Berliner Weisse mit Schuss

Berliner Weisse mit Schuss belongs to Berlin in summer, to beer gardens, outdoor tables, and afternoons when a sour wheat beer alone would make some drinkers blink. The beer is pale, spritzy, and tart from lactic fermentation; the Schuss, the shot of syrup, rounds the edge without burying it. Red is raspberry. Green is Waldmeister, woodruff, the herb that smells of hay, vanilla, and forest floor once it has wilted.

Germany doesn't agree on beer mixed with sweetness. Berlin has this sour wheat beer in a wide goblet, the north drinks Alsterwasser, beer cut with clear lemonade, and the south says Radler. Im Norden anders, im Süden anders. This is Berlin's answer, and it is not a beer-tent stein with something green tipped into it. Das ist kein Bierzelt.

The technique is simple and strict: syrup cold, beer colder, and pour the beer gently down the inside of the glass. Warm syrup kills the chill, warm beer foams wild and tastes flat, and a hard pour knocks out the lively edge that makes Berliner Weisse worth drinking. Make the syrup yourself. Nicht aus dem Glas. A bought green bottle tastes mostly of colour.

For woodruff, wilt the sprigs first and keep the steep short. Fresh Waldmeister gives very little scent until it droops, then the coumarin perfume wakes up; oversteep it and the syrup turns bitter. Raspberry is easier: heat just until the fruit gives up its juice, strain without squeezing hard, and keep the colour clean. Schön ist, was schmeckt.