| Style School: Berliner Weisse

The traditional white beer from Berlin has had many guises over the centuries, from simpler Lacto sours to fruit-packed smoothies, via the enigmatic, mixed-fermentation constructions more closely aligned with its history. Jeff Alworth clarifies its identi

IT’S USUALLY EASY WORK

to tell the story of a style. Berliner weisse, however, presents a philosophical challenge unlike any in beer: What is it, exactly? Is it a complex beer made with mixed fermentation, aged with Brettanomyces, and bottle-conditioned? Is it a simple wheat beer with lactic acid and sugar syrups? Is it a kettle-soured ale sweetened with fresh fruit? Does it contain smoked malt? Does it contain hops? Is the wort boiled?

To all of these questions, in variations dating back centuries, the answer, sometimes, has been “yes.”

The style has been so confusing that until 2016, the Great American Beer Festival style guidelines strictly forbade the use of Brettanomyces, despite it being a key component of Berlin’s more complex versions for most of the 20th century. It’s understandable. The name dates to as far back as 1600, but since then it has changed so much that an example from one era is hardly recognizable in another. That pattern is playing out again: The classic style is enjoying a revival, even while American brewers repurpose it yet again.

Kühle Blonde

How different were these different versions? Before the mid-19th century, Berlin brewers often made their weisse with smoked malt, akin to grodziskie. We call it a wheat beer, but even that wasn’t always true—as recently as the postwar period of the 20th century, some breweries made all-barley examples (a good reminder that “white” beer doesn’t always mean wheat beer). More typically, Berliner weisse was a beer of two-thirds wheat and one-third barley, but that ratio varied over time and by brewery. Older versions may have used oats. The strengths, too, varied substantially; many were brewed to 11° or 12° Plato (OG 1.044–1.048), and some were as strong as bocks. They seemed to have high carbonation and a tart zing in common—but almost everything else seemed up for grabs.

Its mass popularity grew as Berliners entered what we might consider their “classical” period in the mid-19th century. The number of breweries making them ticked up from a dozen at midcentury to four dozen by 1900. Mash schedules and approaches varied; sometimes breweries boiled their wort, other times not. In some cases, they even boiled hops in water separately to add after mashing. One rationale for not boiling the wort was apparently color—for weisse, the paler the better.

Critically, by that point, they were using a mixed fermentation that included lactic and alcohol fermentations (together or separate) along with Brettanomyces—the use of which elevated a simple, rustic beer into a complex, highly accomplished one with a growing reputation.

To use one example, the British writer Henry Vizetelly, Berlin correspondent for the Illustrated London News, rhapsodized about the local specialty in 1879: “Berlin is the city of all others where the kühle blonde is obtained in the greatest perfection.” He went on to describe the “cool blonde’s” effervescence and “sharp, dry” flavor—all hallmarks of the celebrated brew. Many cities had their own beer style, but few were as famous as Berlin’s.

Lagers—riding pilsner’s success into the North—began to erode the style’s popularity, however. The World Wars did further damage. By 1920 there were just nine Berliner weisse brewers, a number that never again exceeded 14. Another trend permanently changed the character of the beer: the addition of a shot of sweet syrup to cut the acidity. Historian Ron Pattinson traced that practice back to at least 1900, but toward the end of the century, it became ubiquitous.

By 1977, when Michael Jackson was first writing about Berliner weisse, he observed that “Germans are equally surprised at the thought of drinking a Berliner Weisse without a schuss (a dash of raspberry juice) or Waldmeister (essence of woodruff).”

Mash schedules and approaches varied; sometimes breweries boiled their wort, other times not. In some cases, they even boiled hops in water separately to add after mashing. One rationale for not boiling the wort was apparently color—for weisse, the paler the better.

By this point, weisse was no longer the toast of Berlin—it was a kind of nostalgic specialty drink people enjoyed from time to time. If the syrups helped appeal to increasingly sweet palates, they did nothing to keep serious beer drinkers engaged. Now stained red or green, Berlin’s “kühle blonde” was headed toward obscurity.

The Importance of Brett

At that point there were only four breweries in East and West Berlin making the beer. By the new millennium, the number had dropped to two. In 2006, they merged. One of the two, Schultheiss, still made the beer the old way, with mixed-culture primary fermentation and a lengthy maturation with Brett. The other, Berliner Kindl, scrapped the Brett, using only sharp lactic acidity to balance the sweetness of the syrups. Even before the demise of Schultheiss, though, the old way of making Berliner weisse was falling down a memory hole. Afterward, the use of Brett

seems to have been forgotten entirely.

Why is it important? Because Lactobacillus creates a layer of acidity that is bright and refreshing but monochromatic. It lacks depth and complexity. Berliner weisse made with Lacto alone can quench like a glass of lemonade, but it won’t win plaudits for accomplishment. Add Brett,

however, and a series of biochemical changes transform the beer.

Alan Taylor, cofounder of Zoiglhaus Brewing in Portland, Oregon, learned about Berliner weisse at Berlin’s VLB brewing university, where the knowledge of Brett still resided. Wild yeast takes the acids produced during lactic fermentation and converts them to esters, he learned. “The ethyl acetate and ethyl lactate levels are significantly higher in the traditional product,” he says, referring to Brett-conditioned Berliner weisse. “Those esters are being created by the interplay of acid production from the bacteria and the Brett.”

He pointed out that a beer with Brett

alone would also lack the complexity of a beer that started with higher acidity. “Brett

on its own also doesn’t create the levels of the mixed pitch. Lactobacillus and Brettanomyces synergistically create a much more complex beer.” Beers made the traditional way have the bell-like acidity of lactic acid but also the woodiness and attenuation of Brett. But their hallmark, and the quality that elevates them, is a tropicality that is sometimes so vivid you’re certain fruit has been used. It’s delicate—sometimes more aroma than taste—but unmistakable.

Berliners actually experimented with a version of Lacto-only kettle souring. One brewer, Otto Franke, implemented it in the early 1900s. It had many advantages, including a