At a time when Christianity was gaining ground in Scandinavia, it was illegal—yes, illegal—for Norwegian farmers not to brew their own beer for Christmas. These peasants regularly brewed beer from the produce of their fields anyway, and, aside from the need not to waste any parcel of land, these brews were closely linked to social rituals such as weddings and evenings with friends.
In such a reality of spreading faith and rural subsistence, it made perfect sense for each household, each farm, to maintain a fresh source of yeast in order to ferment a quality beer. The name of these yeasts? In a region of the east, they are called “gong.” In much of the west of the country, where majestic fjords line the coast of the North Sea? They are named “kveik.”
The Origins of Kveik
Since the time when Hakon the Good, the third king of Norway, forced people to brew their beer to celebrate Christmas and All Saints’ Day, the farms of Norway have continued to shape their own brews from the grains they grew and malted themselves.
Indeed, the arrival of industrial beer in the 20th century, the ease of supply in certain regions, and its relatively low prices have spelled the end for many farmhouse beers. The law that forced people to brew beers for Christmas having been eradicated long ago (in 1275), there were very few official reasons to maintain these demanding traditions (cultivating, malting, and brewing are laborious tasks!).
Even the microbrewery revolution of the late 20th century failed to reveal the existence of these Norwegian farmhouse beers and the many kveiks still kept alive on dozens of farms, especially in the coastal west of the country. The late Michael James Jackson, a famous brewing author, had written a short article about a visit to Voss evoking remnants of still-living traditions on a farm.
It took a trip by Lars Marius Garshol and your humble servant, in 2014, to shed light not only on traditional brewing recipes from the area but also on the still vigorous presence of different kveiks in many different regions of western Norway.
Story of this 24-hour brew…with kveik!
Upon our arrival at Sigmund Gjernes, our host and traditional home brewer, everything was ready. All that was left was to go pick some non-browned juniper branches higher up on the mountain. His son, Yngve, then transported us to the end of the road where some well-oxygenated junipers awaited a little clearing.
Why does Sigmund use juniper branches in his beer?
For multiple reasons. Apart from the fact that every traditional beer in his area, near Vossvangen, uses juniper branches, he claims that these branches contain enzymes that will make his work easier later on. Before mashing the Pilsner malt he uses (from Weyermann), he therefore prepares an infusion of these branches.
In doing so, he flavors all the water used for mashing, for sparging, and for the water/beer wort ratio that will help to achieve the desired consistency in the end. The color of his beer will also be darker. Finally, it is claimed that these branches are antibacterial. You will understand the importance of this statement shortly…
When Sigmund shared the brewing schedule with us, we were somewhat perplexed. We started at 5 PM and continued until midnight… only to resume at 6 AM until 4 PM the next afternoon… But what was this six-hour break for?! The answer was quickly obtained: it was for the mashing. And to get some sleep, Sigmund confessed. After meticulously mixing the malt with the juniper infusion in a small plastic tub, the official mashing would then start around midnight.
The six-hour rest in this mashing tun, which would later serve as a fermenter, starts at 69 degrees Celsius. By early morning, the temperature never drops below 50 degrees, Sigmund assures us. Tasting his previous brew, dating from before last Christmas, shows no signs of bacterial infection, no acidity. Much is attributed to the juniper branches, but…
Six hours later, we begin to transfer the wort, one kettle at a time, to the gigantic 320-liter copper cauldron. Heated with wood, it will slightly caramelize the wort in its own way, helping among other things to create a darker color. But it is the duration of the boil that will take care of the final color: Sigmund boils for four hours.
As if this brewing session of a forgotten Norwegian beer lacked excitement, Sigmund then introduces the most mysterious part of all: the kveik. This traditional yeast strain was once preserved, dried, on a wooden ring. He has one on which kveik rests. To prove its effectiveness, Sigmund dips the ring into a small tub containing a small amount of wort.
A few moments later, we could see a few bubbles indicating the awakening of the yeast. They would be able to ferment our beer, believe it or not. We complete the process with a refrigerated yeast starter that Sigmund had already prepared, a base from the same yeast. We open the base of the jar to take a whiff. The aroma is wonderful. As potent as a Weissbier yeast, but with a very different personality. The mystery thickens… but like the most enticing reduction sauce!
Now it’s time to ferment this beer. Usually, he brews his Vossaøl in the fall so it’s ready for the family festivities of the holiday season, which are very important to Norwegians. Regardless of the season, however, it’s the kveik, this highly aromatic traditional yeast strain, that decides the outcome. Its unmistakable scent of orange peel followed by phenols reminiscent of clove and nutmeg, will give a marked personality to this festive beer.
So, this yeast, which is as aromatic as that of a Saison but different, works smoothly at nearly 40(!!) degrees Celsius, which is a full 10 degrees higher than what the modern world considers to be very high fermentation temperatures (typical of some Belgian beers, for example).
We were already planning to send this yeast to a specialized laboratory for identification, but now, it became a priority. That’s why two samples of the kveik were sent to the National Collection for Yeast Cultures in Norwich, England, under the care of Chris Bond. Soon, the whole world should be able to get their hands on this kveik for brewing.
The Mysteries of Kveik
Why do kveiks tolerate such high temperatures without producing off-flavors? How can kveiks work efficiently while being underfed in terms of cells? Genetic studies by the NCYC in England, Escarpment Labs in Ontario, and the research work of Lars Marius Garshol have since helped us better understand the phenomenon of these powerful yeasts.
Here are some resources on kveik:
- Kveik analysis report | Larsblog
- High Quality Kveik Ferments: Pitch Rate Study | Escarpment Labs
- Saccharomyces cerevisiae 3995 | National Collection of Yeast Cultures (ncyc.co.uk)
Busting Some Myths About Kveik
“Kveik” is not a beer style
As previously explained, “kveik” refers to a yeast, not to a specific beer. Technically, any beer style could be made by fermenting grain wort with kveik.
“Kveik” should be pronounced like “bike” in English.
Nothing complicated here. It’s not “kvi-eck,” but rather “kv-ike.” The sound in the middle is like “ike.” Similar to “bike” in English.
Norwegians do not brew IPAs with their kveiks
These Kveik IPAs that have appeared some 7-8 years ago are in no way inspired by Norwegian brewing traditions. Norwegian farmers never brewed IPAs with their kveiks. Moreover, they especially did not concoct ultra-hoppy beers with these kveiks. In Voss, it is rather the equivalent of a rich barley wine boiled for a long time in a juniper branch infusion that is created with kveik.
In the Hornindal area, it’s a raw, pale, milky-textured beer that is crafted with kveiks. In no case were these high-performance yeasts utilized in an ultra-hoppy beer like an IPA. Obviously, in no case were the Vikings brewing
Martin Thibault, a beer expert, columnist, and speaker, specializes in traditional beer. Martin also writes on his blog, Les Coureurs des Boires, and travels the world in search of ancient brewing traditions.
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