Beer Sherpa: Hazy Pale, the Stealth Style Winning my Heart
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I made a stop at Ruse last evening, and my first choice was a hazy pale. Simple Something, described as a “West Coast hazy” (🤔), is an ideal 5.3% drinker made with a bit of wheat for the shimmer, and some Vienna to brighten it up to a sunny gold. It did not wreck my palate or make me silly, yet delivered those waves of juicy tastiness (100% Strata hops, FYI) we want in our American hoppy ales.
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I have discovered that when the word hazy is followed by “pale” rather than “IPA,” the beers are more reliably tasty. Crafting a pale frees the brewer of the need to create a massive juice bomb with loads of heavy alcohol. They know consumers don’t order hazy pales to drop into juice comas, and this allows them to locate the right levels of flavor and aroma for the beer and add just enough bitterness to create the sessionable balance. As such, hazy pales are far less a crapshoot than hazy IPAs. They are a stealth style brewers offer for drinkers like me who love our hops and our juice, but as with all styles, appreciate elegance, proportion, and subtlety. In other words, hazy pales are the hazies for me.
A case in point is a delightful pale currently pouring at the Portland Deschutes: Picking up the Pieces. I selected it first among many enticing options on my visit, and then, shockingly, had a second pint. That basically never happens. I feel duty-bound to try as many different beers when I’m out as possible, knowing that even so I’ll barely scratch the surface. To dedicate a second pint to the same beer requires it to be one hell of a beer.
I spoke to Jim Lazenby, the brewer, who rightly admitted it was one of his favorites. “I put a lot of time and thought into it,” he said, before giving me the lowdown:
“This was a somewhat experimental beer using some new hops, a new yeast strain, and some relatively new brewing techniques with the aim of maximizing orange and pineapple character and achieving a soft mouthfeel. We used one of Imperial's relatively new kveik strains for this beer (A37 POG) and fermented super hot (90 F, free rise to 94 F after 12 hours) to try and maximize the fruit character from the yeast. We also used some very orange/tropical forward hops (El Dorado, Idaho 7, and experimental HBC 630). As far as process, we went for a chloride heavy water profile to keep the mouthfeel soft and airy, and acidified at the end of the boil to decrease sensory bitterness and help with the juiciness of the fruit character.”
It’s 5.6%, a classic pale strength (please direct your attention to the one from Chico), 45 IBUs, and a very surprising 4.3° P finishing gravity—a lot sweeter than it tastes.
It’s so good because Jim knew exactly where the sweet spot lay on each dimension. The hops are bright and juicy, but just perfectly calibrated for sessionability. You get a pleasing, rich layer of citrusy, stone-fruity flavor, but one that sits this side of too-intense. To my tongue, the hops are well-chosen to avoid any weird flavors you sometimes get with new hops. If others taste what I’m tasting, I literally can’t imagine anyone not enjoying them. The yeast plays a fascinating role, adding fruity esters but also creating the perception of dryness despite that high finishing gravity. The beer is only medium-bodied and lightly fluffy, and the finish is crisp-tasting (if not dry)—enough so that I wanted two pints, and could easily have gone for three.
It tastes simple and direct, and therein lies its accomplishment. Lining up all the elements so they are pleasing without adding discordant notes—that’s the great trick of brewing. It’s the formulation for the classic session beers, and why finding an excellent example is such fun. It’s also why, nevermind how controversial this sounds, hazy pales are better and more reliable beers than their bigger IPA brothers.