There once was a little barley kernel that lived on a stalk. He had almost thirty brothers and sisters with him and there were plenty of other stalks in the neighborhood. Life was good, until one day the stalk was cut and he was separated from his family. He was really sad, but understood it was all part of his life cycle. It was time for him to move on to a new patch of soil and start growing his own stalk. But he never found that soil. He dried that day. Parched, he gave up and fell into dormancy. However, a few days later, he tasted water again. When he woke up, he was surrounded by thousands of kernels he had never seen before. Conditions were cramped and uncomfortable, but there was plenty of water for everyone! He didn’t know how he would ever escape but decided to start preparing himself. The chance of finally finding that plot of soil and making a family was enough motivation to entirely change who he was. He grew his acrospire deep into his layer of aleurone to begin transforming his starchy endosperm into sugar. If he wants a family, he has to be sweet, right? He threw together some roots from what he remembered of home and started pushing. They weren’t fancy, but they were strong. Strong enough to burst through his hull and into the light of day. He continued reaching, reaching for that soil he had dreamed of his entire life. But then it got hot. Really hot. All of the water he had absorbed left him for the clouds of vapor over his head. That poor, sweet little barley kernel breathed his last as he was cooked alive. He fried that day.
As horrifying and gruesome as this story sounds, this is what every single kernel of barley goes through to make the beer we drink. This humble plant has to go through a lot before it can give us the sweet flavors and full colors we enjoy. It starts off looking like this.
I picked this up a while back when visiting a farm that grows for Coors.
It comes in varieties with names like Two Row and Six Row, but it should have names like Rafael and Donatello because, just like corn, it’s basically a mutant ninja grass. Each kernel is plump with starch, but yeast can’t eat starch and brewing is all about feeding yeast, so we have to turn it into malt. The malting process provides us with sugars that we will ultimately be able to use. The do this, we start by soaking the grain. This activates the germination process, which gives us what we want but also uses it up. So when the shoots coming out of the barley are roughly as long as the kernels themselves, hot air is introduced to kill the growth. It’s like the witch fattening up Hansel and Gretel, except growing a tail, and the sentient children are plants, and the witch is a highly respectable artisan in her craft...
Just a couple more days, guys!
The temperature of the air used to do this and the length of time left in the heat affect the eventual color of the malt. Lighter malts have more fermentable sugar but less flavor. Darker malts have more flavor but less fermentable sugar. The former makes up the majority of any grain bill because the darker stuff doesn’t have enough enzymes to convert itself. Just like artists, the more flavorful malts have to become freeloaders and mooch off of the plainer, harder working malts. These “specialty malts” greatly improve the beer, but if all the malt was specialty, the beer would fail. So the next time you sip a beer and taste coffee, dark chocolate, caramel or any host of flavors that are earthy and sweet, thank the malt. Then go support your local artists.
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