Sixpack Sez

May 9, 2008 | Yo, Belgium, we make stinky-cheese beer, too

THERE IS a small river, which flows beneath the streets of Brussels and into the rolling countryside, called the Zenne. Along its valley, in small towns like Lembeek and Schepdaal, one of the world's most unusual beers is made.

Lambic.

Purists insist that only the Zenne Valley's unique, airborne yeast and bacteria strains, which infect the beer during its spontaneous fermentation, can produce lambic's distinctively funky, horse-blanket aroma and mouth-puckeringly tart flavor. Only the Zenne Valley's artisans - whose years of experience allow them to blend the beer with just the right amount of raspberries, cherries or peaches - can brew the perfect lambic.

Tell that to brewer Beau Baden and the rest of the crew at Bethlehem Brew Works, deep in Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley.

Last month, Bethlehem's raspberry-flavored Framboise was named the bronze medalist Belgian-style sour ale at the biennial World Beer Cup. It finished just behind two of the world's most highly regarded lambics, Geuze Boon and Oud Beersel Oude Gueuze - both made in the Zenne Valley.

"Maybe the Belgians will disagree," said Baden, "but it looks like we can make lambic, too."

Indeed, the medal is the third consecutive World Beer Cup bronze for a Philadelphia-region brewery in the sour-ale category, following Dogfish Head Festina Lente and Iron Hill Framboise de Hill.

To put this in context, you should understand that many beer connoisseurs consider lambic a sacred vestige of old-world beer craftsmanship.

As with stinky cheese, its challenging aroma and flavor is a product of nature run amok. Instead of brewing it in closed, sanitized, stainless-steel containers, lambic makers expose their beer to whatever yeast and bacteria might inhabit their brewery. Some famously protect even the brewery's spider webs, fearing any change in the environment will adversely affect the flavor.

With such an emphasis on environment - or terroir, as French winemakers would say - it's no surprise that lambic is protected by the European Union as an appellation controlee.

Turns out, though, that the mythic essence of the Zenne Valley - its Brettanomyces bruxellensis yeast strain, Pediococcus bacteria and other microscopic charms - is available via mail order. Yeast suppliers package them with precise instructions on duplicating the flavor and aroma of classic, Belgian-made lambic.

Several American brewers have leapt at these so-called wild yeasts in recent years to produce some thoroughly imaginative flavors.

California's Russian River blends three different strains of Brettanomyces (known among beer freaks as Brett) in its Sanctification. Wisconsin's New Glarus Raspberry Tart is re-fermented with Brett found on the berries. And Lost Abbey brewery ages its Cuvee de Tomme in barrels inoculated with Brett and filled with sour cherries.

Even with packaged yeast, it's not an easy beer to make.

At Bethlehem, which has been brewing lambic styles since 1999, it takes about two years for the full, nuanced flavor to bloom. The beer undergoes two separate fermentation cycles with a blend of yeast strains and raspberry puree. (Unlike Belgium's lambics, fermentation is in closed tanks. "In a brewpub," Baden said, "people typically don't want to eat their food next to mold.")

The beer is aged a year in old wooden wine casks before it's kegged or hand-bottled and left to sit for a year, maybe more.

But making the beer is only half the work.

Wild yeast and bacteria might be fine for lambic, but they'll turn a pale ale or lager completely undrinkable. To prevent contamination, the brewing equipment must be boiled and scoured to sterility.

Hoses and pumps that come into contact with lambic are used for nothing else. Gaskets exposed to the bacteria are trashed.

The result of all that effort is a singular beer that is not for everyone. Many will turn their noses up at the brew, its aroma reminiscent of your junior high gym locker.

"I have to laugh when people come in and say they hate the beer," said Baden. "Man, we're doing an awful lot of work for a beer that people hate.

"The payoff is when people tell us they love it."

'Jersey Joe' Sixpack

Yo, New Jersey, I'll be crossing the Delaware this afternoon and hanging out at Flying Fish Brewery (1940 Olney Ave., Cherry Hill) for happy hour, 5-7 p.m. We'll be sampling some special brews and I'll be signing copies of "Joe Sixpack's Philly Beer Guide" Stop in - the beer's free.

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