“So, didn’t we just do English brown? You’re getting lazy, Weikert.”
Well, we did, and we didn’t. What we did a few weeks back was northern English brown (sometimes called British brown). This week is southern English brown (sometimes called London brown). And while they have some overlapping qualities, they’re significantly different once you get past their names! It’s a bit like the difference between a BLT and a bacon doughnut. You have bread and bacon in both, but one’s a lunch, and the other is…wait, what is a bacon doughnut? Dessert? Breakfast? Well, anyway, you get what I mean.
Style
The southern English brown ale or London brown ale is a style that’s rarely seen on the shelves these days, but it’s still a good one to have in your arsenal. It’s a beer that drinks a lot “bigger” than it actually is, with a deep flavor palate and body but relatively little alcohol. It occupies a middle ground between porter and mild and incorporates elements of both.
There’s a word here that you want to keep in mind throughout because it’s the hardest thing to get right: sweet. Most recipes and processes in beer and brewing are about minimizing (or at least balancing) sweetness, and of all the beers in this style that I’ve judged in competition, at least ninety percent fail to offer a genuinely sweet flavor profile. We’re gun-shy. And since we don’t regularly see these on draft at our local bar, we lack the palate training to know where that appropriately sweet level is. I can’t teach you that—you really should take a pub/brewery tour of England to learn for yourself!—but I can at least tell you that however sweet most brewers think this beer should be, they’re coming in on the low side, so don’t be shy about it.
You’ll find that the flavors themselves are pretty similar to the northern brown—toffee, caramel, and biscuit predominate. On top of that, we’re adding in some dark fruit flavors from the esters and dark crystal malts. One thing this beer should not feature, though, is roast. Don’t let its dark color fool you; it’s got much more in common with the darker and richer doppelbocks than the milds in this case. A hint of roast is all right, but in my experience, the tendency is to add too much, which has a drying effect on the tongue, and that defeats the purpose. We want this beer to seem sweet. Also, this isn’t the place to feature those great, earthy British hops. Bitterness, hops flavor, and hops aroma are all minimal. This is a crystal malt show.
Ingredients
Let me apologize in advance for the breadth of this grain bill—there’s a lot going on, but it’s all for a reason. It’s also going to seem like an irresponsible amount of unfermentables, and that, too, is happening for a reason.
Your base malt is Maris Otter, about 4 lb (1.8 kg). Next up is British Extra Dark Crystal (about 150L)—1 lb (454 g) of it will yield all kinds of plum, fig, and raisin flavors. You’ll augment that with ½ lb (227 g) of British Dark Crystal (80L) malt, which adds some deep toffee flavors. The last three grains will require ¼ lb (113 g) each: chocolate rye (for some spicy-but-not-really-roasty chocolate malt flavor), Crystal 20 (for some light sweetness), and Carafa II (mostly for color, but it also adds a slight touch of dry roast). You’ll end up with a balance of a bready base, light sweetness, darker caramel/toffee flavors, and a dark pit fruit background with a touch of roast. And you’ve guarded yourself against drying this beer out through excessive attenuation, which means you don’t need to fiddle with your mash or fermentation process—doing that introduces all kinds of risk and uncertainty, so you’re well off to be able to stick to your normal routines.
Bittering is easy: 15 IBUs from any source you like. I don’t do any flavor or aroma additions and simply add the hops at the top of the boil.
As for yeast, Wyeast 1318 (London Ale III) is an excellent choice. It’s my go-to for most English styles anyway, but in this case, its virtues are a perfect match. It adds berry esters and is a relatively low attenuator, which is what we’re shooting for.
Process
I virtually never advocate for changing up your process significantly to get what you want out of a beer—go as far as you can with recipe adjustment first. In this case, we have everything we need in terms of flavor profile and perception of sweetness right there in the recipe, so mash as usual! My consistent (and consistently well-performing) choice is 152°F (67°C). You might heat your strike water just a hair above your usual temperature to make sure you aren’t going too low, but I wouldn’t recommend explicitly going higher—some swear by a 156°F (69°C) (or higher) mash for beers like this, but I’ve never been convinced they’re right.
Boil and chill as usual, and for that matter, ferment as usual; this yeast strain seems perfectly happy at 64°F (18°C), and you can hold it steady for the entire run. Two weeks should do it. To be frank, I don’t even go out of my way to avoid diacetyl, but if you want to keep up your routine, go ahead and let the temperature rise a few degrees at the tail end of fermentation.
Finally, carbonation: keep it low. About 1.5 volumes of CO2 will accentuate the impression of heft and sweetness in your finished beer, and people will be shocked to learn that they’re drinking a true session ale. Your finished recipe should only be clocking in at about 3.7 percent ABV.
In Closing
If you find that the beer is too sweet, try dropping out the light crystal and/or increasing the carbonation. If it’s too dry, increase the light crystal by a couple of ounces (or grams) or even add ½ lb (227 g) to the base malt to increase ABV. The additional alcohol shouldn’t affect the overall drinkability, but it will add a bit more sweetness!
You’ll know you’ve hit the sweet spot (pun not intended, but unavoidable and oddly appropriate) when you can enjoyably drink two pints of this beer in one sitting. It makes for a great winter session ale and will be popular at your deep-winter parties!
Cheers.