Part of the initial appeal of homebrewing was the opportunity to make for myself a beer that I couldn’t find anymore (and in case anyone’s curious, it was Double Diamond, an English pale ale that I used to drink at a place called Charlie’s that served the freshest seafood I’ve ever had). It was something different from the “usual” beers on tap, and that was enough to get me hooked.
Looking back, and with the benefit of nearly a decade of brewing and drinking high quality beer, I have no idea whether or not DD is any good. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that in about ten years of brewing I’ve brewed more English pale ales (bitters) than any other style, and it was the first beer I ever made. I love brewing them, even if I’ll never manage to recreate what drew me to them in the first place. And if we’re being honest, it was probably the sautéed calamari that I really loved.
Style
English bitters are generally low-alcohol (3–6 percent ABV, though stronger versions do exist), easy-drinking, and can exhibit a narrow but deep array of flavors. They’re generally characterized by a noticeable bready, biscuit, or cracker-like flavor profile, often with fresh earthy or floral hops in support. And they are, of course, bitter. Not double-IPA-in-your-face-120-IBU bitter, but bitter in the sense that one sip leaves a noticeable bite in the flavor that prompts you to take your next sip. Because bitters are lower in body and alcohol than some other beers, that bitterness can be a defining attribute, but shouldn’t overwhelm the other flavors in the beer.
You should be able to drink a few of these while watching football (I’ll leave it to you to decide which kind) and still be able to follow the action. And, of course, if you want an authentic British pale ale, you’ll need to give it a quaint, possibly suggestive, and utterly incomprehensible-without-an-explanation name. My go-to recipe is called “Bag o’ Nails Bitter,” in honor of one of my favorite pubs on Buckingham Palace Road in London. You can call it “Joe’s Bitter” if you want, but you’ll taste the difference, and you won’t like it. Trust me.
Ingredients
Good news! Although this is a style that’s subdivided into three beers (standard, best, and strong bitter), the only substantial difference is the strength. Ordinary or “standard” bitters will clock in as low as 2.8 percent ABV, and “strong” bitters will not be much more than 6 percent. If you find a recipe that works for you, you can adjust the strength by changing the amount of base grain in the recipe to match your desired ABV. Aside from that, I have three easy steps to guide you.
Step one: ignore that these are called “bitters” if you’re an American and reading this. American notions of a bitter beer have gotten a little screwy, with IBU counts that now routinely scrape the ceiling of actual humanly perceptible bitterness. Around 30–35 IBUs is plenty, and you can usually achieve that with a moderate amount of English hops, which will add a nice earthy note if added a little later in the boil.
Step two: use British pale malt (sometimes listed as “Maris Otter”) as your base, since it is kilned to a slightly higher level than American pale malt and promotes the biscuit flavor we’re expecting. Layer some authentic British crystal malts and lower-Lovibond character malts on top (Victory is my personal favorite) and your grist will be good to go. Be creative!
Step three: use a traditional English yeast—but tread carefully. You’ll get very different beers even though these yeast strains all sound the same (usually some combination of words including London, British, Thames, or Yorkshire). Some are more neutral, others more estery, others ferment dryer, and some leave some sweetness.
In my experience with bitters, two strains come to the fore. One is Wyeast 1275 (Thames Valley Ale)/White Labs WLP023 (Burton Ale). It’s a great yeast for bringing out lots of subtle flavors without letting any steal the show—but it is inconsistent. When it hits, it hits it out of the park; when it strikes out, it leaves me with an overly-sweet/estery beer that just doesn’t work. After auditioning most of the others, the one that really fits the style is Wyeast 1318 (London Ale III—which I don’t believe has a White Labs equivalent). It leaves your gentler malt and hops flavors intact, adds a reliable light berry ester, and finishes plenty dry as long as you give it a good ramp-up in temperature at the end of fermentation.
The enduring theme here? Use British ingredients for British beers—which you should always try to do for any regionally defined style, if practical!
Process
You might consider (unless you have particularly hard water) adding ¼ teaspoon (5 g) of gypsum per five gallons (18.93 l) to your mash to promote a slightly flinty, mineral character. But do not try to emulate the water of Burton-on-Trent to make an “authentic” bitter! It’s undrinkable. Even the breweries there don’t use that almost-literally-rock-hard water anymore.
You’ll also want to manage carbonation levels. To mimic the low carbonation of a hand-pumped, cask-conditioned bitter, you’ll want to go low. My standard bitters are only carbonated to about 1.25 volumes of CO2, and it only inches up incrementally as I increase the strength, topping out at 1.9 for my ESB (I find the bit of extra carbonic bite prevents the bigger beers from being too heavy). The non-fizzy texture will add to the impression of a subtle, delicate beer and prevent the lightly complex flavors from being overwhelmed.
In Closing
Done right, this is a simple style you can drink any time of day or night (or morning?). You’ll end up with a beer that tastes of grain and bread, earth and fruit, with just enough of a bitter bite to bring you back for more. So pour yourself a pint, turn on that football match, and enjoy!