Extract Lambic Tasting (Plus Peaches)
Over my first 10 years of brewing “lambic-inspired” pale sours, I found that the more authentic my process became, the more authentic the flavors produced. The balance and aromatics improved as I turbid mashed, aged hops, introduced local wild microbes with gueuze bottle dregs, etc. I wondered what the beer would be like if I stripped back the sugar-extraction to the basics? I’d brewed sour beers from malt extact before (but with beach plums, blackberries, and dark malts). This lambic recipe was nothing but dry malt extract (Pils and wheat) and maltodextrin to provide carbohydrates brewer’s yeast is unable to ferment.
Brewed the day of Super Bowl 49, I opened the last bottle of the base lambic right before kickoff of Super Bowl 51. Didn’t look like it had much luck in it for Tom Brady until a couple hours later… I served most of the batch at the BYO Burlington Boot Camp, the folks at the Santa Rosa edition in two weeks will be tasting and blending homebrewed dark sours. Not sure what beers we’ll be using in Indianapolis this fall!
Golden Boy Lambic
Smell – Overripe fruit, mild Brett funk comes across as hay (or is that the aged hops?). Overall mellow, but nothing off (e.g., vinegar, nail polish). At two-years-old it is still bright and vibrant.
Appearance – Crystal clear gold. Towards the darker end of gueuze, but not outside the range. White head stays around for a couple minutes, before falling completely.
Taste – Nice little lemon brightness. Mellow lactic acidity. Brett is similar to the nose, hay, mineral, and fresh soil. Relatively clean and approachable. Not much depth.
Mouthfeel – Medium carbonation, mouthfeel is fuller than usual, maybe the lack of oak tannins.
Drinkability & Notes – A lambic with training wheels both in terms of production and flavor. Not convinced those two are correlated.
Changes for Next Time – One of the nicer straight lambic blends I’ve used. Closest to Lindemans Gueuze Cuvée René, very approachable. Like many other blends Yeast Bay Mélange would benefit from some dregs from whatever “fresh” lambic you enjoy.
I love splitting batches, so when the above was ready to bottle summer 2016, I racked 2.5 gallons onto peaches… lots of local white peaches from the farmer’s market. They were “ugly,” so I was able to get 8 lbs for $8. There is something about peaches that translates so perfectly to sour beer (as I’ve found previously). While the aroma is delicate compared to most berries, peaches doesn’t require nearly the rate I used to shine through.
White Peach Lambic
Smell – White peaches, unsurprisingly. Bold, fresh, juicy. Little hits of lemon and hay underneath, but stonefruit is first, second, and third.
Appearance – Similar color to the base beer, but not as clear. A few particles of peach flesh in the glass. Head is low and doesn’t last long, a sign of lacking carbonation in this case.
Taste – Snappier acidity than the base, thanks to the acids and nutritive sugars contributed by the fruit. Has a malic acidity, brighter and sharper than lactic. Lingering in the finish are the clearest signs of lambic, earthy, citrus, mild yeastiness, and maybe a hint of vanilla.
Mouthfeel – Light body, carbonation is low even for my preferences. It allows the peach to linger though. Glad it’s gotten here, I was considering reyeasting the bottles a few months ago.
Drinkability & Notes – It is amazing that peaches purchased last summer and allowed a controlled rot rather than preserved (canned or frozen) can still taste so fresh! Fantastic true-peach flavor and aroma, but the base beer wasn’t up to the challenge in assertiveness. Delicious as a peach beer, a letdown as a peach lambic. Still a good fruit choice over cherry or raspberry that would have completely dominated the delicate Brett character.
Changes for Next Time – This one didn’t carbonate as quickly as I would have liked, my fault for reyeasting with ale yeast rather than wine yeast. Similar to the notes on the base beer, a more assertive culture would create potent flavors to poke through the peaches.
Source: The Mad Fermentationist