored Brett IPA, based on my recipe in the May / June issue of BYO Magazine (the full article hasn't been posted online yet.) I brewed this beer with Mike and Jason back in May on their 3 bbl system, so there'll be a few kegs of it that will pop up probably in the following week or so, if you miss the initial release. But on the 11th, we will be tapping at least one 15 gallon keg, so I figured, why not invite everyone to join in? I'll probably bring a few other assorted Bear Flavored beers from my archives to share as well.



    Stop by, say hello, call me a pretentious beer snob, ask about the brewing process, whatever. Spoiler alert, though: commercial brewing ain't nothing but hoses and tri-clamps. Brewing 22x the volume that I normally brew at home doesn't actually feel all that different for the most part, in that you're basically standing around in a humid room, adding ingredients at a few key points, and then cleaning a whole bunch of stuff up. Manually dumping in multiple sacks of grain, and then hauling the wet spent stuff out of the mash tun afterwards, certainly requires a bit more endurance than at home. And like switching to any new system, it's a bit daunting to navigate the unfamiliar maze of pumps and hoses and valves. Still, I maintain that the most important elements of brewing a great beer come before and after brew-day, so we'll see how well we managed to scale up this recipe, and transition the techniques I use at home for 100% Brett IPA into the larger (relatively-speaking) commercial setting.

    The main difference I've noticed so far: we used a pitch of Brett Drei from East Coast Yeast for this batch, rather than White Labs Brett Trois, because all sources (that I've seen) claim the two are identical, and ECY happened to be easier to obtain at the time, for us. But I have my doubts: the early tastes of the beer in primary haven't had the same character as any of the 100% Brett Trois IPAs I've made previously. Not a bad thing; simply different from my memories of that particularly notable yeast flavor. We'll see how it tastes once it's all carbed up, though; often, that final stage of conditioning changes everything. The beer dropped down to 1.006, and with lots of juicy Brettyness and dank dry hop, this should be a great summer drinker for a Friday night.

    Remember, if you haven't ever tasted any before: 100% Brett beers really aren't sour, and not even all that funky. And if you show up wearing one of my rad t-shirts, I'll give you a high five and a pour you one from my secret stash.


    Thursday, June 5, 2014

    Dry-Hopped Sour Farmhouse Ale - Recipe & Tasting Notes



    Beer: Goatpants
    Brewery: Bear Flavored
    Style: Farmhouse Ale
    Brewed: 1.06.14
    Bottled On: 3.30.14
    ABV: 4.4%

    Appearance: pale straw yellow, ample head, lingering foam, good retention
    Smell: apricot, unripe peach, lemon, lime, grapefruit, funk, dew, tart raspberry
    Taste: tart apricot, sour peach, lemon, grapefruit, clean lactic sourness, succulent fruit finish
    Mouthfeel: high carb, medium body, slight bite, clean puckering finish

    I sometimes wonder how I manage to write a thousand words or so on every freaking beer I brew. Unless there was some kind of jarring mishap along the way, or I'm trying out a new technique, or testing out some totally novel series of ingredients, does every beer need (or deserve?) such elaboration?

    No. I'm just really bad at keeping my shit succinct. I have a whole book to write in the next seven - eight months, and I'm not so much worried about cramming all that writing time into my chaotic schedule as keeping it short enough that my editor doesn't murder me.

    When drinking Goatpants, a sour farmhouse ale / saison (where I took the rare path of flippancy with my naming schemes), I really don't feel like writing... anything. Maybe in part because I wonder if I should be keeping at least some tricks of my sleeve (nah?), but mostly because I wish I had infinity bottles of this beer (or preferably, cans of this beer), and the fact that I don't causes me to focus on how much I'm enjoying it while I'm drinking it. Maybe it's just that I really love sour farmhouse ales, but this and White Mana are in strong competition for my favorite batches so far. Some of my IPAs are making a strong push too, but I think the batches that I tend to age, savor, and share with as many people as possible, unsurprisingly make a more lasting impression in my memory. And it's no coincidence that my two favorite batches so far were basically shooting for the same target — Goatpants is my attempt to reverse engineer the microbial makeup of White Mana, which used Hill Farmstead saison dregs to achieve its pleasant lactic tartness. I wanted to see if I could build up a house culture to reach the same end.

    Complex, long-aged sours are a wonderful thing — there's no beating the complexity of a lambic — but there's something to be said for the paired-down, refreshing pucker of a tart, lively simple sour. When any kind of sour is done right, the succulence triggers that salivation reflex in your mouth that inspires you to keep drinking, like you have to wash down the beer with more of itself. When the beer is light and juicy enough, this refreshing combination is hard to beat.

    Essentially, that's what I'm aiming for here. The sourness is on par with a particularly tart Berliner Weisse, but drinks juicier and richer — which is probably a result of the large Citra dry-hop addition this sat on previous to packaging. The saison base gives it a very nice boost in complexity, too, especially for a sour that only aged for a couple months. Another reason I love this style — it doesn't have to have lambic-level complexity, just a distinct farmhouse quality and a pleasant backbone of acidity. Not necessarily easy to achieve, but easier, or at least much faster if you're working with the right microbes.

    The right yeast and the right bugs are going to make an excellent beer, but modern brewers, for all their fascination with IPAs, don't yet seem to fully appreciate the relationship between hops and funk. And why do saisons have to be limited to Noble hops? Nothing wrong with those, and they can't be beat for a certain type of saison, but if a vibrant, alive, succulent sourness is your goal, fruity hops work even better than spicy herbal ones, in my humble opinion. I'm far from an expert, and I'm definitely not claiming to have discovered any part of this correlation myself, but seriously: the magical pairing of juicy dry-hops and succulent sourness is simply not exploited often enough. The result is just, like, so much more juice.

    But like I said at the beginning, is there much point to me rambling on about my silly personal preferences and the flavor profiles of the beers I make, at length? The most important thing would be any tips I happen to discover along the way. So I was telling you all about how I think the dry-hops helped enhance the juicy vibrant character of this (at least while it's fresh), but probably more important than that subjective observation is the fact that I did not add any hops to the beer at all prior to that point. So yes, the entire boil and fermentation of this beer was strictly 0 IBU, no bitterness or alpha acids or vegetable matter to get in the way of the bacteria. Why? Because I wasn't really looking for bitterness here, so I figured — why not give it a try? I didn't need the boil hops for flavor, and theoretically, at least, they'd only get in the way of the lactobacillus' acidity development.

    Was that truly the case, or did I just happen upon a few particularly awesome bacteria strains (and complimentary Brett strains)? We'll see. I saved the dregs, and hopefully those dregs perform as they did the first time. I liked this batch enough that, in fact, I just brewed it again twice this week, but this time I threw some old Citra leaf hops in the whirlpool. After sitting in my freezer for two years, poorly sealed, I don't think they'll contribute enough IBUs to really inhibit the bacteria, but... we'll see. Depending how they pan out, one of the re-brews will definitely be getting some fruit. As my friend pointed out, this beer is absolutely screaming for apricots.


    Recipe-
    5.25 Gal., All Grain
    Brewed 1.06.2014
    Mashed at 150 degrees for 60 minutes
    Fermented at room temp, 72 F
    OG: 1.038
    FG: 1.004
    ABV: 4.4%

    Malt-
    78% 2-row malt
    11% white wheat malt
    11% rye malt

    Hop Schedule-
    4 oz Citra dry hop for 8 days

    Yeast-
    White Labs Saison II
    Mangrove Jack Belgian Saison
    Brett L
    Brett Custersianus
    Brett Trois
    4 Lactobacillus strains*

    *Only 2 of the lactobacillus strains I used are commercially available from White Labs and Wyeast. Culture or select strains that will create a nice strong blanket of lactic acid. A blend of strains seems to work much better than a few isolated strains.


    Thursday, May 29, 2014

    Dry-Hopped Brett Saison - Recipe & Tasting Notes

    Dry-Hopped Brett Saison


    Beer: Clever
    Brewery: Bear Flavored
    Style: Farmhouse Ale
    Brewed: 1.06.14
    Bottled On: 3.30.14
    ABV: 4.4%

    Appearance: pale straw yellow, aggressive head, lingering foam, good retention
    Smell: soft funk, fruity meadow, soft yeast, grass, berries, citrus, earthiness
    Taste: soft fruit, grassiness, berries, citrus, juicy finish, slight tartness
    Mouthfeel: high carb, medium body, slight bite, clean finish

    Brewers and drinkers these days are extremely fond of Brettanomyces —  I would say we're maybe a little guilty of fetishizing this genus of wild yeast, sometimes. But with good reason. Not only is Brett capable of producing powerful and unique flavors, with countless new strains yet un-utilized, but its ability to terraform and even protect a beer from harmful forces is a happy secondary benefit. This batch was essentially an 'extra' from some other projects I'm working on; I'll save a full explanation of those projects for a later date, but for now, let's just say... For Science. The exact same recipe resulted in three beers: a saison, a Brett saison (this one), and a sour farmhouse beer (which I hope to write about next week.)

    Being a few gallons of bonus beer, I was just kind of messing around with this one to half-assedly work on a type of beer I wish I could drink more regularly, and find more varied examples of: American-hopped Brett saisons. One recent example that works devastatingly well is Praire's 'Merica, which pairs abundant Nelson Sauvin dry-hopping with a Brett farmhouse culture. Other homebrewers have done excellent clones of that beer, though I figure most fruity American hops should pair well with the base concept also. Mainly, I just think that Brett really wants something to play around with, and hops give it a lot of ammo. Fruity, citrusy hops steer the resulting funk in a very refreshing, accessible direction, and what's all I'm really looking for (in life.)

    And thank goodness for Brett's hardiness, because I very nearly ruined this batch due to kegging newbishness. I figured I would batch prime the keg, because with Brett involved, and in no hurry to drink this one quick.... why not? Why tie up my limited CO2 resources? A week later, I check on the keg, thinking it should just about be carbed, and find... well, not really sure what, but the gas-line disconnect won't fit over the gas-in keg poppit. Being, again, new to kegging, I have no idea why I might be encountering this issue. Maybe the keg is a pin-lock and I don't know what those fittings look like? I let the keg sit in my kegerator for a few days as I try out various things, finally concluding that I just got a weird keg. Or maybe some kind of fitting is missing. But at that point, of course, there's no CO2 pressure in the keg from the natural carbonation I attempted. Clearly I'm not going to be serving from this keg. With some two weeks wasted on that mess, I decide to just rack back out of the keg and bottle it.

    The first bottle I poured, only a few weeks after bottling, had a slight hint of oxidation. I let it sit for a bit longer. Amazingly, now, there's almost no hint now at how close this batch came to being ruined by a pressure-less keg. Right after dry-hopping, it sat with plenty of headspace and likely a minimal CO2 blanket protecting it. But instead of cardboard, there's only a soft, fruity Brett character. Brett likes oxygen (to some extent), and I've heard before that saison strains enjoy an 'unpressurized' fermentation environment as well; a carboy covered in tin-foil or a permeable sponge stopper, vs. an airlock. It seems worth playing around with different environments to conduct primary fermentation of farmhouse ales, and this is something that's likely easier for any homebrewer to experiment with than a brewery, most of which are locked into using their conicals.

    Not that I'm implying my kegging-cluelessness benefited this beer; the fact that it turned out as fine as it did was a very pleasant surprise. Most of the dry-hop character was probably lost in that period, but there are certainly echoes of lingering fruitiness in what the Brett picked up, and transformed, and created on its own. Figuring that I'd given this one more than ample time to dry out, I made sure that carbonation in the bottles was fairly high — most of them threaten to gush, which seems to be very typical of Brett saisons. But this doesn't have that harsh, sharp bite that many highly-carbed beers have, and the yeast character is softer as well, rounded out into fruitiness by the Brett, rather than the usual multiple directions of jagged complexity I find in the style. Perhaps this is tamer and more mellow, but along the lines of that Praire beer — I think it's just how I like my saisons. I'm not the hugest fan of aggressive phenolics, and I'm willing to trade some of their complexity for a soft, quaffable, quieter version. With more presence from the dry-hops, this would shine even more.

    Though if I wanted to recreate a beer exactly like this one, it remains to be seen if I could. If you're still wondering about that keg: eventually one of my friends helped me to fix it. I honestly can't even remember what was wrong with it, but I was probably missing an O-Ring or something dumb. Sigh.


    Recipe-
    6 Gal., All Grain (Split Batch)
    Brewed 1.06.2014
    Mashed at 150 degrees for 60 minutes
    Fermented at room temp, 72 F
    OG: 1.038
    FG: 1.004
    ABV: 4.4%

    Malt-
    78% 2-row malt
    11% white wheat malt
    11% rye malt

    Hop Schedule-
    2 oz Belma @5 min
    3 oz Citra dry hop for 6 days

    Yeast-
    White Labs Saison II
    Mangrove Jack Belgian Saison
    Brett L
    Brett Custersianus
    Brett Trois


    Thursday, May 22, 2014

    The Great BBA/EBY Brett Experiment - 5 Strains - Tasting Notes



    Brewery: Bear Flavored
    Style:
     100% Brett / Pale Wheat Ale
    Brewed: 11.5.2013

    Bottled On: 2.9.2014
    ABV: Variable


    The original post and recipe for this batch can be found here.


    Now is a very exciting time for yeast lovers, but I bet you already knew that. While I've brewed dozens of 100% Brett and Brett-aged beers at this point — I would go as far as to label myself as a Brett Enthusiast, ie here's a shameless plug for my line of Brettanomyces-themed t-shirts — I still feel like I can't keep up with it all; there's just so much out there. With likely thousands, or even millions, possibly thousllions of wild yeast strains out there, who could keep up with it all? Maybe Jeff Mello's Bootleg Biology project, but homebrewing has inspired so many sub-hobbies and projects to clutter my schedule that for now, I don't feel too bad mooching off of other's hard work and yeast ranching expertise. Part of me is always nervous that I don't have a better method of backing up cultures than my collection of mason jars, but until I get this crazy book written, I may literally not have the minutes required to learn new tricks. Alas, the downsides of being an obsessive hobby collector.

    Which is to say, many thanks to Dmitri of BKYeast, Jeff of Bootleg Biology, Sam of Eureka Brewing, and every other awesome, talented and endlessly curious biologist helping to bring new funky flavors into the world. You guys — and everyone plucking wild yeast out of the air — rock.

    Sam and Jeffrey Crane's BBA / EBY Brett experiment brings us 20 new Brett strains isolated from a variety of Belgian wild ales. I chose only five to test out, using the recipe formulated by Jeffrey Crane. Using one base recipe across the board was smart; it should help beta testers to produce more consistent results, and I'm very excited to read more of those results as they pop up. My brew-day for this batch was back in November, and I gave each strain a bit longer to attenuate than probably necessary, but most seemed to achieve terminal gravity within 6 weeks. I suspect that most first-generation strains harvested from mixed-culture environments may take some adaptation to settle into a brewing environment where they're suddenly asked to do all the work, and subsequent fermentations with some of these strains may be both speedier and less wild.

    While I kind of regret that I did not sign up for all 20 strains of the BBA / EBY Brett Experiment, I figured I can maybe manage to collect the most intriguing / promising ones later on. It's awesome that Sam got a number of participants for this, and did the legwork to send the yeast all around the world. I look forward to reading about everyone else's results (a few have already been posted) — maybe if you only picked out a handful yourself, we can do some trading of strains down the road.


    EBY001 Brettanomyces girardin I
    FG: 1.006
    ABV: 5.8%

    I almost hate to lead with this one, and in retrospect, everyone in my homebrew club tasting panel agreed that this strain probably put all the following beers in a tougher position. It was decidedly the crowd favorite, and I agree with the crowd. But hey, what can you do about numerical order?

    Its virtues were a pleasing mix of complexity, approachability, dried-out body with balancing tartness, and some memorable fruit character. One month after brewing (in early December), I described this as being "perfume-y with mild fruit, floral, mellow;" at the time, it was also notable for having a pretty wild pellicle (which apparently I neglected to take a picture of, like an idiot.) Aroma-wise, a few people, including myself, picked out apricot (some said dried apricot skin, others said candied apricot,) mellon, mountain meadows and deep-forest mustiness, grass, and green apple in the finish.

    Most significant to me was that the strain produced a beer that's remarkably tart for a Brett isolate. The fact that it had the wildest pellicle out of any of them, combined with the tartness, makes me think this is either a really unique and wonderful find for a Brett strain, or I picked up some kind of contamination along the way. Either way — and hopefully it's just the unique properties of a wonderful strain, not the latter — I loved the results. While this may not have the versatile potential of strains like Trois and claussenii and custersianus, it's something I could definitely find a number of uses for. I'm very, very curious to see if other brewer's results with EBY001 line up with my own.


    EBY013 Brettanomyces cantillon VII
    FG: 1.003
    ABV: 6.2%

    Despite looking like a gusher in the bottle, EBY013 pours with seemingly-little carbonation and almost no head. While this batch could definitely use more carb, it's actually got a nice balance, overall — finishing at 1.003, this came out the second driest of all five strains, and the resulting tartness and soft fruity acidity makes this light, sippable and pleasant. Another reason this strain seems to achieve a good balance: there's actually decent mouthfeel to this one, giving it vibes of a low-key, woodsy saison strain, with more musty dew-saturated forest funk than barnyard Belgian phenols. Cultured from Cantillon, there are traits here noticeably similar to the BKYeast Brett isolates that I've now brewed with a few times, but EBY013 is more tart, cleaner, strangely effervescent tasting (considering the carb), with fruit notes of peaches and white grapes, and faint strawberry / melon. In the homebrew meeting, all agreed that this was more subdued and mellow than the attention-grabbing EBY001 strain, but sitting at home drinking a bottle of this on its own, I think this has the makings of a fantastic, versatile strain. There's nothing really off-putting about it, and it brings a complex range of nuanced flavors to the beer without getting aggressive. I'm a big fan of that low final gravity too.


    EBY020 Brettanomyces jurassienne I
    FG: 1.010
    ABV: 5.25%

    It's interesting how the funk from these Brett strains can quickly veer from "weird, wild, musty" in an intriguing way, into sort of hormonal and raw in a very questionable way, all while existing on what is obviously the very same spectrum of flavor. The aroma on EBY020 isn't far from the others, in that you can recognize them all as coming from the same camp of funk. Something about this one makes it a little less than appealing, though. The aroma is bearable on its own; maybe just a little pungent. The flavor is the exact opposite of balanced, in a very weird way; there's a strong carbonic bite from the CO2, which makes the raw phenols and biting tart finish come across as overly aggressive. It's hard to pin down, but some combination of this aroma and this flavor-character is just too much. Someone in my homebrew club described it as "a dead cat covered in perfume." I don't know if it's all that bad; flavors that work or don't work can be surprisingly subtle in their differences. This may share many of the qualities of similar, successful Brett strains, but the elements re-stacked in this order just don't work as well.

    In this strain's defense, it gets far more appetizing as it opens up and some of the raw feral weirdness dissipates. The gentler, fruitier qualities begin to emerge, and the harsh finish flattens into a smoother, crisper tartness. This one isn't outright bad, and could probably be trained to become a nice Brett option with a few rebrews in the right environment. Given the many other options, though, that sounds like a lot of work. I may try this in a few Brett-aged ales and it see how it fares when it doesn't have to be the star.


    EBY038 Brettanomyces cantillon VIII
    FG: 1.002
    ABV: 6.3%

    Every description I have written down for this strain from the thoughts' of my fellow Beacon homebrewers is some synonym of 'non-descript.' Slightly muted aroma, slightly muted flavor, vaguely estery, mecurial fruit notes. While the order we drank these bottles in made sense, it ended up putting this particular strain in an unfair position. (The context of when you drink something means a lot, as I've learned from some of my more intense friend's bottle shares.) It came after the two most interesting strains (the first two) and then the funkiest and oddest strain. Revisiting it later, I'm inclined to give this one more credit: it's not remarkable, but it's likeable enough in its unremarkable-ness. The aroma doesn't pop like some Brett strains, but its got a soft, mellow peach quality that I find unique and agreeable, with hints of orange and zesty citrus. Those notes continue into the flavor. Many of these start out weirdly harsh, with a sharp, almost tannic finish just as you open them, but mellow after a minute in the glass. After this one settles down, the flavor is soft in a good way, not a boring way. There's more 'tang' than tartness, though the citrus zest quality helps it to finish neatly. I'd say this strain is actually fairly close in character to the White Labs Brett C strain, though subtler. It could actually be very nice for a Brett IPA — bolstering some of the citrusy fruit notes from hops, but not aggressive enough to crowd them out. Just wish I had enough time and brewing capacity to play around with these things more often.


    EBY048 Brettanomyces italiana II 
    FG: 1.009
    ABV: 5.4%

    Early on (after my month-in gravity reading in early December, I described this strain as "sweaty," which is pretty typical for first-use Brett isolates, and having a character of "weird funky citrus." It's only gotten stranger. This batch is unique in having extremely little carbonation — the bottle caps are sealed, you hear the hiss, but there's just no carb and no fizz. Other than the lack of head, it looks innocent enough, the same bright, clear golden orange shade as the rest, but upon first sip: weirder and weirder. This is the first strain that is outright hard to drink. Where most 100% Brett beers can come across as thin and slightly watery due to [most strain's] inability to create glycerol, this one is weirdly viscous, almost gummy. It seems to coat your mouth and stick there. The weird mouthfeel does seem to subside a bit overtime, and it's easier to take in the flavor-notes on their own. Nothing remarkable, I'm afraid; it tastes dry with a tannic sharpness in the finish, some vague fruit notes and musty, sweaty funk. The fruit brings some interesting citrus character, mostly lemon and orange, but nothing that would make up for the beer's drawbacks.


    Recipe-
    5 Gal., All Grain
    Brewed: 11.5.2013
    Brewhouse Efficiency: 76%
    Mashed at 152 F for 70 minutes
    Fermented at ambient room temp, ~70 F
    OG: 1.050 / 12.3 Brix
    FG: [Varied]
    ABV: [Varied]

    Malt-
    5.5 lbs Pilsner malt 
    2 lbs white wheat malt
    1 lb Munich malt 

    Hop Schedule-
    1 oz Styrian Goldings @60 min
    1 oz Saazer @10 min

    Yeast-
    EBY001 Brettanomyces girardin I
    EBY013 Brettanomyces cantillon VII
    EBY020 Brettanomyces jurassienne I
    EBY038 Brettanomyces cantillon VIII
    EBY048 Brettanomyces italiana II

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