Schneeeule and the Revival of Weissbier in Berlin
The following brewery profile is a modified version of one of the new entries that will appear in the second edition of the Beer Bible--which I am almost, finally about done writing.
There are two deaths for every type of beer. The first is commercial death, when the last brewery quits making the last example. But the beer isn’t dead then—not completely. So long as the old brewers who made the beer are still around, the tradition lives. When Schultheiss quit made its last Berliner weisse in 2004, the style experienced its first death—and for more than a decade thereafter, it seemed inevitable it would suffer its second as well. There was no interest from drinkers, no interest from brewers, and no interest among hardcore fans. Or so it seemed.
In fact, a small group of locals, most of them connected to Berlin’s brewing school, VLB, were rediscovering the city’s famous lost style. Among them were Oliver Lemke of Brauerei Lemke, Michael Schwab of Braubäcker and Cristal Jane Peak of Berliner Berg who all released commercial examples of the traditional style in the way Schultheiss had made it—that is, through a process of mixed fermentation, with lactic and alcohol fermentation, and inoculation with Brettanomyces. All three breweries made other beers, though—Berliner weisse is just a side project. But one brewer has decided to invest all her energy into this lost tradition. When she launched Schneeeule in 2016 with Andreas Bogk (since departed), Berliner weisse was all they made. And, more than any other maker, she has devoted herself not just to reversing the commercial decline of the style, but reconnecting to the living tradition through Schultheiss’s last master brewer, Wolfram Lange.
Genz’s story began in 2012, while she was studying at Technischen Universität Berlin—but visiting VLB regularly. A professor at the school brought a keg of Berliner to a summer gathering. “So I tried for the first time real one of these beers, and I simply fell in love with it,” Genz said, describing the experience. “It was not that heavy in alcohol, and the next day was perfect. The taste was so nice.” At that point, the only commercial example was from Kindl, a debased version sweetened with artificial syrups—nothing like true Berliner weisse. The only way she could taste it again was to brew it herself—so that’s what she did.
“Somebody brought a keg of real Berliner weisse to a brewhouse party. So I tried for the first time a real one of these beers, and I simply fell in love with it. It was not that heavy in alcohol, and the next day was perfect. I couldn’t get it anywhere in Berlin, the real one. I tried Kindl again and said, ‘Oh, neh!’ Of course it’s not good. So I started brewing Berliner weisse at home. It wasn’t that easy, because no one knew how to grow Brettanomyces or Lactobacillus. It was a long time to learn it; I studied with Lemke brewery, so I had the possibility to [access] some different Brettanomyces strains of Berliner weisse. I developed the idea and recipe [then].”
In Germany, the brewing industry is built around making lager beer; they explain very little about antique oddball styles, particularly those using wild yeast and bacteria. Genz’s business and romantic partner, Andreas Martin, described the process of learning. “We had to start from scratch and read a lot of books and old study works from Dr. Methner and people like that.” He was referring to Frank-Jürgen Methner, whose 1987 Ph.D. thesis examined the use of Brettanomyces in Berliner weisse. Genz added that they also consulted old Brauwelt magazines from the early 1900s that discussed how the style was made.
The biggest boost, however, connected Genz to the tradition directly via its last practitioner, Shultheiss’s Lange. She came into his orbit when one of his friends contacted her about his upcoming birthday. “I want to give him a present,” she said, quoting the request. “I heard that you’re recreating Berliner weisse and so maybe he would like it.” He did like it, and that led to a meeting between the two. “An interesting guy. Almost eighty, but he looks like fifty,” she joked. “Berliner weisse keeps you young!” They hit it off, and Lange gave her a brewer’s most precious possession: his logs. “He gave us ten thick folders of old brewing protocols,” Martin said.
More than that, Lange revealed all the secrets he knew, including those that couldn’t be written down. About the temperature at which the Brettanomyces would best function, for example, he told her “Ach, you can’t measure it—I know what I have to do.” This was the way he’d learned, Genz explained, struggling to find the English word Lange used for his old mentor. She and Martin spoke for a moment in German and she said, “the word has a meaning like ‘wisdom’—it was transferred from one brewer to another.” This has been the way of brewing for scores of generations—one brewer handing the technique along to an apprentice. Now he had transferred his knowledge to Genz. That second death, which seemed inevitable not so long ago, was given a reprieve.
Berliner weisses have never been made consistently. The process of mashing, boiling (or not), and inoculation have always varied. Partly this is a function of brewery set-up, partly a matter of brewery preference. Genz describes her process as “improvisational,” because she has such a small space with so little control (particularly with regard to ambient temperatures)—but it is a typical traditional method. At Schneeeule (a word meaning “snowy owl” and pronounced Shnee Oil-uh), Genz starts with a 50/50 blend of pilsner malt and wheat, and conducts a complex mash. (“Those old Berliner weisse brewers had a lot of rests!” she said, laughing.) Hops are not a part of the flavor profile, and when I asked what kind she uses, she gave a dismissive snort. “That’s not that interesting.” The real action happens, of course, with the yeast and bacteria.
Andreas Martin, when I joined him in Berlin.
“A real Berliner Weisse in the century before [was made] with the mixed culture,” she said. “So a symbiotic culture of Brettanomyces, Lactobacillus, and Saccharomyces.” Genz doesn’t have a mixed culture that exists in stable harmony like that, so she divides the wort and conducts an alcohol and lactic fermentation on the two halves before blending them back together. Then she pitches the Brettanomyces.
Brewers in the United States now make Berliner weisse with Brett, but they don’t have the kind of access to traditional strains native Berliners do. “In Berlin, people have old bottles in their cellar sitting around. They bring them to us.” Schneeeule now has a bank of five varieties taken from Berliner weisse bottles, plus one or two from other sources. Genz was a little cagey about how she used them, but hinted that multiple strains go into her various products. “It depends on how I feel; then I blend this or that.”
“We are so small. We don’t have any money for marketing or even hiring a salesperson. So everything we’ve achieved so far, even meeting you, was by mouth-to-mouth propaganda. We are lucky that some famous restaurants have our beer on their menu, and those people recommend our beers. We are well-known in the beer scene, so a lot of brewers know our beer and tell everybody who wants to drink a real Berliner weisse to go and get Schneeeule. But we are far away from reviving the beer style for a mass market right now.”
All of this would just make a curious story if Schneeeule’s beers were only average. On the contrary; they are extraordinary and set the standard for the style. Berliner weisse is a delicate beer easily overwhelmed by acid. Good examples have a bit of body and malt character as well as clean acidity. Above all, they should have the fruitiness that comes as Brettanomcyes turns lactic acid into esters. Schneeeule’s beers have all three, and are particularly characterized by their complex fruit esters, highlighted by a peach note characteristic to the brewery. I was surprised at the body Genz managed to coax out of her 3.5% beers, and the cracker-like wheatiness. The acid shimmers as it brightens those fruity notes, but is soft and harmonious. I would later Skype with Genz, who was in the U.S. on my visit to Berlin. Martin met me in Berlin and we tasted through the full line, which includes versions made with a dry-hop addition (as a nod to Americans, she calls it “Kennedy”), flowers (Yasmin), and even dark malt (Bruno). What surprised me was how easily they went down over the course of a session. Berliner weisse is style marked by sourness, but Schneeeule’s beers are rounded enough to drink all night.
Berliner weisse is not yet as popular in its hometown as it was during Napoleon’s “visit.” Schultheiss, Genz pointed out, made as much in two batches as she does all year. Chefs admire it, however, and the style is finding an audience with a small group of adventuresome drinkers and eaters. Genz’s work is beginning to influence brewers elsewhere as well, and she has collaborated with breweries in Europe and the United States. Berlin is actually a little slow in trying to revive the style compared to breweries elsewhere (who often make it with little regard to tradition), but Schneeeule has one thing not possible anywhere else—a brewer who has connected to the living tradition, making Berliner weisse as it has been brewed in the city for hundreds of years.