Beer Sherpa, Special Tmavé Edition
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I have been a champion of the beers Czechs call (apparently at random) tmavé or černé pivo since the moment Adam Brož offered me Budvar’s version drawn straight from a tank in the brewery’s cellar. That one (which they call tmavé, or “dark,” despite being a light-absorbing hue of black, or černé), was as dry and roasty as an Irish stout. I ordered them whenever opportunity allowed—less often than I wished—and found them to be a varied collection ranging from full and sweet to sharp and crisp. Roast levels varied. Colors ranged from reddish and chestnut to black. Strengths ranged from below 5% to well above 7%—though those were generally called special beers, dark though they may also have been.
I’ve written about them as often as I could, including in the Beer Bible and Secrets of Master Brewers, and yet identifying what makes them so distinctive remains elusive. Roastier than dunkel lagers, fuller than schwarzbiers. But also something more than just an average of the two. That fullness is important—Czechs prize their decoction mashes and the bodies they build (even when they have to cheat and use caramel malt to achieve it). If there is an ur-tmavè, it is U Fleků’s, which is the fullest and richest I’ve ever tried.
All of this was less pressing before “Czech dark lagers” became a mini trend here in Portland. Now however, I’m in a full-on hunt for that Czech essence. Abandoning the tangled thicket of Czech language (not just tmavè and černè, but tmavý and cerný, which further confounds matters), they have streamlined the name but not the style. They’re even more varied than the Czech examples—but often seem to step across the border into Bavaria for inspiration, and sometimes further away than that.
The two earliest tmavès in Portland remain the most Czech. I haven’t had Wayfinder’s Hidden Hand in some time, but over the weekend I got reacquainted with Breakside’s Rusalka (pictured at the top of the post). Natalie Baldwin, who created the beer, made that batch at the 3-barrel Dekum brewery, and the finishing gravity was apparently a bit higher than expected. Perfect! It had an appropriately full body, and was equidistant between sweet and roasty. No idea how long that particular batch will be pouring (it’s draft-only), but Portlanders can stop by the Dekum pub if you want an example of what I’d call a really “typical” tmavè. The name, incidentally, refers to a water nymph.
Zach Vestal at tiny Unicorn Brewing in Westmoreland sent me a four-pack of his version. It’s a really nice beer—but one I’d describe as a schwarzbier. Robustly roasty, it has the lean lines of a German lager, but the malt bitterness of a Polish porter. It was nevertheless an impressive beer, with the clean lines of an accomplished lager-brewery. I love schwarzbiers, so it has been hitting the spot.
Zach at Unicorn. I was not kidding about the size—it’s a true nano!
Finally we have pFriem Family Brewers—one of the blog’s sponsors—with their example. It swings the other direction—toward a dunkel lager. Much like Unicorn, it is a well-made, clean lager, but also one that tracks as more German in its slighter body. It also counts as one of the lighter-colored versions I’ve seen, though not out of spec. One can see at the edges of the glass the brewery’s trademark clarity, and it made me wonder as I gazed into its ruby highlights whether pFriem might have gotten a more Czech-y body had they not filtered as fastidiously as usual. Like Unicorn, a great beer on its own terms and also one I’ve been enjoying.
I hope to keep up my search in the waning days of winter—on the assumption these little beauties will be leaving soon enough. One more for sure will make an appearance: Zoiglhaus’s, on which I am lightly collaborating. Brewer Alan Taylor has been tracking down the right malts and it will be a couple months before that one is ready, at least.
Postscript. Portland folk, note that Portland Brewing shut down a bit more than a month ago. Shelves still contain some of the brewery’s products, and do yourself a favor and grab a MacTarnahan’s if you see it. A stellar ale, it has the profile of a beer fine-tuned for decades. Ignore the style designation on the label—like so many American ambers, it’s really an ESB, with lovely English esters, a full malt body, and an assertive snap of Cascade hopping, which seems ever more “noble” in its balance and harmony here. A really exceptional beer and one to salute and remember. Get it while you still can.