I remember saying once about light hybrid styles,“No one ever tastes a cream ale and exclaims, ‘Oh my God, that’s the best beer I’ve ever had!’” Cream ales, blondes, American wheat beers, Kölsches—they can be good, for sure, but they’re never going to be life-changing. My fundamental argument was that we just don’t live in a world where someone is going to have the same reaction to the best blonde ale in the world that they’d have to the best Baltic porter in the world. Fair or not, I stand by that statement.
Light hybrids lack the pristine cleanliness of the best light lagers, the robust flavor wallop of the best stouts, the riotous fermentation characteristics of the best Belgians, or the escapist orgy of tropical fruitiness of the best IPAs. Heck, they don’t even necessarily have the range and depth and nuance of amber hybrids such as Altbier or California Common.
Just because something is never going to be transcendental, though, doesn’t mean it can’t still be great. It’s in that spirit that we’re addressing the neglected “middle children” of the brewing world—the light hybrids—and discussing not only how they differ from each other but also how we can maximize output and confound expectations. Heck, maybe you’ll even prove me wrong and produce a blonde ale that makes someone lose their mind. Hope springs eternal. Let me know if you do.