Bière de Mars
IT’S NOT THE MOST COMMON style in the world, but bière de mars—literally, March beer—certainly has its devotees. Overlapping with mixed-culture takes on farmhouse ales, this is another chance to brew something tart, funky, and refreshing.
Style: Known as meerts in Flanders, bière de mars originally was made from the later runnings of mashes meant for lambic, then spontaneously fermented to about 2 to 3 percent ABV. Mainly meant for blending, it was a key component of traditional faro. Brouwerij Boon still produces a version of it today, and the nearby Gueuzerie Tilquin blends it into a lighter-strength draft gueuze. However, French (and more recently, American) brewers have taken bière de mars in a different direction—essentially, turning it into a special ale for the springtime. Strength varies by brewery—i think of it as a fresher, drier, slightly lighter version of bière de garde.
So, we want a grainy, rustic flavor profile, but without the fully rounded edges and richer flavors of bière de garde. It should be younger and fresher than a “beer for keeping,” and that sets certain expectations. It doesn’t need to be crystal-clear, it can be tart and/or funky, and there’s room for creativity in the hops and spicing (though there are no spices in mine). Some examples feature exotic souring and fruit flavors—however, frankly, I find those a bit over the top, and they take longer than I’d like to develop.
Ingredients: This is not a complicated recipe, but it’s been successful for me. The grist starts with a base of pilsner, and I look to portions of Munich, Caravienne, wheat malt, and British crystal (45°L) plus just a dash of black patent for malt depth, body, and some color. Hopping is simple, but we’re going to get some serious mileage out of it: I go with a single addition of Columbus at 20 minutes to get enough bitterness (26 IBUS) plus notes of earth, citrus, and spice—all the New-yet-old World character I could want in a low-cost package. As for yeast, there are ways to take this beer wild—i’ll get to that—but for primary I go with my old standby, Wyeast 1007 German Ale.
Process: The wildness comes after we start fermenting. I start this beer cool—about 60°F (16°C)—going for clean fermentation at the outset.
Some brewers add pitches of Brett or bacteria, but the way I add bugs is simple and old-fashioned: Once fermentation is under way, I stick my hand into the nearest pile of wheat malt and throw a handful—2 to 3 ounces (57−85 grams)—into the fermentor. There’s Lacto on the grains—and other microbiota, I’m sure—but the result is that the beer develops a slight lactic acidity, a lemony zing with a touch of earthy funk. It feels and tastes very authentic, and I’ve never had this get out of control and ruin a batch—in fact, it’s usually very subtle. Ramp up the temperatures to about 66−67°F (19°C) over a few days, then allow a few weeks for the fermentation to complete—wild yeast on the grain may keep chomping through those long-chain sugars.
This a wonderful (and unconventional) seasonal style, and if you can work it into your brewing calendar alongside that maibock (“Make Your Best Maibock,” beerandbrewing.com), you’ll have a great one-two punch for the blossoming of spring.