BEER IS AWESOME
There’s a perception that beer is a drink that’s drunk to make you drunk. Or at least for the moderate euphoria that minimal alcohol provides. To relax at the end of the day; to make words flow more easily when you’re out with friends… I love beer for one reason only – flavour. If beer could be non-alcoholic and still be good, I’d be the happiest man in the world. I’d have it for breakfast. And there are a lot of people who are starting to think I’m not so crazy.
My pursuit of flavour has led me to love beer above any other drink. Consuming hundreds, then thousands, of different beers culminated in a desire to find out what made them all so very different; what causes the distinct and dividable flavours that are so clearly absent from any other alcoholic liquid. The single best thing about beer is that if I pour you a German wheat beer and tell you it tastes like banana or clove, it tastes exactly like banana or clove. If I say there are tropical and citrus fruits in the aroma of an IPA, you’ll sniff it and, one by one, you can tick them off: ‘lychee, passion fruit, lime, grapefruit’. These flavours aren’t figments of a sommelier’s imagination, they’re there for you to absorb.
Beer: broken down
Water, malt, hops, yeast; Mash, boil, cool, ferment
In commercial beer making, hot water and malt are steeped in a ‘mash tun’ (a big tank) – this process is called ‘mashing’. Mashing is done at precise temperatures, in order to activate enzymes that break down the starches in the grains into sugars. After an hour or so of mashing, most of these sugars will have dissolved in the hot water to give a hot, sticky liquor called ‘wort’ (pronounced ‘wurt’).
The next step is lautering, which is to remove the spent grain and leave only the wort. The wort is drained or pumped out of the mash tun and into a separate large tank called the boiler, or kettle. The grains are then rinsed with hot water to remove any remaining sugars. This process has the best name of all – sparging.
Once all of the wort is in the boiler, it is brought up to a boil. It is boiled for an hour or so, during which time hops are added at various intervals. Hops are added for flavour and aroma only. They give bitterness if they’re added near the start of the boil and aroma if added near the end. Hops don’t provide any more sugar and so they do not make the final beer stronger. Traditionally, hops have been used as a preservative, as they slow down the growth of bacteria that might infect the beer.
After the boil, beer is cooled down to roughly room temperature and transferred to another large tank – the fermenter. Here, yeast is added. Over the next few days to weeks, the beer undergoes fermentation where the yeast turns the sugars into alcohol, amongst other delicious things. The more sugar there is to begin with, the more alcohol will be produced and thus a stronger beer will be made.
After fermentation, sometimes more hops are added and sometimes the beer is aged or conditioned for long periods of time. Nowadays, most beers are pumped full of carbon dioxide to make them fizzy and then transferred to kegs or bottles to be enjoyed by us, the paying public.
Some beers are bottle conditioned. This means the beer is put straight into bottles, without any forced carbonation. Instead, sugar is added, which can be eaten up by the remaining yeast, or by additional yeast if the beer was filtered or fined. This causes the pressure to build up inside and results in a fizzy final product. Add too much sugar, though, and you could have bottles with the potential to explode. And when they go, they do go. Cask conditioning works in exactly the same way; just think of a cask as one big bottle. This is why hand-pulled ‘real ales’ tend to have such a short life – once the first pint has been pulled, it’s just like having opened a bottle and poured a little from the top. Every pint from then on will be different from the last.
When we make beer at home, we can go through exactly the same processes, using smaller equipment. Size is the only difference between home and commercial brewing. This allows us to make any beer at home to the same quality as you can buy down the pub.
That’s beer. What about ale? Or lager?
What’s the difference?
In short, the yeast. Beer is an all-encompassing term: lager is beer and ale is beer. The difference between them lies in which yeast was used in their production – lagers are made with lager yeasts, which ferment well at cold temperatures, and ales are made with ale yeasts, which ferment well at room temperatures. It’s as simple as that.
Ale yeasts and lager yeasts are different species of yeast. Ales are made with brewer’s yeast, Saccharomyces cerevisiae, and lagers are made with another species, Saccharomyces pastorianus. These yeasts are then subdivided into a number of different strains and are available to buy for home brewing. The variation between strains can be huge, and each of them possesses unique characteristics.
There are plenty of strains, too, that straddle the distinction between ale and lager yeasts to produce a ‘hybrid’ style. These are often used to make lager-like beers in climates or equipment that are not amenable to snow-loving yeasts. These strains are especially useful to home brewers, for we can make clean, crisp and balanced beer without investing in expensive and large temperature-controlling equipment.
Often, you’ll find people chatting about ‘bottom fermenting’ strains for lagers or ‘top fermenting’ strains for ales. These terms literally refer to whether the yeast sits at the bottom or top of the fermenter, but today you should probably ignore them. Where a yeast sits depends entirely on its activity, and so a vigorous lager will be top-fermenting and a dormant ale will appear bottom-fermenting. It is not so dependent on strain, but far more on activity.
Lager, confusingly, has another meaning. To ‘lager’ a beer is to keep it for an extended period of time, usually for weeks or more, at very cold temperatures, –1°C to 0°C. Over this time, nearly all the material that makes a beer cloudy drops to the bottom, so at the end you have a completely clear and crisp final product.
HOW TO TASTE BEER
STOP. Don’t drink that beer. That beer deserves your respect. Think of the journey it has been through to reach that bottle or can or glass. If you made that beer yourself, you know only too well the work that went into it.
Tasting beer properly, like tasting wine, can make you look like a bit of a tit. But if you don’t want to cast yourself in such a pretentious light, these steps can be carried off with subtlety and coolness. Honest. Tasting beer properly is required to appreciate all its complexity and flavour, and give you a richer experience.
First, pour. Into a glass, a mug, a polystyrene cup, whatever. It’s usually a good idea to pour your beer into something. Not only does this mean you can appreciate its beauty, but the action of pouring will maximise the aroma of the beer by releasing volatile, aromatic compounds into the air just above the glass. If you’re at home, pour your beer into a wine glass. The qualities that make it a good drinking vessel for wine make it good for beer, too. The shape helps concentrate the aroma where your nose is going to be stuck, and the shape and stem give you some control over the beer’s temperature: warm it by clasping both hands around it, or keep it cool by holding the stem.
Because you’ve poured it, you can inspect it. This allows you to form your first impression (because a beer should never, ever be judged by its label). You can guess what you think it’s going to taste or smell like: is it flat or fizzy? Flat and viscous might make you think it’s going to be sweet. What colour is it? You might expect some roasted or coffee flavours from a dark beer, or sweet caramel notes from an amber beer. If it’s a nasty shade of brown, it might be an old, oxidised bottle. Is it clear or cloudy? A lager and an India pale ale (IPA) might be exactly the same colour, but the haze of hops and lingering yeast hints at which is which.
Next, sniff. This is my favourite one. You should never swig a beer without sticking your nose in it first. I cannot explain what to look for, because the variation in beer is so vast. If you want to smell specific flavours that may or may not be there, read the bottle. The best way to pick up on certain flavours is to look for them. It’s much harder to come up with them out of the blue.
Take your time. Stick your nose right inside your glass, and indulge in a large and violent snort. Some people in the whisky community say that keeping your mouth open whilst doing this enhances the aromas; there’s no way of telling whether this works, but I do it just in case. Try it and see if it works for you. Then, remove the glass and breathe out, slowly. Think about what aromas you have just smelt, and try to place them in other parts of your life.
Try to tally up what you’re sniffing with the four core ingredients in beer: malty aromas might remind you of biscuits, bread, toast or caramel. In darker beers, you’ll notice coffee and chocolate notes. Hops can be reminiscent of citrus, floral, pine-forest or of their close cousin, weed. Yeast is possibly the most interesting – its scent can provide (questionably) the ‘yeasty’ smell of the cells themselves, to all the wonderful fruity and spicy flavours they can produce.
If you’re struggling, giving the glass a gentle swirl releases CO² and helps lift out aromas. Don’t go crazy, though, as too much CO² gives little more than a sting. If the beer was very strong, you might have just picked up on the harsh smell of alcohol. Whatever the case, always repeat this sniffing process twice more, and each time a new level of flavour will reveal itself.
Finally, taste. Don’t just sip it like you might a spirit – whatever the beer, take a big mouthful. This is the most important piece of advice I can give anyone on how to taste. The more beer in your mouth, the more activation of taste receptors you’re going to get on your tongue, especially if you slosh it around your mouth. The more activation of taste receptors, the bigger response you’re going to get in your brain. It’s simple.
Taste is split into five or six very basic areas: sweet, sour, salt, bitter, umami (savoury) and oleogustus (fattiness). These can all be present in beer in positive and negative ways. Saltiness and fattiness are usually minor players, and umami’s role is in the early stages of understanding. Bitterness is almost always the most prominent, and it can take a while for non-beer lovers to come round to the fact that bitterness is, on the whole, a positive flavour. Of course, all flavours require balance: it would be wrong to suggest that a beer that is bitterer is better.
Sweetness, despite the pleasurable connotations, tends to add a cloying character to a beer. This means it needs to be balanced with something else, usually alcohol, to make the beer drinkable. Beers that are sweet and really work are the strong ones, such as imperial stouts, barleywines or old ales. Sweetness is discouraged in beers like IPAs and lagers, as it reduces drinkability. Usually, these are described in terms of ‘dryness’, in the same way as a white wine or champagne. Dryness is a descriptive term for lack of sweetness.
Sourness can be an off-flavour in beer – it’s a sign of acidity, and it’s produced by a number of wild yeasts and bacteria that can infect any beer. Watch out, as some people perceive sourness when they have a big, citrusy IPA, but all you’re doing is associating the smell of lemon, lime, grapefruit or orange with past experiences. True sourness can be a positive. Sour beers such as lambics and Berliner Weisses, which were once confined to the cellars of the most committed beer geeks, are being produced by even the smallest of new-wave craft breweries.
It can be easy, even for experienced beer drinkers, to confuse flavours. I once gave a glass of cherry lambic to a friend, and he described it as sweet. I carefully explained to him that there was not a single molecule of anything resembling sugar left in that beer. I stressed that it was dry and it was very sour, and that perhaps he should try again. He tried it again, he repeated that it was sweet and said he liked it. I left it at that.
If you’re an organised sort of person, it can be helpful to note down what you thought of a beer – even just to remind yourself that you’ve drunk that beer before. Whatever you do, keep the bottle, and rinse it out ready for later. You should start as soon as possible, as you’re going to need to build up quite a stock.
WHAT BEERS SHOULD TASTE LIKE
As soon as you start to talk about beer ‘styles’, the brewing world becomes divided. The question that’s usually asked is about whether beers should fit into certain styles. On one hand, amazing beers have been made within certain parameters for generations, and thus it stands that operating within these same standards will result in good beer. On the other hand, many argue this limits creativity and diversity, and people should be able to make beer any way they want.
At first glance, being pro-innovation might seem logical. Why should we stick to the same old formulas? Surely we should try new things, in order to push every boundary? The issues come at the receiving end. As a prolific imbiber, I will always be up for something new. The odd punt on an ‘experimental’ is good; the vast majority are somewhere between odd and terrible. Most of these beers are from small-time brewers whose primary aim is to ‘revolutionise’ with no respect for what has come before. Or, they come from larger PR-employing, attention-grabbing brewers looking for something to set them apart from everyone else.
Eventually, you might say, one of these new beers will hit the spot. And you could be right, statistically speaking. Everyone trying new things all the time is likely to result in a fast rate of new discovery. But think of all the people who have to put up with awful beer and all the breweries that go out of business before anything truly great is discovered.
I believe the highest chance of successful innovation results from respecting what has come before. Before you start adding things to beer, make sure you can already make the most perfect beer possible. Change one variable or add one thing at a time. This rule applies to commercial brewers and home brewers, alike.
For example, you might decide that you want your first all-grain beer to be pale and hoppy with added grapefruit and lemon. You could head straight in and design a recipe that includes pale malt, grapefruit, lemon and citrusy hops. It might be good, but it definitely will never be as good as it could have been if you’d gone about it in a smarter way.
Instead, think about what style this beer might fit into. Likely, the answer will be an American IPA. Start with a reliable recipe, like the one on American imperial IPA. Study which hops might go well with your chosen flavours. Think about what additional malts to use and ask yourself whether you want to add sugar to make it extra dry and drinkable.
Once you have considered these things, go ahead and make your beer. If it’s your first-ever beer, you should make it in the biggest batch you can and be super-proud of your achievement. Next time you make it, you can split the batch into little ones. That way, you can see how different amounts of zest or juice from various citrus fruits affect your beer, and you can taste them side by side. This is not only fun, but it will give you a much better understanding of flavour. Most importantly, you’ll get a good idea of what each ingredient does to your beer, for better or for worse, and you’ll grow as a brewer.
Once you’ve decided on your favourite combination, you can scrutinise it further, to see what improvements it might benefit from. A bit thin? Some wheat or oats might be a smart addition. Too bitter? Scale back those hops. And you now have a recipe for nearly the best pale hoppy beer with citrus you can make. I say nearly. The tinkering never stops.
Yes, you might think this sounds ridiculously convoluted, and you just want to make some interesting beer. But I have made too many bad batches of beer that I thought would be really cool, with complete disregard for traditional styles and arrogance in my own recipe-designing ability, to recommend you do the same. I remember my third-ever all-grain beer was an imperial black rye oatmeal IPA. I’d never even made an IPA before, let alone a really strong one. It was, of course, terrible, and I was left with 5 gallons of it to drink, pour down the drain or give to people I didn’t like. Now, they don’t like me either. Worse, they think I make rubbish, pretentious beer.
Although I heartily encourage experimentation, I plead with you to first follow my original recipes, or those from another reliable source, with minimal modification. Then, by all means, you can ruin them.
THE STYLE LIST
Think of this as the chancer’s guide. It is not exhaustive; it is hardly more than an introduction to a few of the more common beer styles. I don’t think the beginner beer-lover and home brewer requires much knowledge on Lichtenhainers, Goses and Roggenbiers. A full guide, including such beers, would require a book in itself.
British and Irish ales
English pale ale
These begin with ‘golden ales’: pale, thirst-quenching beers best enjoyed at an English summer music festival. They tend to be very dry, weak, very drinkable and not hugely hoppy, with what flavour there is coming from English hops and yeast. Stronger pale ales are English IPAs (5–7% abv), which were once stronger, overly hopped alternatives for export to tropical climates. The style was so popular at home and abroad it has persisted, despite us having no idea what those original exported beers tasted like. Most English IPAs nowadays are much tamer than the modern American style.
English bitter
An evolution from British pale ales during the nineteenth century, this caramely range of beers is an evolution from British pale ales during the nineteenth century, this caramely, rust-coloured range of beers is today characterised by additions of sweet crystal malts or by long boils in massive copper kettles. They can range in strength from ‘ordinary bitters’ of 3% abv and above to the whopping ‘extra special’ or ‘strong bitter’ of 6% abv, or more. Recognisable for their near headless reddish pints, they are pulled by hand in traditional pubs. As they rise in strength, so they rise in bitterness and hoppiness. The stronger examples can be very hoppy indeed. They will always have caramel or toffee flavours, along with those of English hops such as East Kent Goldings or Fuggles. Reliable examples are Fuller’s London Pride and ESB.
Stout and porter
These beers are noticeable for their dark colour and coffee or chocolate-like flavours, caused by the addition of roasted malts. They can range from very sweet (a ‘milk stout’) to silky smooth (an ‘oatmeal stout’) to very dry and drinkable (an ‘Irish dry stout’: think Guinness). As they go up in strength, they tend to become even darker and sweeter. The strongest are Russian imperial stouts, which can be anything from 7% to 20% abv plus. I’m often asked about the differences between a porter and a stout: when the term ‘porter’ was first coined, it was a name for a popular dark beer made with brown malt. Stouts came later – they’re stronger, less restrained versions. Think black as opposed to very dark brown. Most modern-day porters are without any of the harshness imparted by roasted (unmalted) barley. All stouts are porters, but only stronger porters are stouts.
English brown ale
Aside from Newcastle Brown Ale, this isn’t a mainstream style. Some might split this into lots of different regional categories and be appalled at my grouping. Tough. Despite variation by county, these historic beers are all between about 4% and 6% abv with plenty of caramel and nutty flavours, as well as a touch of roastiness from a little dark malt. They’re brown and they’re not very hoppy, but they can be very good; try Sam Smith’s Nut Brown.
Scottish ale
These poor guys have fallen out of favour in recent years, most likely because they were bland, cheaply made alternatives to English beers, for the undiscerning Scottish market. They were made with pale malt, corn, a bit of dark sugar and minimal hops. Nowadays, they’re most often brewed by home brewers looking to enter obscure categories in competitions. ‘Lights’ are up to about 3% abv, ‘heavies’ up to 4% and ‘exports’ never reach more than about 6%. If you see them categorised in terms of ‘shillings’ (for example 60/- or 80/-), this only refers to how much a cask would have sold for back in the day. Today, it is simply a loose reflection of their strength.
Old ale, barleywine and Scotch ales
The big boys. These winter warmers are super-malty and only get sweeter as they get stronger. Attempts to categorise them individually are recent and of American origin; in reality there is significant overlap. An old ale tends to be aged, roasted and slightly sweet, with a pleasant ‘stale’ quality. The Scotch ale (‘wee heavy’) is a hugely sweet, strong (7–10% abv) and nutty beer. The English barleywines do tend to be stronger and richer, with intense and complex flavours that reveal themselves with a good bit of aging. Expect them to be 8–12%. Try Traquair Jacobite Ale, a modest Scotch ale with added spice.
Belgian beers
These styles are exceedingly simple beers that showcase the wonderful abilities of Belgian yeast strains. They tend to be nothing more than pale malted barley, minimal English or European hops and some sugar; exactly the same recipe you might use to create an English super-lager. But the yeast transforms these beers into diverse golden nectars, filled with complex spicy and fruity flavours and aromas. Strong golden ales are widely available – look out for Duvel or Delirium Tremens.
Saison
This is one of my favourite styles of beer; it seems as diverse as all other beers combined. Saisons tend to be strong (but don’t need to be), pale, refreshing and highly carbonated, with distinctive flavour resulting from distinctive saison yeasts. These yeasts, originally used to produce beers for the farming season of French-speaking Belgium, tend to work best with a bit of heat. Use their preference to your advantage: brew them in the summer. You’ll be hooked. Watch out for a peppery spiciness and tangy aromas of freshly cut citrus fruit. Brewers (myself included) often add ‘wild’ yeast strains, such as Brettanomyces, to add some funkiness and get the beer as dry and refreshing as possible. Try Saison Dupont or, if you’re lucky, anything from Hill Farmstead.
Trappist-style ale
Trappist beer is a protected product, and must be brewed by monks in Trappist monasteries. But that doesn’t stop us replicating their wonderful work at home, or enjoying many breweries’ copycat brews. The big daddy of them all is the Quadrupel, or Belgian strong dark, a plummy dark beer of 8–12% abv made with dark sugar syrup. These tend to benefit from a bit of age. They are some of the most revered beers in the world, and if you can get a bottle of Westvleteren XII, you should count yourself lucky. Rochefort 10 and St Bernardus 12 are much easier to get hold of and nearly as celebrated. Dubbel is a marginally paler, easier-going style that sits at a mere 6–8% abv. The obvious anomaly in this category is the Tripel; similar to a strong Belgian golden ale, but even more dry, drinkable and spicy. Often, brewers will add adjuncts such as coriander (cilantro) and dried orange peel to accentuate these flavours. Try Westmalle Tripel or Tripel Karmeliet.
Lambic
I can’t write about lambics without feeling a tinge of excitement. This is my single favourite style of beer. I’m biased, sorry. They start out life a little different, with the use of aged, slightly cheesy hops and a sizeable amount of unmalted wheat. But the magic starts with spontaneous fermentation. Traditionally, this is done by allowing the yeast and bacteria that occupy the atmosphere to fall into the beer as it’s left open, before transferring to old wooden barrels for ageing. Within a year or two, you’ll have a complex and sour drink completely unlike most beer, where barnyard and fruity, funky flavours dominate. A ‘gueuze’ is a term for a blend of old and young lambics. Often, they’re tamed with the addition of fruit, such as cherries, raspberries or apricots. Anything by Cantillon is sensational, and Boon Mariage Parfait and Drie Fonteinen beers are also excellent examples.
German beers
Pale lagers
The lagers in the German style are the best lagers, and some of the best beers, in the world. They are only distant relatives of the production line ‘macro’ examples drunk daily by so many of us, and deserve reverence for the time and effort that’s involved in making these beers. Ranging in colour and strength, pale lagers are known for their maltiness and hoppiness. For a pale, weak, exceedingly drinkable style, try a Munich Helles. The German Pils, an evolution of the Czech pilsner, is its stronger and much hoppier big brother. Try Augustiner-Bräu Helles and Rothaus Pils.
Amber lagers
The most common Amber lager is the Märzen, or ‘March beer’. It was traditionally produced in the month of March, before being kept cool in the caves over the summer months to give it clarity. The first were cracked open at Oktoberfest, and this was, until recently, the festival beer. Now, the paler ‘Festbier’ dominates, as it’s more suitable to being guzzled by the litre. From a Märzen, expect an amber colour and malty, bready, biscuity and toasty flavours. A Rauchbier can be a variation of Märzen, but contains beech-smoked malt and is dominated by a smoky flavour. Ayinger Oktoberfest-Märzen is sublime.
Dark lagers
Lagers don’t always have to be straw-coloured – the Munich Dunkel can be as dark as any stout or porter, and filled with roasty, chocolate-type flavours. A lager should always be drinkable, though, and this beer is no exception. A Schwarzbier is a very similar style, though it hails from Saxony and tends to be even darker, drier and more roasty. For an authentic experience, go for anything dark by Augustiner-Bräu or Ayinger.
Strong lagers
A Doppelbock (literally ‘double bock’, an already strong lager) is the most notable of the strong German lagers. It’s an exceedingly malty beer with an almost savoury character and full-bodied mouthfeel. It should still be drinkable. A doppelbock can be dark or light and everything in between – my favourite is Ayinger Celebrator. If you really want to push the boat out, try an Eisbock. These are fermented like any other doppelbock, but are made even stronger through the process of freeze distillation. This is when the beer is partially frozen and any ice removed to concentrate the flavour and the alcohol content.
Kölsch
I wouldn’t normally reference such a small, regional style, but this is a home brewing icon. Similar to a German pils, these beers from Cologne are made with a special hybrid yeast strain that allows them to be fermented at temperatures of English and American ales, and still give good results. As such, this is an excellent style for home brewers to try if you’re looking to get lager-like results. Reissdorf Kolsch is my favourite example.
Berliner Weisse
Literally ‘Berlin white’, this is an exceptionally sour style of beer. Usually 3% abv or less, this beer has a noticeable tang from the Lactobacillus sp. bacteria that play a part in its fermentation. In Berlin, you can find it served with sweet, flavoured syrups, as a combatant to its mouth-puckering qualities. True beer-snobs drink it unadulterated, and the cult status of this beer has meant copycats are produced all over the world. This is another favourite of home brewers. It’s unlikely you’ll find an authentic Berliner near you, so ask around at local breweries. In the UK, the Kernel’s London Sour isn’t a bad one.
Wheat beer
Weissbier (German wheat beer; Hefeweizen) is instantly recognisable in both sight and smell. You’ll see its huge foamy head and cloudy amber body, but then you’ll smell two of the most distinctive yeast character in all of beer: banana and clove. Some are more banana-ey, some are more clovey; but they’re always there. These German wheat beers should be so carbonated as to cause gushing, and have some of the most luscious mouthfeel of any beers. Dunkelweizens employ darker malts to give a more bready, caramely or even roasted characteristeric. Weizenbocks are much stronger versions, and can be dark or light. Weihenstephan, the oldest brewery in the world, produces a fairly unbeatable range of wheat beers.
Other European lagers
Czech lagers
Czech lagers include the Bohemian Pilsner, one of the most popular beers in the world. But it’s a diverse category with candidates of various colours and strengths, from pale straw beers at 3% abv to dark or amber lagers of over 6%. Their main distinction from German lagers is their yeast - this tends to leave residual sweetness and a fuller body. Personally, I think this detracts somewhat from their drinkability.
Multinational lagers
These are the Heinekens, the Carlsbergs, the Morettis, the Stellas and the Coronas of this world. Some are acceptable, most are terrible and the occasional few are quite pleasant. These are, for the most part, designed to fuel alcoholism whilst being produced as cheaply as possible. Try to avoid them. Hard, I know.
American beer
This is a bastardisation of the original English IPA, and what a beautiful bastard it is. This style, more than any other, has fuelled this new beer renaissance across the world. They took a traditional English IPA, refined it and added more hops. Awesome American hops. And lots of them, both at the end of the boil and then after fermentation has completed, in a process known as ‘dry hopping’. Good examples, such as Lagunitas IPA or Stone IPA, will smell floral and citrusy and piny and blow you away with their hop flavour, before smacking you in the face with a hefty blow of bitterness. Their dry finish will make you go back for more and more.
American pale ale
This is a weaker, less hoppy and fuller-bodied IPA. It tends to be a bit closer to its English roots with a more malt-focused backbone, and not all of them will be dry hopped. They will still use plenty of American hops, though. Check out the classic: Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. An American amber ale is a darker and fuller version of the pale ale that uses more crystal or caramel malts – think of an English bitter, but with American hops.
Double IPA
A double IPA (imperial IPA) is a style pioneered by Vinnie Cilurzo of Russian River Brewing. His beer, Pliny the Elder, is still considered one of the world’s best beers. It’s a simple concept – an American IPA, but more. Stronger, hoppier, drier, bitterer. The key to their success is an exceedingly dry finish and unobtrusive malt flavour, letting the aromatic American hops shine through. If you can’t get Pliny, try Stone Ruination or Brewdog Jackhammer.
American barleywine
This has all the strength, maltiness and mouthfeel of an English barleywine, but is predictably packed full of American hops. This gives a bitterness and intense hop aroma that combine to give an awesomely complex beer. Think of every flavour that can possibly be present in a beer, and the American barleywine probably has it. The key distinction from a double IPA is the extra strength, the heavy sweetness and body – this one’s definitely a sipper. Sierra Nevada Bigfoot is a true classic; go for Great Divide Ruffian if you can get it. And try different vintages.
California common
This is a ‘hybrid’ ale that offers home brewers the chance to create a lager at normal, ale temperatures. Also known colloquially as a ‘steam beer’, after Anchor Brewery’s original and defining example, this style predates refrigeration. The yeast was bred to produce lager characteristics in the cool-but-not-cold air of San Francisco. California commons are amber in colour, assertively bitter with a fuller body than most lagers. Go for the original and best, Anchor Steam Beer.
American brown and dark beers
These beers tend to be roughly equivalent to the traditional English versions of the styles. An American brown ale is a relatively recent invention and is stronger and hoppier than the English original, predictably. Any American stout is more bitter and much more hoppier than a traditional English or Irish stout. An American double stout? That’ll be a Russian imperial stout, then, with more hops. North Coast Old Rasputin is a brilliant American-style ‘double’ stout.
American lagers
You’re probably expecting me to tell you they’re evil. Most of them, yes. But some? Definitely not. Being full of corn and rice removes body and adds drinkability. The American Light Lager is a refreshing beer and personal favourite of mine – a good one will taste of nearly nothing. Coors Light is not bad at all. At least it doesn’t taste like misery.
Written by James Morton in "Brew - The Foolproof Guide to Making World-Class Beer at Home", Quadrille Publishing (an imprint of Hardie Grant), London, UK, 2016, excerpts chapter one. Digitized, adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.