Why I Judge Craft Breweries on Their Pale Lagers
Woven into the grand sonic fabric of the orchestra, the lone violin, oboe, or clarinet enjoys the protection of the ensemble. While consistent, substandard execution would be quite audible, a few indiscretions here and there would likely be lost in the crowd.
The world of beer is not much different. Where the IPAs are able to hide minor fermentation or grainbill flaws under the cloak of massive hopping, and where stouts with their giant chocolate and roast aromas can mask a higher than ideal level of DMS, the pilsner and the helles are not unlike chamber quartets.
These are the two most exposed, and universally brewed styles. Yes kölsch style can go wrong very easily, yes cream ales can taste like a bag of cornchips, but these tend to be more sporadic offerings. Pretty much every craft brewery offers either a helles or a pilsner.
When I walk into a taproom for the first time, this is the first beer I order. Even the second time. In the case of a flight, to which I religiously gravitate, this is the first one I try. The pilsner is the face of the brewery, and it is upon this beer which I base my initial observations. Well to be honest it’s the presence, or lack, of a footrail that initiates my notetaking, but the pilsner is second, and arguably much more important.
As much as I disagree with constraints and unjustified regulation, the Reinheitgebot gave us a platform for perfection. Although not the intent, the purity law forced brewers to focus on quality and, at the risk of linguistic redundancy, purity. Malting techniques at the time still had yet to be honed and smoky rough malts probably didn’t do much for the clean flavours we now covet. Had beer in Bavaria been allowed the wide berth we have now, we might not have ever landed here.
This is not to say that purity is the be all and end all. Nor certainly is it the end or the beginning. Pure beer, if we dare term it that, is just one side of the die. The complexities of many Belgians, the beers not the people, would have suffered, or likely never spawned had these restrictions reached far and wide.
So what am I looking for? First off, I have a taste. A plain old sip. Is the beer good? Invariably yes. Then I get a bit deeper and look for flaws. Not because I am trying to find something wrong with it. No one would be happier than I for every beer on planet earth to be the epitome of perfection. I am however a beer taster and writer. My job is to write honest and unbiased information about beer and breweries. If the beer is bad, I cannot run around saying otherwise. I think about the malt, is it clean and bready or crackery. I hope so. How about the fermentation, if this is advertised as bohemian then I expect and accept some buttery diacetyl, if not, then please no. A continental pilsner should have a hoppy bouquet one could describe as floral or herbal. That quintessential hop “spice”, an indication of freshness, should be very present.
It’s rare that I try a craft brewery’s pilsner or helles and reject it. Either publicly or privately, and I would never do it publicly. But it’s also rare that my pen flies furiously across the pages of my notebook espousing the virtues of said beer. Imperial stouts can fill a page, as can some IPAs, most mixed ferments, and anything that had an encounter with a barrel. But the pale lagers are usually consistent. Fresh and clean, and a great example of quality assurance. When I do encounter an exceptional specimen, the excitement of finding such pleasure is closely followed by the anticipation of what may come next.
Fine Balance Brewing Company in Kingston, The Establishment Brewing Company in Calgary, and Bellwoods Brewery in Toronto, probably make the three most outstanding pilsners recent memory can unearth.
The pilsner is an excellent way to prepare the taster for bigger bolder flavours, but it also serves as a kind of compass, letting us know what direction we are headed. Hopefully, that direction is forward.
Image above is a fine example of a pilsner from Fine Balance. Bene