One of the things I love about beer and brewing today is how new ingredients mesh with evolving beer styles (and even help them evolve). You could argue that this isn’t unique to the 21st century, and you’d almost certainly be right, but what I think could be unique is the near-universal access that all brewers—from the kitchen to the largest brewhouse—enjoy with regard to those ingredients. We’ve reached a point where every brewer can contribute to the evolution of beer and communicate his/her contributions instantly around the world.
A major beneficiary of this globalization and democratization of beer is a style that hasn’t achieved its due notoriety quite yet: American wheat ale. But I think its time is now. New hops from the land of the Kiwis—with their unique blend of bright citrus, herbal, and floral flavors that pair so wonderfully with grainy, spicy malted wheat—have given us the perfect tools to make better American wheat ales than ever before.
Style
American wheat beer should never—never—be confused with German Weissbier or Hefeweizen. It does not feature clove or banana, and unlike those beers, it usually does feature some moderate hops flavors and bitterness. In fact, the only thing they seem to share in common is wheat: in both beers, wheat makes up about half of the grist. A better way to conceptualize this style is not to start from German wheat beers, but rather to start at American pale ale. From there, we simply lower the bittering and add to the grainy, doughy malt character. It’s a much shorter trip and gets closer to the general qualities of the style! This is a pale ale with limited fermentation character and noticeable hops. And it is, unquestionably, an American style—not simply an Americanization of a Continental style.
Ingredients
The somewhat flowery language and navel-gazing introduction above comes from something I started noticing in competitions about two years ago: all of a sudden, the Light Hybrid table (where American wheat beers lived until the 2015 redesign of the BJCP Style Guidelines) became one of the most interesting places to judge. Sure, you had to work your way through Cream Ale (an underappreciated style that we’ll get to in the spring) and Kölsch (a great but—let’s face it—sort of boring style), but at the end of it were a few beers that practically screamed “springtime” and “grainy” and “zippy.” And in more than one case, further investigation showed that these beers were using New Zealand hops, which lean heavily on lemon-lime citrus flavors and an atypical herbaceous quality. The combination makes for some brilliant and clean and bright wheat beers!
Overwhelmingly, the grist in these beers is a simple 50/50 mix of American 2-row and wheat malt, and I see no reason to tinker with that. It will give you a clean, bready, doughy maltiness on which to build. If you want to commit to the “spicy loaf of bread” flavor profile, you can split the wheat malt addition into a wheat-and-rye addition at the same net weight, but I prefer the simpler all-wheat option. Also, if you find you are prone to stuck mashes or sparges, you can add a half-pound (227 g) of rice hulls to ease your burdens.
Yeast is also simple: Wyeast 1056 (American Ale). We want a clean, simple ale fermentation. I don’t even use my light-ester-producing German Ale yeast on this one. Simple, simple, simple.
Because the hops are what really make this beer shine. We have a clean, grainy, doughy base, and this is where our hops come in. Traditional recipes often use a blend of noble and American hops (Hallertau/Centennial, Saaz/Amarillo, etc.). Instead, I propose that you use some Pacific hops: get yourself an ounce (28 g) each of Motueka and Sorachi Ace. Motueka provides a minty lime note along with some subtle earthiness. Sorachi Ace complements the lime of the Motueka with some Meyer Lemon flavors and a hint of herb—most say dill, but to me it is more reminiscent of marjoram. However you perceive it, I think you’ll love it—and I know you’ll love how we use it here because it’s foolproof. One ounce (28 g) of each (at about 7 percent and 14 percent alpha acids, respectively) added with 5 minutes left in the boil will impart lots of hops aroma and flavor and contribute about 15–20 IBUs (just enough, in other words, to add just a slight bite of bitterness).
Process
This beer needs a clean fermentation to shine, and our yeast choice reflects that. We can further advance our cause by letting this beer hearken to its hybrid roots: push your fermentation temperatures well down, to about 60°F (16°C) and allow at least 2 to 3 weeks for primary fermentation to complete. You can gradually increase the fermentation temperature after the first 72 hours or so, but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it. An excess of esters or fermentation characters is a far greater sin in this beer than a slight under-attenuation. Keep cool, literally and figuratively, and take your time.
Another upside is that there’s no particular need to try to clear this beer. A slight haze is perfectly acceptable, and as we taste first with our eyes, it may even get your flavor perceptions leaning in the right direction (“Hmm, seems grainy…”) even before your first sip! Use your standard clarification tactics, but don’t worry if a persistent haze is visible, even after several weeks.
In Closing
The overall impression is an intriguing blend of simple and complex flavors that make this beer seem like “straitlaced and in-your-face American pale ale’s” scruffy but clever younger brother. I’ll leave it to you to decide which you prefer, but there’s no doubt that this is a beer worth making and making well!