Tag: Hefeweizen

Weihenstephan: On the Cutting Edge of Brewing at the World’s Oldest Brewery

Weihenstephan: On the Cutting Edge of Brewing at the World’s Oldest Brewery

  Weihenstephan is a brewing institution steeped in superlatives. The very name of this venerable old brewery north of Munich evokes associations with some of the most respected wheat beers in the world, beers like the style-defining Hefe-Weissbier, and Vitus, a lush Weizenbock. And not 

Augurs of Spring: Wheat Beers Belgian, German, and American (Sat. 6-Pack, Vol.4)

Augurs of Spring: Wheat Beers Belgian, German, and American (Sat. 6-Pack, Vol.4)

Warmer days and cool nights. April showers on the horizon. The occasional spring frost following upon a stretch of summer-like days. Time to lay those warming Russian Stouts and barley wines down to rest for another season. * * * The quintessential beer for your 

The MaltHead Manifesto

The MaltHead Manifesto

~Malthead Manifesto~ A spectre is haunting the craft beer world –– the spectre of Sir Maltalot. Laid low by a tsunami of IPA, the wild yeasts have set in to consume his legacy. Extreme beerists have entered into an unholy alliance with sharp-fanged sours, enlisting 

So You Wanna Brew a Weizen

So You Wanna Brew a Weizen

In this post, we’ll explore some of the ways you can brew up a 2.5-gallon batch of German Wheat Beer in your kitchen. I’ve included a recipe below for a variation on the Weizen theme: a Roggenbier (rye beer) that you can easily convert into 

Hefeweizen: A Beer for All Seasons

Hefeweizen: A Beer for All Seasons

Recently my local homebrew club had its monthly meeting. Every month we try to bring beers that have been brewed to a particular style. The style on the agenda for March was BJCP (Beer Judge Certification Program) Category 15 – German-style Wheat and Rye Beer. 

A Coal Town and a Cold One: My Hefeweizen Conversion to Good Beer

A Coal Town and a Cold One: My Hefeweizen Conversion to Good Beer

By noon the early October drizzle had turned into a downpour. Several hours lay between the Alpine peaks and meadows of Chur, where I had been visiting my grandmother, and the drab Saarbrücken way-station where the train traveling between Mannheim and Paris had just deposited