By Brian Yaeger

Article from Issue Six

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
-Shakespeare

Before there were braumeisters or brewmasters, people made beer quite by accident. As legend has it (legend being “anthropology”), some ancient Sumerian left his bread out in the rain and, not being a wasteful fellow, ate or drank from the resulting pudding and immediately was a hit at the Sumerian frat parties.  The bread’s grains, combined with water, somehow mysteriously turned into a beverage that packed a wallop. Before long, anthropologically speaking, Sumerians had their first beer goddess, Ninkasi. They didn’t know it at the time, but it was thanks to the magic of fermentation.

That was six thousand years ago. And from that time up through the Common Era, who was responsible for baking bread? Women! So it stands to reason they were also the ones converting grains and flavorings such as roots, herbs, and spices into beer. As society advanced, people excelled in their trades. Women who plied the craft of brewing were known as brewsters. To be recognized, they began to wear tall, pointy hats so even the shortest among them could be spotted in town. They posted mash paddles—implements still in use today for stirring the cereals that go into brewing—above their doors so that people would identify where these women lived and worked (What good would posting a brewery sign be if nearly everyone was illiterate?). Of course, these paddles resembled brooms. And to keep the grains free of mice and pests, they kept cats.

So, these women with pointy hats, brooms, and cats toiled over boiling cauldrons and made magic potions using not eye of newt but heather, or mandrake, or, if they could find them, hops. When they brewed a new batch, they would take the mash paddle down from the wall and stir it up, unwittingly reintroducing elements from the last batch and, in doing so, kick-starting the process that made the elixir alcoholic. Truly, the first craft brewers were witchcraft brewsters, thanks to the magic of fermentation.

Through the Middle Ages when monks took over brewing duties, brewing became much more scientific. Dozens of styles of beer had been created depending on the grains and herbs used, the quantities added, and the duration and temperature of the boil. Bittering with hops became prevalent and they discovered that hops are a natural preservative, thus prolonging the “best before date.” Monks even discovered that they yielded better results if they took the remnants of the previous batch and poured it into the next one. They didn’t know it at the time, but it was thanks to the magic of fermentation.

Enter Louis Pasteur. Merely a century and a half ago, this savvy chemist and biologist unlocked the mystery to what makes alcohol, well, alcoholic. Pasteur discovered that it was this newfound microorganism called yeast that converts sugar into ethanol and carbon dioxide. In other words, thanks to all these critters invisible to the human eye, you can take grains and water (and of course hops), just introduce yeast and you’ve got a beverage carbonated enough to enable you to burp the alphabet and drunk enough to proudly do it in front of others. What Pasteur discovered at that time (1857) is that we can make beer thanks to the magic of fermentation.

He even went on to pen the rather brilliant Études sur la Bière (Studies on Beer) in 1876.  And to think, some people today believe that all we have to thank him for is inventing pasteurization to stave off spoiled milk.

The science of fermentation is known as zymology, better known as zymurgy. The fact that it’s an –ology, that it is the subject of studies and ensuing knowledge, may seem to repudiate that there is any magic remaining in it. Hogwash!

That we have gastronomic wonderments of life ranging from yogurt to bread to kimchi to bleu cheese to, of course, wine and beer, all thanks to these tiny little dudes that gorge on sugars and pass it out as all of these extraordinary delicacies.

Additionally, yeast is a major contributor to the flavor itself. An American ale yeast top ferments and results in fruitier, tarter beer (perhaps an American IPA) while a pilsner lager yeast bottom ferments yielding drier, crisper, maltier beers (such as a Czech pilsener). Then, of course, there are the exotic Bavarian and Belgian strains that are responsible for flavors and aromas spanning from bananas to bubblegum, from cherry pie to Christmas itself. And lastly, there are the increasingly popular “bugs” such as Brettanomyces, Lactobacillus, and Pediococcus that each impart unique, sour flavors. And yeasts can be combined to create beers with complex flavors, such as Russian River’s Consecration. Take a sip and tell me that’s not magical.

Brewmasters today don’t don pointy hats (though this is my guess for where the Vermont brewery Magic Hat derived its name and certainly its Hocus Pocus Wheat Ale). Homebrewing is increasingly popular because people have discovered it’s simpler to perform than wizardry. And brewsters are no longer burned at the stake for performing witchcraft. But take a tour of your local brewery and prepare to be impressed by their gleaming stainless steel mash tuns. But when the tour guide (often an assistant brewer) points out the fermentation tanks, believe him or her when they say, “this is where the magic happens.”

Brian Yaeger is the author of Red, White, and Brew: An American Beer Odyssey. He lives and homebrews in San Francisco where he explores Bay Area pubs, one pint at a time. Contact him at brian@beerodyssey.com.