Rediscovering the ancient roots of wild ales 

Lately, craft beer has been epitomizing the idiom "what's old is new again." The truest example of this can be found with the red-hot wild ale movement.

Making wild ales is not a modern invention; the concept stretches back thousands of years and uses traditional, near-archaic methods. Right now, this niche beer style is experiencing a resurgence, as craft beer drinkers increasingly rediscover the beverage's ancient roots.

Once upon a time, beer-making was considered magical, literally. It was simple — a sugary liquid was brewed and put into open containers, time passed, and beer was the seemingly spontaneous end result. In 1857, Louis Pasteur ruined the illusion, discovering that microscopic yeasts and bacteria floating in the air were responsible for fermentation.

When we talk about beer yeasts, it's almost a given we're discussing the Saccharomyces genus. No matter whether you prefer ales or lagers, they're all courtesy of Saccharomyces fermentation (S. cerevisiae and S. pastorianus, respectively). While Saccharomyces is great for most beer-making, we need its cousin Brettanomyces for wild ale. We'll call it Brett for short.

What Brett brings to the table flavor-wise will either make you recoil or drool, depending if you're already a wild ale fan. Descriptors of "horse blanket," "wet dog," "earthy" or just plain "funky" have been bandied about concerning Brett. When handled carefully, the yeast can also pick up pineapple notes. Most interestingly, when paired with friendly bacterial strains, it can create flavor symphonies. As beer was traditionally made in open-top vessels, these yeasts and bacteria could float through the air into them, imparting their own unique flavors in the process. Such fermentation style is commonly known as "spontaneous," as human hands had no part in getting the yeast to eat.

Belgium is well-known for its wild ales. In fact, an often-used strain of Brett (B. bruxellensis) is named after the Senne valley near Brussels. Combined with the airborne bacteria in that region, brewers there pioneered such styles as lambic, Flanders and gueuze (pronounced gooz). American brewers have appropriated these foreign techniques with great effect. California-based Russian River makes many sought-after domestic examples sadly not available for Carolinians, but breweries such as Colorado-based New Belgium and Asheville's Wicked Weed are making some winners you can find in most bottle shops here.

That's right, New Belgium, maker of the ubiquitous Fat Tire Amber Ale, has one of the most aggressive wild ale programs in the country. They have a fleet of foeders, giant wooden fermentation vessels, which they use to house beers such as La Folie and Le Terrior for up to three years. Wooden vessels are cherished for wild ale making, because wild yeasts and bacteria can use the uneven wood surfaces to grow in, effectively inoculating the barrels themselves. Unfermented beer goes in, no additional yeast needs to be added, and fermentation is up and running.

Wicked Weed is also making great use of wooden vessels. In October, it officially opened the Funkatorium, a second facility dedicated to its wild ale program. For months, the folks there have been churning out impressive wild ales with a distinctively American bent, styles ranging from a Brett Double IPA to a Pumpkin Sour.

As wild ales have grown in popularity, entire festivals have been dedicated to the genre. Lucky us, as Charlotte hosts one of them: Release The Funk, the brainchild of Jason Glunt at Salud Bottle Shop. This year's event saw at least 70 offerings from around 30 breweries. Let's face it: a niche beer style will never draw massive Oktoberfest numbers, but the 350 people in attendance couldn't be more pleased with the lineup. Beer royalty also graced the event, as New Belgium's own blending expert Lauren Salazar came by, taking time away from managing the brewery's wood vessel cellar.

I've heard folks accuse wild ales of being little more than a fad, but I beg to differ. How can something be a fad if it's the original method of making beer? Early brewers didn't know what they were doing. Many breweries today still entrust their beer to what's on the wind, inviting wild yeasts and bacteria to bring their flavors to the party.

Let's face it: Brewing has been boring ever since 1857. As anyone who's ever worked in a brewery can attest, it's all "clean this" and "scrub that." Temperature and cleanliness are constantly monitored. These days, brewers can add laboratory-isolated yeast strains to begin fermentation, and the beer matures from sugary water to finished beer in enclosed stainless steel tanks. Sure, you can now predict what the finished product will taste like, and you can make it on a consistent basis, but how fun is that? Why not be a little spontaneous once in a while?