Your sour beer under microscope, courtesy of bevshots

Shortly after rescuing the Anchor Brewery in 1965, Fritz Maytag threw a party to spread the word. A veritable who’s-who of San Franciscans, including the mayor, RSVP’ed. But instead of celebrating, the fete nearly turned into a funeral. “We had in those days,” said Maytag, “two tanks of beer and we filled about one hundred kegs per tank. And it was all sour.” The beer, it turns out, was grossly infected with sour-taste-making bacteria, to the point where Maytag jokingly referred to it as a “Belgian beer.” The story has a happy ending—employees fortunately tracked down enough refrigerated kegs to slow the bacteria’s growth, and folks were none the wiser—but that’s where Anchor’s strict adherence to thorough sanitation originated. So while each of Anchor’s early products pioneered their American craft iterations from IPA to porter to barleywine, the brewery is now one of the few craft breweries in the nation not championing, or even dabbling, in this thing called ‘sour beer.’

A one-man Lewis and Clark of the American sour frontier is Vinnie Cilurzo, owner and brewmaster at Russian River Brewing Co., just a short hop north from Anchor. He’s the guy responsible for a series of Belgian-influenced sour ales including Consecration, Supplication, and others that start with Brettanomyces (yeast that plays a big part in sour beers) and end with “–ation.” In penning the entry for ‘sour beer’ in the Oxford Companion to Beer (OCB), Cilurzo reiterates Maytag’s knock that, “When speaking of beer, the word ‘sour’ is usually a pejorative.” He adds, “That said, there is a range of older beer styles that are traditionally acidic, and together with modern variants inspired by them, they have been termed, perhaps a bit rakishly, ‘sour beer.’”

A great many beers fall under that category, from Flemish Reds and Oud Bruins to Lambics and an entire host of ‘wild’ ales, so termed for employing rapscallion yeasts and bacteria that can take an infected beer down a thrilling journey way off the beaten path. Make no mistake about it; when a beer ferments spontaneously via wild yeast, it is indeed infected. For this reason, makers of sour beers tend to view themselves less as brewmasters, for that implies being the master of the brews, and more as wranglers or curators guiding the end result via blending, patience, and a little prayer.

Going to extremes

Whether a beer is intentionally inoculated with yeasts such as Brettanomyces, or simply allowed to become host to these untamed critters through the allure of wort (beer’s unfermented origins) cooling beneath the night sky where ambient yeast and bacteria hitchhike on the breeze, the result offers flavors found at the extreme fringes of what is often called beer’s flavor wheel. Seriously, go to Beerflavorwheel.com to learn more. And if there’s one thing beer connoisseurs dig above all else, it’s extreme flavor. Join said fanatics at Puckerfest held at Belmont Station in Portland and Sour Fest thrown at the Stone Brewery near San Diego. Each festival is celebrating its sixth anniversary this July.

When you think about it, the history of craft beer has always been about pushing the boundaries of flavor and taste. Thirty years ago, the revolution began by shifting from pale lagers to pale ales like Sierra Nevada’s. From there, we’ve rapidly evolved to Russian River’s Pliny the Elder being a benchmark for double IPA, pale ale’s cousin on ‘roids. It stands to reason that Russian River’s Sonambic ales are the standard bearer for American craft sour beers. Sonambic, by the way, is what Cilurzo dubs his spontaneously fermented beers. Lambics are the provenance of Belgium’s Senne Valley, where breweries produce authentic, spontaneously fermented sour beers. Because the native bacteria adrift in Sonoma are different than those floating around Brussels, Russian River Brewing Co. refrains from purloining Lambic’s classification. Two things Lambic producers and Russian River Brewing Co. have in common are profoundly acidic beers and devoted fans. It’s those fans, perhaps more than the makers of the beers, who are propelling the popularity of such ales.

Sour passion kids

The practice of inoculating beer with earthy, funky Brettanomyces and sour-producing microflora such as Lactobacillus and Pediococcus is infecting the brewing industry. “What is certain, if improbable, is that sour beers are taking hold, especially in the United States,” writes Cilurzo in the OCB.

New Belgium Brewing

in Colorado lured brewmaster Peter Bouckaert from the Rodenbach brewery in Belgium, before beer geeks vociferously started clamoring for more sour beer, resulting in their heralded beer, La Folie. In Portland, Oregon, the Cascade Barrel House is a domestic mecca for sour beers, earning both gold and silver medals in the wood- and barrel-aged sour beer category at the 2009 Great American Beer Fest for their Bourbonic Plague and Vlad the Imp Aler beers, respectively.

But the category’s popularity permeates the beer culture beyond the American West, and delicious offerings emanate from New York’s Captain Lawrence Brewing and Massachusetts’ New England Brewing, to the somewhat surprising locales of Nebraska and Indiana, where the Omaha Brewing Co. and Upland Brewing Co, respectively, keep less metropolitan regions awash in sour.

While statistics aren’t available for how many craft breweries create sour beers, more and more are experimenting with the style, meaning you’re likely to find at least a few barrels of the stuff stashed away somewhere in the brewhouse. Moreover, a significant handful of the new breweries in the planning phase—numbering over 700 altogether, according the Brewers Association—aim to offer sour beers predominantly, if not exclusively. Examples include The Rare Barrel in Northern California and the Ale Apothecary in Central Oregon.

If you delve into this acidic world, sip gingerly. Just as you’d probably have a hard time devouring a whole lemon, palate-obliterating sour fatigue is a real thing.

by Brian Yaeger

The event kicked-off shortly before 1PM on Saturday, as hordes of beer-lovers from across the state descended upon the green pastures of the Mendocino County Fair. Several large tents were setup throughout the landscape, each one providing countless taps of microbrewed bliss. Taking advantage of my early arrival, I wanted to make sure to enjoy some of my favorite Russian River beers before their lines inevitably swelled to preposterous proportions.

After a few swills of the peerless Pliny the Elder Double IPA and their lip-smacking Supplication sour, I was ready to engage in the most alluring joy offered at this festival of unsurpassed frivolity: exploration. With so many nanobrews and gypsy brewers on hand, you’re guaranteed to come across a multitude of ales and lagers that you’ve never tried before and are likely to never try again. You got to make the most of such a unique experience and you DEFINITELY need to pace yourself. As many of the specialty brews you encounter here are upwards of 8% ABV, you’re going to start feeling the heat sooner rather than later, especially with California’s unfettered springtime sunshine pounding down overhead.

Thankfully there are more than a few ways to keep yourself in check throughout the action-packed afternoon: enjoy some local grub, like delicious deep-fried pickles, or sensational slow-cooked BBQ, rock-out to some live music being played at multiple stages throughout the venue, seek out shade from time-to-time (my personal angle of attack), and get your hands on some lower-ABV favorites such as stouts and porters that are still high on flavor.

I was thoroughly impressed by High Water Brewing Co.’s Campfire Stout. With the aroma of marshmallows and taste of s’mores, this dangerously drinkable 7.3% behemoth made me thankful that my campsite was within stumbling distance. Knee Deep Brewing Company out of Lincoln, CA also knocked me off my feet with their bitter blast of their award-winning Hoptologist Double IPA. As an unapologetic hop-head, it had all the flavor I crave in a pale ale. And as an obsessive drinker of craft beer in general, Boonville Beer Fest 2012 had only one downside: having to wait another year until it happens again!

The Younger was first sighted in 2006, and has become so popular that it has been illegally poached in the attempt to sell it on E-Bay. According to Vinnie Cilurzo, brewer and owner of Russian River Brewing Co., it is only made once a year in a small quantity because it’s a difficult beer to brew that takes a lot of time and tank space, not just to tease the hop lovers.

With this year’s batch already in the midst of its release, Pliny the Younger has already become extinct in some SF bars, but Toronado is tapping the last of its allotment tonight at 6 p.m. If you are lucky enough to catch this rare breed of beer, please be aware that too much close contact may induce morning-after head poundings. But, oh so worth it.