Bell’s Oarsman Ale

Quite a number of beer styles have been brought back from the brink of extinction in the last few decades. Belgian Witbier, for example, would possibly be a footnote in history if it weren’t for Pierre Celis’ efforts in creating his eponymous brewery in Texas; now there are scores of American versions, both good (hello, Ommegang Witte) and mediocre (sorry, Blue Moon). Porter had almost disappeared as well, but craft brewers here kept it alive as a style, and it’s firmly cemented once again. The important part is that the style wasn’t allowed to die.

Today’s beer style had merely a tiny, cultish following in Germany until perhaps ten years ago. Berliner Weiss was a low-alcohol beer intentionally infected with bacteria (in addition to the normal beer yeast) to produce a distinctly sour, lactic beer. It’s such an acquired taste that it typically arrived to the table with a shot of sweet raspberry or woodruff syrup to be poured into the glass. And Berlin was down to a small handful of breweries even bothering to brew the style.

Along came the craft beer movement, once again. “Exotic” styles of beer were just begging for an American interpretation; an audience would be found for versions that had character. One of the first American versions I had of the style was brewed at Nodding Head, a brewpub in Philadelphia, years ago; Southampton, and many other brewpub-only versions, followed, and soon the world woke up to this interesting style.

Today’s beer comes from the legendary Bell’s Brewery, out of Kalamazoo, Michigan. Oarsman Ale is billed as merely a “wheat ale” using “traditional sour mash methods”, but we all know it’s a Berliner Weiss. It clocks in at a mere 4% alcohol by volume, making it a sessionable beer — if you can drink more than one, that is.

Normally, the ready-to-ferment wort for a Berliner Weiss recipe gets a dose of lactobacillus, which generates a lactic, sour-milk flavor. Done right, it provides for a citric tartness to balance this, resulting in a wonderfully refreshing beer. Some breweries these days will instead start with a sour mash instead of letting lactobacillus loose in the brewery, as these beasts can cause major infections if they aren’t contained properly. I suspect Bell’s went this route, as they note that the beer uses their “house ale yeast”, which is a typical “clean” yeast that doesn’t produce much in the way of fruity notes, let alone sour ones. At the end of the day, though, what matters is that it looks, smells, and tastes good.

So how does Bell’s fare? Oarsman Ale pours a hazy peachy-gold, and quite effervescent. This carbonation (appropriate, stylistically) basically prevents any sort of head creation, so it settles headlessly in the glass, kicking up little droplets of Berliner Weiss along the sides.

The aroma is dominated by an overwhelming lactic sourness. That’s the style for you. As you might expect, there’s a slight hint of sour milk tucked in there; there’s also a bit of apple cider alongside, a little fruitiness to cut the sourness a little bit.

Far mellower is the taste, which rounds off the biting edges, but the apple tartness is still there with the other telltale hallmarks of the style. It’s a bit on the thin side, even for a Berliner Weiss, but that’s a minor point. It’s one of those beers that, once you get “used to” the flavors, the slightly mouth-puckering tartness, sourness, it becomes something you want to go back for, sip by sip. It doesn’t hurt that it’s fairly drying in the finish, which causes me, against my will, to just keep drinking until it’s all gone.

It’s obviously not for everyone, but I find the style refreshing. I’ve never bothered with the syrup, so I can’t tell you whether Oarsman Ale improves with extra flavor. I’ve had better Berliner Weiss, but if I can pick this up from time to time, I’ll certainly give this beer another look.

Of course, Bell’s isn’t distributed in New York City, and it might never be. However, Bell’s beer is all over Philadelphia, including the excellent Two Hearted Ale. North Carolina is another big distribution ground, too. The Oarsman Ale has only been around a little over a year, so we’ll see if they keep it in the regular rotation.

I paid $12 for a six-pack at a bottle shop in Philadelphia. If you aren’t so sure, most places will sell by the bottle, too. I think that’s a bit steep, but it was worth the markup just to enjoy another Bell’s beer. Good luck finding Berliner Weiss otherwise; you might find Berliner Kindl-Weisse, out of Germany, and the aforementioned Southampton Publick House sells bottles once a year at the brewpub, but otherwise yeah, you’re probably out of luck till the style gets some traction. If you see the Oarsman Ale, though, pick up a bottle and give it a shot.