Microbrewed Adventures (19 page)

Irrational rationality and difficulty in rising! I've never known anything closer to the truth.

The stone walls of the castle within which I undertook my brief research were imposingly silent in the vastness of Colonel Gayre's home. The wide Victorian main stairs spiraled to the second floor. The halls were decorated with larger-than-life-size paintings of European dignitaries in times past. Thousands of books from all over the world lay on shelves seemingly extending forever. They were all perfectly dusted. In one room, a large kitchen with a long table bore a full complement of pewter plates, drinking vessels and silverware. The kitchen hearth set out as it may have been two hundred years ago. A stacked pyramid of grapefruit-size cannonballs lay in a corner, a small triangular metal corral called a brass monkey keeping them from rolling away. (Now I understood where the phrase “cold as balls on a brass monkey” came from.) Full sheaths of armor, swords, hunting bows, muskets, lanterns and other ancient paraphernalia filled the room.

Gayre was indeed a collector of stuff and I admired that, being a collector of stuff myself. Nothing seemed spectacularly valuable, but there was a lot of it. And all of it was very old, mysterious and intriguing. Somewhere in this vast collection of stuff I was searching for information about mead. But I
couldn't help being distracted by the tall and rippled windows peering out over this Scottish estate.

Outside, a walled garden flourished under the caretaking of John the gardener. I learned he was also an avid all-grain homebrewer. Orchids grew in several corners, while fruit trees and exotic grasses grew elsewhere. Beyond the walls the Gayre family had planted spruce trees, planning to sell them as Christmas trees in years to come. The sun shone briefly as I took advantage of the fleeting glimpse of blue sky to don boots and walk about the castle grounds. The grass between the loch and the castle was a rich, soggy deep green as I peered back and contemplated the stone walls and the secrets of mead.

In my room that night, I typed my thoughts and transcribed a few records and recipes onto my notebook computer, which posed a strange contrast of 20th-century technology with medieval surroundings. Outside the rain was driven by gale winds, yet I could not hear any sound through the three-foot-thick walls. Despite the eerie silence and a permeating coolness, I slept well that night.

After a morning walk I returned to my research within the walls of the castle. My wanderings found me in a room I had not visited. Toward the rear of the castle and beneath a set of cantilevered spiral stairs is a small room that served as the wine cellar. I entered through the small door with anticipation that was soon to be rewarded. Scattered on the floor were boxes of marked and unmarked bottles of mead and a dusty wine rack silently upholding several more. As I was very carefully sorting through these relics I discovered what remained of Lieutenant Colonel Robert Gayre's stash of commercial and experimentally homemade mead. Bottled in the years 1944 through 1949, there were perhaps 40 labeled bottles remaining of sack mead, sack metheglin, cyser, melomel, brochet and hippocras.

I also discovered a box on the floor containing 16 bottles of mead, some of which were hand labeled. All seemed to be from about 1944, when Gayre was experimenting with various recipes as well as beginning his career working for military intelligence against Nazi Germany. I held this mead and thought of how only eight years earlier, in 1936, Gayre had met with Hitler in Berlin, Hitler having been interested in his ethnological ideas. Now it was August 1993 and I was sorting through several cysers, metheglins and melomels.

Most of the bottles were still intact, though a few had oozed part of their contents through failing corks and broken wax seals. My intent was to take a few photographs of these rare bottles and bring to the attention of Reinold and Marion the significance of what was in their basement.

Remaining mead from 1940s Mead Makers Meadery, Gulval, Cornwall

Over the years various castle residents may have squandered much of what had been there. Who was to know? Now only a few bottles remained.

As I took stock of the small inventory, Marion brought in a steaming plate of lightly sautéed chanterelle mushrooms, along with a complement of several wineglasses and a corkscrew. I was about to be immersed in mead heaven. Reinold joined us and invited me to open two bottles of melage mead.

The first was a 1948 melomel made by Mead Makers. The bottle had leaked. A quarter of its contents were gone, replaced with air. There was very little hope that the contents would be good. The cork disintegrated as I pried it out. To our astonishment the mead was not only drinkable, but quite good. It tasted very rich and dense, almost salty from the concentration of solids due to evaporation; it was very sweet, sherrylike and somewhat spicy in character. There was very little suggestion of oxidation and no acidification had taken place.

The next bottle we opened was a 1948 bottle of sack metheglin. It was in perfect condition. The aroma was herbal and honeylike. There was not the slightest evidence of oxidation. The label stated that the contents were no less than 14 percent a.b.v. The character of this sack metheglin was deep and complex; it was crystal clear, bearing no sediment. The aroma also expressed a slight lavender/herbal character. The taste mystified me. My mind contin
ued to unravel the flavor. After several sips and savoring the long aftertaste, several characters unfolded themselves. I thought I could identify lavender, thyme, rosemary, cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg, though they were all interwoven into one marvelous and unifying expression. Curiously, it was the aftertaste that really helped unravel the flavor for me. It still lingered 30 minutes later, and it was at that time that a rosemary-and-thyme (almost oregano-like) character became clearly evident.

I later learned from reading Gayre's mead notes that the gruit (herbal mixture) from which metheglins were made consisted of those herbs I had perceived, as well as a long list of others.

A slight burnt and smoky flavor contributed to the overall character. I would guess that this might have been the result of certain root herbs such as orris (powdered Florentine iris, of which Gayre writes in one of his herbal books: “a most valuable ingredient in flavoring fine metheglin”) and of being aged in oak for a year or two before bottling. There was also a soft acidity blessing the overall character.

We tried no other meads, though I could hardly contain my desire. I noted that the melomels and hippocras and particularly the cysers all had deposits in the bottle, likely from the tannic additions from grapes, apples or other fruit.

The experience of enjoying Colonel Gayre's mead must have had a mystical effect upon Reinold, for as soon after we had sampled the meads, he mentioned that there was a journal in one of the bookcases of the library in which the colonel had kept notes on his mead experimentation. I searched the rest of the day, but it wasn't until the next morning that I discovered it. I was leaving later that morning and had little time to view it, though. I did quickly note a few handwritten formulations. The first was for an early sack metheglin, surely a less potent predecessor of what I had experienced the night before:

for
SACK METHEGLIN

Another formulation for gruit appeared later in his journal and may be more indicative of the gruit of which the sack metheglin from the previous night had been made. Question marks appear where the handwritten notes were not quite legible.

Here is another recipe for gruit, in which Gayre apparently experiments with clove, cinnamon and nutmeg:

Metheglin
for 5 imperial gallons [6 U.S. gallons]

The first formulation for sack-type mead related to the above gruit formulations indicates the use of 2 pounds of honey per imperial gallon. This must have been an earlier experiment, as further on in his journal Gayre refines his formulations to become more indicative of a truer sack mead with ratios of 5 pounds (2.3 kg) of honey per imperial gallon (1.2 U.S. gallon, or 4.6 l) for sack mead and 6 pounds (2.7 kg) per imperial gallon for melage sack mead.

To assure the cessation of fermentation, Gayre would add spirits (alcohol), fortifying some of his concoctions.

While experimenting with yeast, he noted that he isolated some of his yeast cultures from fresh apple juice: “
add ¼ bottle of whisky to 2 gallons of
apple juice and 12 # honey…”
I wondered, did the whisky inhibit bacterial organisms, while wild yeast survived? Did the wild yeast encourage a more complete fermentation?

Gayre must have experimented with various gruits until he was satisfied, for a later journal entry describes a grander production of metheglin. A large volume of gruit was formulated thusly:

The castle remains a sentry on the shores of Loch Fyne, in county Argyll. Marion and Reinold Gayre keep busy with the upkeep of the castle and attending to the six or seven self-catering cottages on the castle grounds. They rent these cottages by the week to vacationers. Theirs is a long and busy day, spent attending to dry rot, leaking roofs, water-damaged floors, dusting, plumbing and window cleaning. Castle upkeep isn't a normal housekeeping job. But a visitor like myself, in awe of antiquity and in search of lost meads, can't help but admire the Gayre family's dedication to traditions.

I emerged from within the castle walls a bit wiser in the ways of mead. Tucked away in my hand-held luggage was one gift of a 1947 sack metheglin.
It is now over 58 years old. So am I. In the meantime I continue to make my own meads. I believe they will improve because of that intangible knowledge one acquires from such a journey.

I often think of Colonel Gayre as I make my annual melage of meads. I also take heart in knowing that thousands of home mead makers throughout the world are now wiser and more aware of how the traditions of mead have contributed to our culture.

Dear Colonel, wherever you may be, know ye that a friend of mead is a friend indeed.

 

I REVISITED
the castle with Sandra in 2003. Marion had sadly and quite suddenly died earlier that year. Reinold has since remarried and continues with the upkeep of Minard Castle. At the time of our visit, the closet of mead was still in good order. Having tried a bottle of 55-year-old brochet, I continue to admire the quality of what Lieutenant Colonel Gayre created.

I
N THE MINDS
of the world's beer drinkers, Germany is the center of the beer universe. Its reputation for upholding the 1516 Beer Purity Law, the
Reinheitsgebot
, serves as reassurance to all German beer drinkers that purity and quality will reside in every liter of beer brewed and enjoyed in Deutschland.

While the flavor and diversity of beer styles is limited in Germany, the pilseners, wheat beers, Altbiers, Kölschs, bocks and Bavarian light and dark styles are brewed with artisanal pride. Sadly in the last decade, the globalization of beer brands and economic pressures has stressed the fragile infrastructure of German small brewers. Their numbers have dwindled. The pressure to conform to the low taste profile of mass-marketed beers has resulted in the diminished complexity and flavor of many famous German beers from breweries both large and small.

German beer culture has not escaped the very real economic challenges of the early 21st century. Recently there has a been a small rebound in appreciation for passionately brewed German beer made by small brewers, but the struggle for survival continues and the German beer culture flirts precariously close to collapse. Two things may save what I have come to love about German beer: (1) Brewers will maintain their traditional standards and not compromise nor diminish the flavor and complexity of their beers, and (2) beer drinkers may learn that they must pay a small premium for beers whose character is above the trend toward less taste in beer.

My first tour of duty with the beers and brewers of Germany was in 1989. That year may have been the peak of modern German beer culture. The threats of globalizing beer brands had not yet aggressively appeared in Germany. Everywhere I went there was a sense of continuing celebration and a brewer's pride. The anxieties for the future had not yet made their presence. Small countryside breweries created unique versions of classic styles of German lagers and ales, each having their own “house” aromas and flavors. It was a wonderful time to be traveling in search of the beers and brewers of Germany. Those times provided my valued first impression, which has consequently inspired me to champion the passion of the microbrewer and preserve the flavor and diversity of real German beer.

The Monastery at Andechs

S
UMMER IN BAVARIA
isn't all sunny skies. In fact, when I was there in July 1989 it was cool, rainy and gray. I was making a pilgrimage to Andechs Monastery, Brewery and Beer House, west of Munich, easily accessible by the S-bahn train.

From the train station it is about a three-mile, thirst-provoking walk through the forest to the top of the hill where the monastery peacefully overlooks the valley. The monks brew a variety of beers for which they are famous and I was seeking the one they were most famous for, Andechs bock beer.

I was quite surprised to see the day's chalkboard drink menu absent of my heart's desire. What perplexed me even more was the listing of two other drinks that were completely foreign to me, “Radler” and “Diesel.” I was beginning to feel disillusioned and quite disappointed.

I had seen these drinks listed in other parts of Germany but really didn't pay them attention. Now I was annoyed. I drooled at the thought of downing a liter of their famous fresh, microbrewed dark Andechs bock beer but it was not served on the weekend. In the absence of bock beer my choice was limited to Andechs Helles. But what were these intrusions called Radler and Diesel? I was in the land of beer heaven. I was in Germany! They make beer here with only malt, hops, water and yeast. My thoughts were preoccupied with the question, “What is this other stuff?”

To my astonishment, I learned that Germans often mix lemonade with their beer and call it a Radler. Diesel was a popular half-beer, half-cola beverage also
enjoyed by Germans. For me it seemed a best-kept secret that was best kept a secret! They say it's “not bad.” But there is no way in beer heaven nor any other part of Planet Beer I will be mixing lemonade or cola with my beer. If word ever got out that Germans add lemonade and cola to their beer, there would be millions of disillusioned beer drinkers throughout the beer-loving world.

Restricted to their Helles lager, I nevertheless enjoyed the experience immensely. But what had happened to the bock beer? The problem, it turned out, was that recently the monks had decided to limit the weekend tourist crowds to their less potent Helles, as they've had problems with drunks who could not handle their higher-strength beers. So if you visit the monastery, go on a weekday (and note that the beer house is closed on Tuesdays).

German Rye Beer
Thurn und Taxis

I
N
1988,
while vacationing and trekking through the jungles of Thailand, I was cooling my thirst one evening in a mountain cave not far from the Burmese border. The beer was Singha, the most popular Thai beer at the time. We were sitting around a fire when a German traveler seated across from me agreed that Singha was “an all right beer.” He continued about the many good beers in his country, “…but if you are ever interested in an unusual beer you must go to Regensburg. There is a brewery called Thurn und Taxis. It is in nearby Schierling and they make a rye beer.”

Six months after sharing a beer in a jungle cave, I found myself leaving the Miesbach train station at 10:25
A.M
., headed for Regensburg.

Only about three hours north of Munich, Regensburg is steeped in malt and history. It's the birthplace of Martin Luther. Regensburg's population is about 100,000, and it has more than 100 churches and four breweries. Many years ago there were more than 40 breweries. The 20th century had a detrimental effect on this town's beer culture.

When I visited, three of the breweries were “public” only Thurn und Taxis was privately owned. The public breweries were incorporated in such a way that their profits went to charitable foundations. The Bischof's Brauerei profits went to priests. The Spital Brauerei profits went to a hospital for the aged, and the Knietinger Brauerei, at the time, was a private, family-owned brewery, willed to benefit orphans and children whose parents were unable to care for them.

Lunchtime in Regensburg was a quest fulfilled. I finally drank a very tall, specially endorsed glass of Thurn und Taxis Roggenbier (rye beer). Dark and yeasty, the beer's character is remarkably similar to that of Bavarian Weizenbiers. It has a clovelike essence and is slightly higher in refreshing sour acidity. I didn't
care for it given my own taste preference, which doesn't favor clove, or banana flavor in beer. However, I did admire the quality of the beer and the care with which Thurn und Taxis developed it, and I was impressed with the enjoyment so many others found in this beer. I was surely in the minority when it came to this beer preference.

Malted rye presents some unique problems for the brewer. It is very gummy when mashed and is notorious for what is called “set” mashes and runoffs. The grain mash becomes so sticky that liquid flows through with great difficulty. The brewery evidently developed a special process to deal with these problems.

The beer is more than 50 percent rye malt and is darkened with roasted malt. According to the brewery, in olden times rye was valued as a grain with high nutritional value. Five hundred years ago it was forbidden in Germany to brew beer with rye; the grain was reserved strictly for breads. Now, with an abundance of rye, Thurn und Taxis brings back the tradition of brewing with rye.

German Brown Ale
Düsseldorf, the Altstadt. Altbier

M
Y PILGRIMAGE TO
beer heaven—Germany—lasted 18 days. On the Fourth of July, I found myself in Düsseldorf in search of Altbier. Without a map or guide, I easily managed to stumble upon Düsseldorf's Alt
stadt (old city) and four Altbier microbreweries. There were also countless other brands brewed by larger companies in the region. The old beers of Germany, I discovered that evening, were uniquely top-fermented light brown ales, rather dry, with no hop aroma or flavor and often awash with intense hop bitterness.

I began my tasting in the early evening, and by 1
A.M
. I was an expert. After tasting a dozen different Altbiers (more than once) at seven (or was it eight?) beer halls, I determined that the crazy old man was my favorite. I ended my evening pilgrimizing Zum Uerige Alt (
Uerige
means crazy old man). Dark, dry and clean, with very little fruitiness (I detected the tiniest hint of apple flavor), no roasted malt flavor and a dense, creamy head, its bitterness quickly asserted itself and lingered provocatively on my palate. It was delectable but not obtrusive. Skillfully designed by the brewer, the beer's bitterness resided only on the back of my tongue, not throughout my mouth. I learned later that Zum Uerige is one of the most exciting and pleasantly bitter examples of the Altbier style.

I indulged in several other Altbiers with pleasure. Rhenania Alt was very fruity, with the aroma of apples. Zum Schluessel's Gatzweiler Alt had a slight banana character and the flavor of hops. Schumacher Alt was characterized
by old hops and applelike fruitiness. Im Fuechsen was by far the most bitter of all the Altbiers I tried; it also had a slight coconut-like flavor and an aroma of hops. The bitterness was a bit intense for my mood at the time.

Zum Uerige Bier Haus, Altstadt, Düsseldorf