When a summer day calls for a crisp beer
Just as the federal government relaxed its recommendations for masking, a clear sign that the claws of the pandemic were slowly easing their grip, the weather here in New York City turned gorgeous, the skies clear blue, the air dry and the temperature in the mid-70s.
Can it be? A collective softening of the tension and anxiety that have kept the nation’s jaws clenched for the last 14 months? What better time than the approach of Memorial Day, the unofficial start to summer.
It’s a situation that calls for a beer. Or maybe three. Outside in the shade of a big old oak tree, with friends and an occasional breeze.
If any good has come from the pandemic where I am in Manhattan, it’s been the discovery of life outdoors in the heart of the metropolis. Many restaurants and bars were permitted to add sidewalk and street-side tables, and the experience has proved so pleasant for New Yorkers that the open-air tables will long outlive the pandemic. At least, I hope so.
Beyond restaurants, many New Yorkers who for so long took city parks for granted rediscovered these joyous pockets of nature. When the pandemic eliminated so much indoor life, the parks served as exercise studios, boxing gyms, rehearsal rooms, party spaces and dining salons.
At times I was reminded of certain European cities, Madrid in particular, where in the early evenings intersections are transfigured with clusters of tables set up in the streets outside of bars and restaurants. Nothing is better than grabbing a seat for a quick caña, a small mug of cold beer that in my experience is among
the most refreshing things in the world.
Often, it was a draft of Estrella Damm, a popular lager brewed in Barcelona that goes down easily, the icier the better. In the Madrid twilight, while watching daytime workers transform into evening tapas prowlers, I can think of no better beer in the world.
Like so many wonderful memories, Estrella Damm was best in context. Here in New York, without the Spanish romance, I am a little more hardheaded about what I want in a summer beer.
I have some go-tos, but my absolute favorite right now is good old pilsner, sometimes called Pils or Pilsener, all after the city of Pilsen in the Czech Republic where the style was invented in 1842. Pilsners are particularly distinct subsets of lagers, pale gold in color with a pronounced hop character that is dry
and floral rather than fruity and an emphatic bitterness that, when in balance, is absolutely refreshing.
The term pilsner lost some meaning in the mid-20th century as it came to stand for some of the bland mass-market beers that were a thorough dilution of the style. Real pilsners are beautiful in their purity and stark assertiveness.
Where ordinary lagers are easy and pleasant, good pilsners are like a startling handclap, snapping your taste buds to attention. They are bracing, and they fit my important criteria for summer beers: They must be low in alcohol, topping out at 5.5% or so, and they must be relatively simple.
Not that I have anything against complexity. But, with a few possible exceptions like English bitter from a cask, you want to drink these cold, often while you are doing something else, whether at the
ballpark, tossing a Frisbee or sitting on a stoop with friends.
More complex sorts of beers demand attention. They want to be sipped rather than gulped and benefit from higher serving temperatures so as not to chill away their nuances. They are also likely to be higher in alcohol.
Pilsners come in two classic styles, Czech (sometimes called Bohemian) and German, with many variations. They sometimes overlap and are not easy to tell apart, but German is generally paler in color with a higher level of bitterness. American pilsners, not the bland mass-market brands but those from craft breweries, vary from close adherence to the classic styles to unfortunately creative extrapolations, adding, for example, the piney, grapefruit aroma of American hops rather than sticking with the continental varieties.
I generally prefer the classic Old World styles. Not, I hope, out of a hidebound fidelity to the past. Rather I appreciate the beauty in their balance and restraint.
Pilsner Urquell, which is said to be the original pilsner from Pilsen, is a great drink, so long as you get it from a source that stores it scrupulously and guards its freshness. If not, imported beers can taste old and tired.
I love Urquell’s malty freshness and the dry, bitter, lively aftertaste that prompts a next sip. Urquell would be my ideal, except for so many other good options out there. Von Trapp of Stowe, Vermont, makes a fine Czech-style pilsner, as does Bunker of Portland, Maine. Many top craft brews are sold regionally, so no doubt other terrific options exist outside the New York area.
I am also drawn to German pilsners. König,
Ayinger and Radeberger all make excellent versions, but I particularly love the slap-in-the-face bitterness of Jever, which will wake you from the most desultory summer slump.
Among local brands,
I do very much like the Brooklyn brewer Sixpoint’s German-style pilsner, labeled the Crisp.
I’m not solely a pilsner drinker. Another summer favorite is Kölsch, a German ale named after its city of origin, Cologne (Köln in German). Kölsch in fact has a lot in common with pilsner. It’s similarly pale golden, but it’s just a little mellower, a little less-than compared with pilsner.
It has a discernible maltiness, but not so much as pilsner. It’s brisk, but not as assertive as pilsner. It’s a little more polite, delicate and subtle. I find it wonderfully refreshing.
Kölsch is not nearly as easy to come by as pilsner, but three German brands have a presence in the United States: Reissdorf, Gaffel and Sünner. They are all pretty good, and I will take whatever I can find.
As with pilsner, craft brewers take liberties with the style. I’ve seen raspberry Kölsch, honey Kölsch, kiwi Kölsch, but though I know many American brewers make true Kölsch-style beers, I don’t often see them. It may be that some American brewers refrain from using the name Kölsch, respecting it as a geographical appellation, which makes them hard to identify.
Other great summer beers? Gose, an eastern German wheat beer often made with the addition of coriander and salt, is always alluring. A good gose is tart, lively, spicy and lightly saline. The style had something of a vogue a few years ago, but I don’t see them so often anymore. When I do, though, I snap them up.