The Great American Ale Trail - Christian DeBenedetti [133]
It’s a remarkable process to observe. With freshly brewed beer moved into the koelschip following a four-hour boil of a mash using unmalted wheat (to facilitate a superlong fermentation), the brewer opens louvered vents or windows to allow ambient air to cool and to let naturally occurring yeasts to settle in the beer. The next day the now-inoculated beer is racked into pre-used wood barrels (often formerly containing red wine), whereupon the wild yeasts begin—very slowly begin—to chew on the starches inside. Anywhere from hours or days to several months later the fermentation erupts and the beer begins a voyage of drying, souring, and evaporation through the oak walls of the barrels, leaving behind a more tart and more complex beer as time goes on. It’s a mysterious, near-mystical process, one far more gnostic than most traditional brew masters can stomach. Later those beers are sometimes blended with younger beers to make what Belgians call geuze, or aged again with fresh fruits to make kriek (cherry), framboise (raspberry), cassis (currant), and other tart-sweet creations.
Allagash’s bold experiment succeeded, and in so doing challenged long-held beliefs. There are many who still object that the Allagash beers (and subsequent, similar projects) can’t be called Lambic, an appellation akin to Champagne or Parma ham. Tod and Russian River’s Vinnie Cilurzo (among others) who are leading the American revival of the style (and variations thereof ) prefer to call them wild ales or spontaneous fermentation beers, a solution which seems respectful and useful, especially as the beers—owing to the difference in local microflora—are unique, even if the methods are similar. Now the excellent Allagash beers are trickling out (the aging and blending period can take up to three years). Tod and Perkins have proven that Americans can make wild ales without physically adding yeast, a development the most enlightened Belgian producers—such as Cantillon’s Van Roy—applaud and support. And thanks to the success of Tod’s koelschip, other breweries are trying them out, too.
NOVARE RES BIER CAFÉ
4 Canal Plaza • Portland, ME 04101 • (207) 761-BIER (2437) novareresbiercafe.com • Established: 2008
SCENE & STORY
With 25 rotating taps, 2 hand pumps, and some 300 bottles on its list, Novare Res is a craft beer lovers’ refuge down an alley in the Old Port area of town off of Exchange Street. Inside the bar is an array of beer signage, warm wood tones, exposed brick, oak barrels, and tin ceilings. Outside there’s an elevated wood patio area, which fills up on sunny days. Every May, an annual Belgian Beer fest brings nothing but Belgian beers to the taps for three weeks, and the owners—who were inspired to open the bar after extensive travels in Europe—organize frequent events year-round with noted brewmasters and extremely hard-to-find beers. The combination has resulted in a beer bar with something of a special reputation: seemingly no matter where you travel in craft beer America, people are either talking about a recent visit to Novare Res, or planning to go. According to Dan Shelton, the outspoken writer and importer of Cantillon and over a hundred other very special European beers, owner Eric Michaud is running “the best beer bar in Maine,” which, coming from the famously Europhile Shelton, is no faint praise. There’s a menu of relatively simple but hearty fare (stew, sausages, artisan meats and cheeses, hot sandwiches), and ambitious desserts cooked with sought-after Belgian ales like Cantillon.
PHILOSOPHY
Novare Res means “to start a revolution” in Latin, and the owners cheekily define the bar by what it is not. It’s neither British pub (though there are dartboards and cask ales), nor German biergarten (though there are the appropriate picnic tables outside), nor Belgian bière café (though Belgophiles will love its selection). It is instead a hybrid of approaches dedicated