Battle Royal

But the emerging possibilities of trade shaped the manufacture of
beer, as a few brewers tailored their products for foreign markets.
Given that beer is the weakest of alcoholic beverages, entrepreneurs who
hoped to export their beers had to offer a very distinctive product in
order to justify transporting a beverage that was, after all, 99 percent
water.

Beer made for export not only had to be of competitive quality, but
this perishable beverage also had to withstand long periods at sea or
over land, as well as changes in temperature. And the reformulation of
beer recipes to cope with these conditions in turn gave drinkers new
varieties of beers to enjoy.

From the 15th century onward, the hop flower, or cone, had become the
preferred herb in beer for its bitterness and aroma. But hops also had
preservative qualities and extended the life of beer. Alcohol is also a
preservative. So beers best suited for export were more highly hopped
and stronger in alcoholic content.

By the late 18th century, London brewers were sending their strong,
dark beers east to markets in the Baltic countries. Many were
fashionable porters, but the stars were potent, opaque stouts. Their
popularity with the Russian royal court—Catherine the Great, in
particular—was such that they became known as Russian imperial stouts.
The success of these full-bodied beers inspired imitators all along the
trade route, with similar beers being brewed in Sweden, Finland, Estonia
and Latvia.

Not surprisingly, modern American craft brewers, being partial to
supersized approaches to brewing, embraced the imperial stout style. And
an interesting shift occurred in terminology: “Imperial” ceased to mean
royal and came to refer to an outsized interpretation of a traditional
beer style.

The first innovative use of the term “imperial” came in the 1990s,
when brewers reached for a name for the over-the-top India pale ales
(IPA) some were producing. Ironically, IPA itself originally was a more
muscular version of domestic English pale ale, again made stronger and
hoppier for export, in this case to India, not Russia.

But American drinkers in the 1990s were infatuated with big, bitter
flavors and big, bruising beers with budget-busting doses of hops that
debuted on the market. When purists complained that these beers were too
alcoholic, too teeth-peelingly bitter and too out of balance to be
IPAs, there was a historical precedent: “But these are imperial
IPAs.”

With that, a new style was born, and more contenders were readied for
coronation. Imperial pilsner probably came next: The spicy, soft,
gently floral flavors of a pilsner translated into a peppery, boozy hop
bomb. This is not necessarily a bad thing. And a new name was justified,
since other high-alcohol lagers tend to the sweet, not herbal, side.

Next came the imperialization of red ale, which I find strange since
red ales always strike me as inoffensive by design, soothing and
sessionable. Amping up one of these beers is a little like taking a bike
with training wheels and putting a huge engine on the back: You can do
it, but it’s a vehicle that can’t make up its mind. Do you want safety
or speed?

Imperial wit beer has more promise. The Belgian wit, or white
beer—think Hoegaarden or Blue Moon—is cloudy with wheat, fresh and
citrusy, with notes of banana, bubblegum or passion fruit and the
addition of real spices, including coriander, curaçao, orange peel,
chamomile or pepper. If the “imperializing” process is an experiment in
exaggerating the profile of an existing beer, the wit is a style with
lots of swirling flavors poised to bulk up.

Other styles already have their buff counterparts: bock and
doppelbock, weizen and weizenbock, Scottish ale and wee heavy. There’s a
good argument that most styles that were ripe for imperializing already
have been imperialized.

The imperials are heady companions, beers in full regalia. Some wear
their status gracefully; others aren’t suited to their newly elevated
position. I’ve enjoyed many imperial beers, but I’m starting to think
I’m an anti-royalist at heart.

This article originally appeared in the Independent Weekly of Durham, N.C.