That Nobility in Hops--Lineage or Character?

Czech hop harvest

In 1943, researchers in England were trying to breed new, more vigorous hop varieties. Since the 19th century, British brewers relied heavily on American stocks, which were dirt cheap and “rich in preservative value” (high alpha acids). They hated American hops’ aroma, however, so breeders tried to breed replacements—without the objectionable qualities:

“C. G. Tosswill [found]a mild American aroma, but J. S. Ford [said] he is unable to detect it and [gives] an all-round good opinion of the hop. Mailing mid-season [one of the new cultivars] also had a curious mild American aroma according to C. G. Tosswill, and “ aroma mild something like Oregon; not unpleasant,” according to the judges of the Institutes’ Hop Committee, but in brewing trials with it no American flavour was imparted to the beer.”

I was reminded of this history as I read Stan Hieronymus’ latest issue of Hop Queries. He was addressing the other side of the same coin—the nature of the really prized hops, known for decades as “noble” varieties. For well over a century, brewers had a stable impression of hop aroma: British good, certain Bavarian and Bohemian varieties excellent (but variable by year), and American and Belgian bad. Impressions of hops have been a part of the beer world since I came into it, but they haven’t been stable as they were for the previous century, and the changes are instructive.

The stable perception of hops and their growing regions persisted until the 1980s, when the hop market started to respond to small American breweries’ interest in expressive local hops. That seemed to be around the time the word “noble” became a marketing term, at least in the U.S., where these hops could still command premium pricing. Stan begins by settling the murky origins of the name. It wasn’t German tub-thumping, but rather a translation issue:

“Earlier, Der Praktische Gutsvewalter (“The Practical Estate Manager”), published in 1846, discussed the evolution of Edelhopfen, the varieties that would be cultivated and sold to brewers, from wild hops. Nearly a century later two English hop scientists translated edel as noble. They had other choices: fine, precious, and of a good family. Any would have been acceptable.”

So, we ended up with “noble,” which had the disadvantage of burying the meaning and conflating it with the hops’ lineage as regal lines. I recall when proponents of other countries were trying to shoehorn their varieties into the club, like the nouveau riches trying to buy their way into titles.

“By the 1970s, those in the hop trade sought ways to categorize varieties with a much wider range of characteristics than in the past. ‘Fine aroma hops’ emerged as a term to distinguish traditional, some would say classical, varieties from the new cultivars. In Asia and North America, Forster wrote, marketers introduced the term ‘noble aroma hops.’ Some brewers shortened that to ‘noble hops.’”

Stan concludes his description in a place I didn’t expect, keying on the lineage aspect, “I prefer the word “landrace” to “noble” because it is more encompassing.”

But What About the “Fine?”

I don’t think most brewers care where the hops come from, their genomics, or their august lineage. They care about how they perform. What’s fascinating to me is how the fortunes of various hops have been shifting in recent decades. American—or new world-hops became ascendent with the rise of IPAs. Breeders everywhere followed the trend toward expressive, tropical, piney, and dank aromas.

In the meantime, the old landrace varieties suffered the ignominy of appearing somewhat past their prime. Even where their qualities were admired, these old grandma hops seemed a little creaky in modern brewing. They had to compete with new cultivars that produced the same flavor and aroma profile, but contained more alpha acids and yielded more robust harvests. Then a funny thing happened. Instead of lineage, brewers started to be more focused on the qualities themselves. They cared about noble “character” far more than they did landrace varieties. Thus were bred varieties like Hallertau Tradition, prized because it performs better in the field and kettle while still producing “noble hop character.” (Germany planted 4.4 times more Tradition than Mittelfrüh in 2022.)

For a decade or so, at least among small American breweries, “noble” hops were largely irrelevant. They had Citra and Mosaic, what did they care about Tettnangers? (Given that objectionable “American” quality British breeders were trying to avoid, there’s certainly a bit of irony in the prices they now command.) But that has been changing now as lagers become more important for those small breweries. In recent years, breeders have released hops that reproduce “noble” aromas—and in the case of Contessa and Adeena, they’re even named for nobility.

It turns out the noble in noble hops, at least as brewers reckon, has very little to do with that blueblood heritage that goes back centuries in these landrace varieties. Rather, it goes back to the original sense of edel, or “fine.” The qualities of those old landrace varieties has been pleasing to each generation and it’s the flavors and aromas, not the lines, that continue to be valuable to brewers.