Beers I Like, and Why

Accounting for My Tastes in Beer

It’s axiomatic that we drink what we like. But what shapes our tastes? And how do we account for our tastes in beer? In the first part of these reflections, I considered taste on a general level before exploring some of the cultural dynamics that have influenced how I approach beer.

Now it’s time for the beers themselves, and why I like them. I wrap up with something rare for me: a “favourites list” of beers for you to seek out in 2024 in your home markets or during your travels.

Generally Speaking

I prefer balance to brashness. I’m not that into loud and “aggressive” beers that clamour for attention. I love spending time in beer gardens and Wirtshäuser (taverns). The perfect beer for me is interesting enough to launch me into reveries if I’m drinking by myself, but also unassuming enough that it doesn’t take center stage if I’m drinking with friends.

Though I have a soft spot for big beers like imperial stouts, in general I favour subtlety. It’s why I enjoy a well-crafted Franconian Vollbier, or even those pristine technical wonders brewed by the likes of Augustiner, Andechs, Ayinger, and Tegernsee. Some folks reared on “craft beer,” be they in North America or Central Europe, see these beers as boring. They’re far from it. But they certainly won’t “smack you in the face” with their subtlety.

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A Few Styles and Categories

I won’t march through every category and style under the sun, but rather focus on a few broad categories and styles that illuminate my tastes.

Malt

If you’re a longtime reader of my blog and social media posts, you’ve likely noticed that I gravitate toward malty beers. I’m enchanted by malt in all its wonderful complexity. Märzens. Stouts and porters. Dark lagers, whether Czech or German. Schwarzbier. Altbier. Scottish ales. I can’t get enough of them. I even love brown beer, a style that gets no luvin’. When it comes to golden-hued beers, I prefer the kind of Festbier served on the Oktoberfest Wiesn to a Pilsner.

There’s more: barleywines, Baltic porter, Doppelbock, imperial stouts, Scotch ales, Belgian Dubbels and quads. You name it, I love big beers. Stick it in a bourbon barrel and I’m all the more smitten.

If many of us beer aficionados are hop heads, I’m a malt head through and through. Maybe it’s also because I like sweet things. (But not too sweet.) My nickname at home is the “choco monster.” I’m fairly adept in the kitchen, but I’ve remained willfully ignorant about baking. Had I learned how to make cakes and pastries, that’s probably all I’d ever eat.

Let me add a qualifier about big beers and additives: I enjoy coffee stouts, I’m not averse to chocolate in stouts and porters, or vanilla beans, or even coconut. All of these are complementary flavours, and when done right, they intertwine wonderfully with the base beer. But when you start adding actual pastries to a pastry stout, or additive-laden breakfast cereal — well, that’s usually a bridge too far. And it flies in the face of the “wholesome” image craft beer once tried to project vis-à-vis additive-laden Big Beer. (To avoid confusion, I mean “macro” here, not the big beers I enjoy drinking.)

Since I’m curious and like tasting new things, I still purchase these “bridge to far” beers from time to time to see if I can find something compelling. Occasionally, I’m pleasantly surprised. But most of the time the beer is a syrupy, muddled, and unfocused mess.

German Beer

For all intents and purposes, I could just say Central European beer here. Despite some subtle differences, the beers from Germany, Austria, Switzerland, the Czech Republic, and Slovakia are in the same family — cousins, if not sometimes outright siblings.

Most of you won’t be at all surprised to learn that I’m partial to German beer in just about all its iterations. A Helles or an Export/Spezial is the epitome of harmony and subtlety. And the German beer styles and categories north of amber bring the malt in spades.[1]

In general, I prefer the quirky beers of Franconia to the more polished beers of Munich and Upper Bavaria, but it’s a matter of degree. And I’ll always have a special place at the table for Weissbier. It was my “conversion” beer, the beer that opened my eyes to what beer could be. Turn it into a Weizenbock and I’m there with bells on.

The only German beers I’m not super nuts about are Maibocks and the occasional Heller Bock, beers in which the booze sometimes obliterates the subtle maltiness. And for what it’s worth, Kölsch — a beer I once found playful and refreshing with its mildly peachy fruitiness — has lost a step or two in the last decade. Not that it’s bad, it’s just not as exciting as it once was. Fortunately, Kölsch culture is alive and well, if the absolutely packed pubs during my visits this past October and December are anything to go by.

Belgian Beer

I’ve rarely met a Belgian beer I didn’t like. If I’m not the biggest fan of Duvel-style beers, and if I have an ambivalent relationship with Tripels, I’ve never turned down a Dubbel, a quad, or what in North America goes by Belgian Dark Strong Ale.

Belgian brewers are also wizards with the spice box, with honey and a panoply of sugars, with herbs from the garden and flowers from the orchard.[2] There’s a pattern here. Even if these ingredients would make a defender of the Reinheitsgebot cringe, they’re still natural. For what it’s worth, I think that’s where a segment of North American craft went off the rails: going well beyond “nature’s bounty.” I mean, Cheetos in beer? Highly processed “real” mayonnaise? I don’t think my aversion has anything to do with the fact that I’m getting older and potentially less adventurous.

While we’re on the topic of Belgian beers, I’m a devotee of saisons and the entire gamut of mixed fermentation beers like lambic, gueuze, and Flemish “acid beers” (Oud Bruin/Rood Bruin, Flemish red à la Rodenbach, and the like). Like so many other North American consumers, I don’t drink enough of these beers, especially saison. You might recall a time in the early 2010s when saisons and foeder beers were all the rage across North America. Not anymore, unfortunately. We’ll need to make a collective effort to change that.

American-Style IPA

That leaves IPA, the poster child of American beer. I started writing my blog during the height of the IPA bitterness arms race. I never could see what all the fuss was about. First, the balance was totally off. Second, the beers were mere vehicles for hop expression (which, I suppose, is related to my first point). Even the maltier examples of hop-forward beers — amber ales, for example — were eventually eclipsed by beers in which malt was a mere afterthought. And then came the hazies.

My thoughts on IPA are, admittedly, akin to those of folks who visit one Gothic cathedral and claim they’ve seen them all. But if American IPA isn’t my favourite beer category, that’s not to say I don’t like IPA. When they’re brewed well (read: in line with my sense of how an ideal American IPA should taste), they can be a thing of beauty.

Non-Alcoholic Beer

To end on a playfully polemical note, don’t even get me started about beers with no alcohol in them. For the record, I’m not on that bandwagon. Yes, I know why NA beers exist. And some don’t taste half bad. But when I drink, I actually do want to feel some sort of buzz. If I want zero proof, I’ll drink water.

Prost, everyone!

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P.S. The attentive reader may have noticed that I contradict myself with my adulation of subtlety and my love of big beers. Taste. It’s complicated. Maybe there’s no accounting for it after all.

Twenty-Five Beers for 2024

And now for that list. To keep things relatively simple, the only selection criterion was that I had to have drunk the beer for my first time in 2023. So consider this my belated faves of 2023, or beers to seek out in 2024.

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Aecht Schlenkerla (Bamberg), Erle (4.2%). The alderwood used to smoke the malt lends Schlenkerla’s newest beer a dusky quality in keeping with its ruby-black robe. Cola and licorice root make common cause with mission figs and fruity char in this Rauchbier thick with fragrances of Westphalian ham and autumn campfires.

Big Friendly (Oklahoma City), Leichtbier (3.5%). This is one of those beers that made me sit up and go “wow!” A Leichtbier that tastes like a Vollbier. And proof positive that North American breweries can get flavour and fullness into a diminutive ABV package. Big Friendly’s entire stable of lagers is top-shelf.

Blauer Tapir (Cologne), Tapir Entertainment System IPA (6.8%). A harmonious blend of hops that comes together like the best spice mixes. And that suggestion of residual sweetness from the honeyed malt and light brown sugar flavour is the perfect ballast for the hops.

Brauerei Griess (Geisfeld, Franconia), Kellerbier (5.2%). Plush, soft, and round, but with a complex hoppiness and veiled bitterness to round out the country bread and fresh hay.

Brauerei Kemker Kultuur, Aolt Beer (6%). I could have picked other beers from Jan Kemker’s selection of Westphalian farmhouse beers, including his delicious Gentiana Amaro Ale or his equally compelling Venn Gagelbier, a gruit beer made with myrica gale. But Kemker’s old-style Münster Alt will make you pine for the days when this style was much more complex than the rivers of Pinkus Alt that flows through Münster’s cobblestone lanes. Kemker brews and blends his Aolt in a way that wouldn’t seem out of place in a Belgian lambic brewery or gueuzerie.

Brauerei Rössle (Ehingen), Naturtrübes. Plenty of spicy-herbal hops leaven the acacia honey and cream-of-wheat malt character in this crisp Kellerbier that wouldn’t be out of place in Franconia.

Brauerei Sauer (Roßdorf, Franconia), Urbräu Lager (4.9%). Crisp and refreshing, with graham cracker, meadows in bloom, cinnamon, and a minerality reminiscent of Riesling. From my notes while drinking it atop the ethereal Roßdorfer Felsenkeller: “This is where Kellerbiers are at!”

Brauerei Schöre (Dietmannsweiler/Tettnang), Dunkel (4.8%). Focused yet complex and full flavoured. Like liquid Lebkuchen, but refreshing enough that you’ll go for seconds and thirds.

Brouwerij de Molen (Netherlands), Mooi & Meedogenloos (Beautiful & Ruthless) Imperial Stout (10.2%). Just the standard four beer ingredients, but smells and tastes like cocoa, milk chocolate, vanilla, and chocolate chip cookie dough.

Browar Fortuna (Poland), Komes Baltic Porter (9%). An expansive beer that’s a bit like a Doppelbock meets a barrel-aged imperial stout.

Buddelship (Hamburg), Maibock (7.1%). Brewed with Saphir and Petit Blanc hops. A traditional Bock through and through, especially in its malt profile. Yet it’s a showcase of what a judicious use of newer hop varieties can bring to the beer as well, adding nuances like subtle fruit and assertive but not overpowering herbal notes reminiscent of Campari. Buddelship’s Helles also uses non-conventional hops (Tardif de Bourgogne and Amarillo hops) — ample proof that new interpretations of old German classics don’t have to taste like a clean American pale ale.

Die Weisse (Salzburg), Festbier/Herbstbier (5.6%). A wonderfully lush and honeyed autumn Weizen the colour of cognac. I’d love to see more of these kinds of harvest season Weissbiers.

Hofbräuhaus (Munich), Winterzwickl (5.5%). Once rare, unfiltered dark beers are slowly taking the stage. HB’s Winterzwickl combines the best of Dunkel lagers (dark bread, chocolate, and dried dark cherry) with the yeasty roundness of golden Zwickls — like drinking spiced chocolate milk with a shot of coffee.

Hofbräuhaus Traunstein (Bavaria), Maximillian Dunkler Bock (7.8%). Some Doppelbocks like Celebrator are brooding and slightly edgy personalities. Others are more warm and cheerful. HB-Traunstein’s velvety Maximillian is the latter. It’s a symphony of Spanish chocolate-fig cake, cocoa, pumpernickel, mocha, and dates with some residual caramel sweetness. If you’re there when the snowflakes are flying, try the Winterbier (5.9%), honeyed and floral-spicy with tangerine notes. It splits the difference between an Export and a Heller Bock.

Kettelbräu (Münster), Porter (5.8%). A smooth and fruity chocolate-inflected porter that has plenty in common with imperial stouts. What isn’t there to like about pumpernickel bread spiked  with Caramilk, mocha, and ganache?

Klosterbräu (Bamberg), Bamberger Schwärzla (5%). Exquisite balance between malt complexity and a low-key Lebkuchen hop spice note.

Nikl-Bräu (Pretzfeld, Franconia), Weisse Eule (5.5%). Elegant clove, allspice, and banana bread with a twist of tangerine and a honeyed residual sweetness. A dangerously quaffable Hefeweizen after the hike way, way up to the Bierkeller overlooking the Wiesent Valley.

Omnipollo (Stockholm, Sweden), NOA Pecan Mud Cake Imperial Stout (11%). Brewed with vanilla and pecans. And there’s some bitterness! And even some carbonation and foam!! The bitterness and bubbles lacking in so many pastry stouts keeps this thick beer from being cloying.

Reh-Bier (Lohndorf, Franconia), Ellertaller Landbier Altfränkisch (5.5%). A classic example of these rural beers that don’t fit into conventional styles. It’s copper with mahogany highlights. It seamlessly blends a dusting of cocoa powder and baking spice with fresh hay and hazelnuts. And its subtle bitterness and gentle effervescence guides the beer to a refreshing finish.

Rochefort (Belgium) Triple Extra (8.1%). Brewed with orange peel and spices. Evoking spiced fruit bread and Christmas baking, this plush beer released in 2020 is not your grandpa’s or grandma’s Tripel. A tour-de-force from a Trappist brewery that specializes in tours de force.

Rosenbrauerei Pößneck (Thuringia), Schwarze Rose (4.8%). Some Schwarzbiers are lean like a Pils, others are malty like a Märzen. This one walks the tightrope between malt fullness and refreshing quaffability. And those bright hop notes blending black tea and peppery incense!

Schwanenbräu (Burgebrach, Franconia), Schwana Kellerbier (5.5%). Floral-spicy hops and a yeasty stone fruit minerality balance the lush bread dough, Leibnitz biscuit, and dulce de leche malt notes. Crisp and vivacious.

Skydance (Oklahoma City), Peaches and Cream Milkshake IPA (Juice Wolves Batch 004). Fruity but not over the top. Their Fancy Dance flagship IPA has become one of my go-to beers for those times when nothing but an IPA will do.

To Øl (Denmark), My Honningkage Is Bigger Than Yours (12.5%). Barley wine brewed with ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg. Perfect for snowy nights.

Urban Chestnut (Wolnzach), Hallertauer Hopfenperle (5.2%). Dazzling aromas of spice, black pepper, and honeysuckle showcase the Perle and Mittelfrüh hops that come from a hop yard near the Hallertau “outpost” of this St. Louis brewery.

Wayfinder (Portland), Cold IPA (6.9%). Clean, focused, and tangerine fruity. Reminiscent at times of a Riesling with peach compote and a sprinkle of black pepper. And just enough of a malt note to keep it from being *just* about the hops.

Related Articles

If that list didn’t give you enough of an idea of what informs my tastes, check out the following posts from the archives:

The MaltHead Manifesto

Let Us Now Praise Famous Lagers

Brown Beers Get No Luvin’

Endnotes

[1] I’m cheered that an increasing number of American breweries are focusing their energies on German and Czech-style beers. It’s even more heartening to see breweries that brew Central European styles almost exclusively. A non-exhaustive list of my faves would include Chuckanut, Live Oak, Bierstadt Lagerhaus, KC Bier Co., and Urban Chestnut.

[2] Some notable North American brewers in the Belgian vein whose beers I enjoy drinking include Lost Abbey, Crooked Stave, Dieu du Ciel, Allagash, Jester King, Ommegang during its heyday, and New Belgium before it went all-in on its Voodoo Ranger IPAs.

All images by F.D. Hofer

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