American Pale Ale: A Homebrewer's Journey

     When you order a porter or a stout, what do you expect? If you're like me, you expect a dark, roasty, malt-forward beverage that reminds you of coffee, chocolate or even black licorice. When you order an IPA, what do you expect? You probable expect a piney, citrusy, spicy, hop-forward golden-to-amber beverage that smacks your tongue with bitterness but balances itself with a hint of malty sweetness. When you order an American Pale Ale, what do you expect? This is a question I have had difficulty answering. In fact, I find the Beer Judge Certification Program Style Guidelines (the guidelines by which beers are usually judged at homebrew competitions) to be rather vague in describing this particular style. They claim there should be moderate to accentuated hop flavor, some maltiness and a light color. To me, this leaves the style open to a wide variety of interpretations.

     Usually when I order beer from a craft brewery I've never tried, I like to try their pale ale first. I feel like for a craft brewery, the pale ale is a good “base model” (unless the brewery is heavily reliant on some sort of blonde lager). It is sort of a mission statement for the brewery. For example, if a brewery's Pale Ale is extremely hoppy, in my experience, their beers are most likely intense across-the-board. Their IPAs will most likely be damn-near imperial and their stouts will probably be tasty barley stew. On the other hand, some breweries make pale ales that just...are. They lack hoppiness and offer little exceptional flavor, while still tasting like decent craft beers. I don't blame these breweries for making these types of pale ales because I realize they are not making them for me. As the base model, they are offering something that invites those not accustomed to strong flavors into the realm of craft beer.

     So, an American pale ale is a light-in-color beer that falls somewhere between a cream ale (a blonde ale that has little to no hop flavor) and an American IPA. Given such a large target, I had to first establish what I thought an American Pale Ale should be.

     My first attempt to to brew an American pale ale was literally the pale ale recipe from John Palmer's hombrewer's bible, How to Brew. The beer I produced was delicious, but it wasn't quite where I wanted it to be. It was moderate, in every way. The best evidence of this were the responses I received from non-craft-beer-drinking friends and family. Being a homebrewer, I have come to read between the lines with comments like “this is pretty good, even though I'm not really a beer drinker,” or “this is really smooth.” I wanted a beer that was drinkable, but still challenging. I wanted “whoa! That's interesting.” I wanted faces to pucker. I wanted my base model to come with alloy wheels and an upgraded stereo. What I got was a basic CD player and hub caps.

     My second attempt, in retrospect, was a step further towards the mundane. I added a touch more hops but this did nothing to balance the additional specialty grain I added. What I ended up with was even less challenging and something even more “smooth.” I entered this beer into a homebrew competition and the comments I received reflected a lackluster palate pleaser. The beer was described as a decent ale, with enough bitterness, but lacking in actual hop flavor. It was disappointing that I hadn't placed in the competition but exciting to get feedback that confirmed my suspicions. I knew from the first taste, I hadn't reached my ultimate goal.

     At this step, I decided to do some pale ale soul searching. I knew I loved Sierra Nevada's interpretation of the style, but why did I love it? I put a Sierra Nevada up against my competition pale ale and let me tongue decipher the mystery. My beer was malty and smooth but it didn't have the citrusy punch of American hops that dominated the Sierra Nevada. It wasn't bitterness I was missing, it was a refreshing orange-grapefruit zap that livens up one's drinking experience.

     My soul search also led me to several other craft pale ales. Of the most notable, Troëgs' pale ale and Oskar Blues Dale's Pale Ale seemed to have that same citrusy punch I was looking for; however, both of these beers seemed to be pushing the boundaries of the American pale ale style. At 45 IBU (International Bittering Units), Troëgs is at the very limit of the style, as established by the BJCP style guidelines. At 65 IBUs, Oskar Blues has, in my opinion, stepped over the line into an IPA. I liked where I was with the bitterness of my own pale ale (44 IBUs). It was pushing the limits of pale ale bitterness like the Troëgs pale ale, but it still needed more hop flavor.

     How does one add hop flavor without adding bitterness? The bitterness of hops is determined by their Alpha Acid content while hop flavor is determined by the unique flavors inherent in each individual hop type. Brewers add hops to boiling wort (malt-sugar-laden water) to add bitterness and hop flavor to the final beer. Traditionally, brewers utilize an hour long boil for their hop additions. The longer hops are boiled, the more bitterness is extracted from the alpha acids. Less time in the boil imparts less bitterness from the hops but means there will be more of the hop flavor in the final beer.

     I realized if I wanted that same orange-grapefruit zap I loved so much in the Sierra Nevada and other craft pale ales, I needed hop additions of a citrusy American hop type later in my boil (this was also one of the suggestions I received from the homebrew competition judges). I had, by habit, long been adding flavor and aroma hop additions at thirty and forty-five minutes into the boil. I decided to make my additions of Cascade (a citrusy American hop variety) instead at forty and fifty five minutes. Using later additions left more hop flavor in the final beer and meant that I could add a larger load of hops than I had originally, without overstepping the bitterness. Additionally, I dropped a whole pound of malt from the original recipe to assist in bringing the Cascade to the forefront.

     As I write this, I am drinking the light-in-color, hop zinging, balanced, fruit of my labor I found at the end of my long journey for my own American pale ale. I feel my quest has ended in a base model beer that excites and challenges but doesn't overstep it's label. I only fear now that my five gallon batch will be way too small to satisfy my desire for this delicious brew.