For this blog, let us go back to the beginning. And I mean right to the beginning - the dawn of human civilisation itself.
I think most of us are vaguely familiar with the story of how homo sapiens transitioned from the nomadic hunter / gatherer to the settled farmer. We discovered that certain grasses could be cultivated and turned into food. In order to organise ourselves to cultivate these grasses, we stayed in one place and built shelters. (In most cases, the male of the species then decided - purely in the interests of the community, of course - that their female partners were best suited to tending these grasses while they themselves charged around with their newly domesticated dogs and horses finding meat).
Most of us have probably also experienced the joy of being taken around a museum with our parents and being rather bored at the obligatory section on ancient pots. But bear with me, because these pots are in fact very important and interesting. Our ancestors used them to store the recently harvested grain. Crucially, sometimes the grain got wet and germinated. And then something amazing happened. A magical force in the air got at the grain and triggered fermentation, which in turn led to alcohol. All of a sudden we were no longer dependent on fermented berries and dubious mushrooms for our intoxication. This was the turning point in what makes us human.
It was obvious that such an amazing natural force had to be divine. In medieval England it was called “godisgoode”. We know it as yeast. Over time we domesticated yeast for beer just as surely as we had domesticated the dog and the horse. At first the dominant strains of yeast were those which fermented in the top of the vat, making what we would now call “ale” (I will, for now, stay away from the historic origins of the words between “ale” and “beer”). Later on, we developed yeasts of low fermentation - or “bottom yeast” as their detractors sniffily described them. These, in conjunction with a chilled storage process - named “lagering” after the German storehouses where it was pioneered - produced the pilsner-type beers that we generalise as “lager”. See my previous blog “The Appliance of Science” (https://www.londonbiermeister.co.uk/blog/the-appliance-of-science-april-2021 ) for the story of how no less a figure than Louis Pasteur involved himself in this good work.
But there is a third way that involves neither top nor bottom fermentation. You go old-school, leave the vat open and let the natural yeast do its stuff like in the old days. Spontaneous fermentation.
The centre of production of this kind of beer is the area around Brussels, and in particularly the Pajottenland of Flemish Brabant to the south west of Brussels. The generic term for these beers is “lambic”. The term was first seen in the 18th century and is believed to derive from a type of still called an “alembic” which was used in its production.
A particular variety of lambic that you will see a lot of in Brussels is “gueuze” - a blend of old and young lambic fermented with a bit of sugar and served in a champagne bottle. The name goes back to the Rue des Gueux, on which this particular type of beer was first produced. This name, in turn, goes back to the Dutch resistance to the Spanish occupation of Brussels in the 16th century. A group of local nobles brought their grievances to the Regent, Margaret of Parma. She was perturbed. Her advisers told her not to be, as the petitioners were only “beggars”. “Ce sont des gueux”. The name was adopted as a badge of pride and the street was in due course named after them.
So what does it taste like? I cannot do better here than quote the wonderful Pete Brown, named by Times Literary Supplement as “the beer drinker’s Bill Bryson”. He says that his first taste produced the tasting notes “aaaooooeerrghhhh” and “yeeeaaiiiizzzerhhaaaaa”. And then continues
“By the third sip it starts to taste OK and you might even enjoy it, although when you realise for the first time that you are enjoying it, you might start giggling uncontrollably and have to ask someone near you to slap you hard across the face. Whether this is because Lambic creates a degustatory black hole in your mouth and drags your taste buds to an alternate dimension… or whether it completely destroys them and leaves a smoking ruin where your finely tuned palate once stood, has not been scientifically determined”.
(He noted that one of his friends described it as “like drinking beer that I have sicked up”)
In practical terms, it is a bit like a sour cider and a bit like a dry champagne. It doesn’t taste like any beer you will have tried before. Do try it, even if only once. Otherwise there will be some part of life you will always have missed out on. I personally favour lambic fermented with cherries (“Kriek”) or raspberries (“Frambozen”) - these can be absolutely delicious, especially on a hot summer day.
And hurry up, because global warming is killing the natural yeasts. In the 19th century, they were in the air for 165 days per year. This has reduced to 140.
The king of the lambic breweries is Cantillon, based in a suburb of Brussels well known to football fans as Anderlecht. If you want to try a lambic, that is a great place to start. I have also enjoyed evenings in the bar run by the Mort Subite gueuze brewery near the Grand Place.
Do keep a look out also for “Belgian style wild ales” brewed in the USA - Goose Island produce some absolute beauties. I served one up recently during a most enjoyable beer tasting at the Royal Canoe Club in Teddington. It didn't win, but one stubborn individual had it as their favourite. Which is as it should be.