by Aaron Brussat

Mead is the oldest known fermented beverage. It has two origin myths that I've heard: in one, thirsty nomads scoop diluted honey water out of a flooded hive in the crook of a tree; lo and behold, it had fermented! In the other, a nomad adds some sweet honey to his skein of water (because water gets boring as hell on long hikes!); lo and behold, it ferments! These stories, like those of blue cheese and other living relics of early humanity, are those that make the most sense to our minds, which prefer a tidy narrative. What we do know is that however the discovery of mead was made, or evolved, it made the people feel... different... and... good... and made them forget all the stings. 

This is all millennia ago, but the basic process of meadmaking hasn't changed much at all. Dissolve honey in water, add yeast (or hope for the best), wait. Of course, the human impulse to manipulate and codify was applied to the process, and the result is a whole hive of mead styles with funny names, and strengths ranging from very low to very high. 

(Mead fermenting at Superstition Meadery, Prescott, AZ)

Let's start with a definition: mead is an alcoholic beverage made from fermented honey. It is not "honeywine" because wine is a fermented fruit beverage. Shout out to the bureaucrats who can't seem to get that one right and give meadmakers a hard time. 

Traditional mead as we know it has its roots in Europe, but that's just the stuff that made it over here first. There is a wonderful mead called T'ej from Ethiopia that uses gesho root, which is related to hops. Anyhow, traditional mead is divided into categories by sweetness, and further subdivided by alcohol strength and carbonation level. Dry, semi-sweet, and sweet are pretty self explanatory, but the terms "petillant" and "sack" may require a chuckle and a bit of explanation: the former is neither still nor fully carbonated, and the latter is of elevated alcoholic strength, the strongest mead out there. 

Naturally, there are various additions to mead, from common fruit to coffee (Nectar Creek's Top Bar is the best local example of a coffee mead). When mead is combined with apples, it's a Cyser (SIGH-zur). With grapes, it's Pyment. There are berry meads and stone fruit meads, and Melomel is a term used to indicate that different fruit or a combination of fruits were used. Mead that uses culinary spices or herbs is called Metheglin (and it's totally legal). A mead blended with beer (or in the case of Eugene's Viking Braggot Co., a beer with a good portion of honey added) is called a braggot. Of course, the opportunity to mix and match is tempting.

OK, there's a crash course in what mead is. Now, in my many years of talking to people about booze, mead is one of the most maligned and least understood drinks. If I can help one of you to appreciate it through better understanding, I'll be happy. We'll focus on traditional mead here, but keep in mind that fruit or other additions should not just taste like that addition; the mead should have some elbow room. 

Honey is an extremely complex liquid, containing around 400 different aromatic compounds and with books worth of history behind its use (look up "honeymoon"). This is the result of the work of bees, which condense sugar from flower nectar (or blue M&M dye, unfortunately) into honey. One of the quirks of honey is its diversity of flavors; it's true terroir, a liquid amber photograph of a season within a few square miles. Around here, blackberry honey and maple honey are two common seasonal varieties.

There are some, like tupelo and mesquite, that are harder to come by and fetch a higher price. Buckwheat honey is dark, rich, and molasses-y, and is best used as a small addition; full buckwheat meads are super intense, like Turkish coffee. Carrot blossom honey is said to be pretty terrible tasting, but I've had a delicious mead made from it. Wherever you travel, look out for local honey, and taste it if you can. In New Zealand, manuka honey is said to have special healing properties, and can be found marketed to the woo-woo crowd for exorbitant prices. It is delicious, though I've never had a mead made with it. 

The translation from honey to mead - that is, fermentation - can divert or suppress a particular honey's signature flavor, or it can draw it out further. That's largely a decision of the meadmaker, who may choose a characterful yeast of fermentation process to accent various flavors. 

The most common misconception is that all mead is sticky sweet. This is simply not true. Honey has very simple sugars and will ferment completely dry, zero residual sugar. It can be back-sweetened after fermentation if sulfites are added. Dry mead should be refreshing, with enough of an acidic pop to prevent it from feeling blah. Dry mead often has more subtlety than sweeter meads. Sweet meads often carry the raw honey flavor better than dry. The super sweet "sack" mead is made by adding doses of honey to a mead as it ferments. The yeast will consume as much of the honey's sugar as possible until it gets drunk and passes out; if it's a hardy yeast, that can mean a 20% mead! 

Also, most mead takes time. Standard strength mead (7.5-14% abv), if not treated with nutrients that can speed up fermentation, will often take months to years to taste just right. Many meads are at their prime at 5 years or more in the bottle, and can age better than wine or beer. Of course, the meadmaker who sells her mead will probably release it when it's fine and dandy; you're welcome to stick it in the back of a cupboard, and your results may vary.

So... dude, what does mead taste like? Great question. In many ways, it is similar to wine. In other ways, it is like climbing into a flower, or a whole vase of flowers. Sometimes it's marshmallowy, sometimes it's raw and earthy. Sometimes it smells exactly like a freshly opened tube of tennis balls. Unless very sweet, it tends to have a fairly light body. Its texture is hard to describe; what is the texture of a flower? Petally? It can be sharp, but is rarely bitter. It is close to the earth, so think of the earth when you drink it.

A common flavor mentioned by detractors is something like "phenolic"; phenols are aromatic compounds that are definitely present in flowers, and can be like clove, smoke, pepper, and even plastic (which may explain the tennis balls). I've never been able to put my finger on why, when I really enjoy a mead, it turns someone else off - I suppose that's the case with anything in a big enough sample size, and I can't really ask the bees what's up. 

If you're curious (and I hope you are), the Superstition Meadery tasting on July 11 is a perfect opportunity. Bee there.