Enter the hazy IPA. They were trying to produce something with a gentler hoppy flavor and plenty of fruitiness, and the opaque aspect of the beer, the characteristic for which it has since become known, was a side effect the brewing process rather than the aim. Without going too deep into the science and art of brewing, there are a few reasons why beers can be cloudy. With hazy IPA, this cloudiness comes from colloidal haze from dry hopping — which means adding extra hops after the yeast has taken care of fermentation.
This is done mainly to add aroma to the beer, but it also adds particulate matter which remains suspended in the liquid, creating haze. If you want to know more about the long version of the science behind the haziness, check out this video for more info.
Often, turbid beers like this are filtered, but brewers making hazy IPAs claim that this would alter the flavor profile, making the beer more overtly hoppy and less fruity — in short, much more like a regular IPA.
This leads detractors to ask, if you like orange juice, why not just drink orange juice? Why do you need to drink a beer that tastes like orange juice? The flavor should be complex enough to take you on a journey, allowing you to explore the different flavors contained within each sip and within each glass. This is what a good hazy IPA can do, but a less refined one may be very one-dimensional and uninspiring.
Dry-hopping is the addition of pelletized hops into the beer after the initial fermentation is complete, which occurs just a few days before kegging or canning. Many beer styles saisons, sours and even some pilsners are dry-hopped to add bright hop aroma, rather than hop bitterness, to the beer.
But the hazy IPAs take the practice to a whole other level with outrageous volumes of hops added during this phase. However, hop particulate matter left over from colossal dry-hoppings can add even more murkiness to a beer.
In a bygone era, brewers would have routinely filtered this out, but today, many brewers claim hop aromas and flavors are diminished in filtered beer. I told him I didn't love his Stay Lit, a 6. I'd tried it twice and came to the same conclusion both times: It tasted good but was so one-dimensionally fruity that drinking more than 4 ounces became a labor. Pichman didn't flinch. He didn't even disagree that such an intensely sweet IPA would be tough to slug down.
I took another sip of Stay Lit thinking of it akin to orange liqueur, something intended to be had in a far smaller serving. Suddenly it made sense. I was quite happy with it in that context. But then the beer devil on my shoulder spoke up: "But this is beer! If you don't want 12 ounces, what's it worth? Well, Pichman had already answered that question, and the best comparison is indeed bourbon barrel-aged stout. It's now an industry staple, but when Goose Island pioneered the style in , it faced the same consternation.
This isn't a stout! It's too boozy! Too oaky! Now we laud stout aged in bourbon barrels as some of the finest beer in the world and accept that it is best enjoyed in smaller servings — usually no more than 8 ounces. If we can embrace an amped-up stout in modest pours, why not an IPA?
The earliest examples of hazy IPA were often dismissed as "lazy brewing. Beer is supposed to be clear! Or, at least most beer. But "lazy brewing" is the fastest route to raising the ire of a hazy IPA maker, and for good reason.
It's a complicated process in which haze isn't the goal — it's a byproduct. And this, too, swung my opinion of the style. Hazy IPA begins with tweaking water chemistry, which is not uncommon in American craft brewing, but an absolute must to increase calcium chloride, which both decreases bitterness and lays the foundation of that creamy juicelike texture. The malt bill gets heavy doses of adjuncts, especially oats and wheat, which soften the texture even more.
Specialized yeast does much of the heavy lifting; it must be one that imparts maximum fruity characteristics. Most crucial are the immense amounts of hops employed and when they are added. Classic IPA recipes call for hops to be added throughout the boil, when they mostly contribute bitterness.
Those IPAs then get more hops at the tail end of fermentation to punch up aromatics. In a hazy IPA, hops are only added late in the boil and again unusually early during fermentation, when the beer is still churning in the tank and hops interact with yeast in a way that withdraws maximum fruity-citrus character. It also results in — you guessed it — haze.
The beer is then dry hopped again at the end of fermentation. The classic sharp and bitter hop flavors — think fresh pine — are traded for juicy sweetness and, when done well, nuances such as orange rind, honey, grass or even fresh marijuana. Pichman just so happens to work with one of those people. Randy Mosher, who has written five books about brewing and beer appreciation, is a partner at Forbidden Root and helps formulate many of its recipes.
Hazy IPAs are like a beautiful union of solid and liquid. To get a little bit more specific, the main component making up the haze in your IPA is grain protein. Along with grain protein from wheat and barley, there can also be solid compounds from hop oils called polyphenols and even starch from oats if a brewer decides to use them. If a beer has fruit, like Tangerine Express, fruit pectins might also add to the mix.
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