A Punishing Beverage

You know those people who only read one book at a time? I’m not one of them. At the moment I have two novels (one noir detective, one hard SF) on the go in my reading room, a collection of short stories (“M. R. James by way of Lovecraft”) in the bedroom, two books of poetry and political tract in my office, etc.

I also have a book about the history of drinking in Nova Scotia on the go in the downstairs bathroom. Social history of alcohol has been of particular interest to me since I read one particular book a couple of years ago, and I always like the “local interest” stuff.

The largest portion of the book is dedicated to rum, that being the traditional tipple of the Maritimes–and actually the book shows an additional reason for thatThe book cites a report from a Colonel Vetch at the Annapolis garrison to the British Lord Treasurer in 1711: “All provisions are very dear, particularly Rum, which must be instead of Beer, which the Severity of the winter freezes in that cold country.” beyond a port city’s obvious naval connections. And, of course, the history of rum-running and interactions with Prohibition are fiercely interesting.

Other large sections are dedicated to whiskey and beer (particularly the Keith family), and smaller ones to wine (and the Dial family) and other beverages.

One thing that caught my eye though, was the discussion of “spruce beer” and its long history in Nova Scotia. I’m a bit of an experimenter with beer, and I’ve been known to try some “heritage” recipes–things like Fraoch Heather Ale from Scotland or Dogfish Head’s beer made from Iron Age recipes–but “spruce beer” was a new one on me.

Well, it turns out that early settlers were making beer out of pretty much anything they could throw in a bucket of water:

Settlers know that when certain common substances immersed in warm water in “just the right proportion” are left to their own devices long enough alcohol will be manufactured.

The results: ale; malt beer; hop beer; bee’s beer—like mead, which also uses fermented honey; buck beer—”North Shore Champagne”—strong brew, like a bock beer; spruce beer.

I’ve actually tried all of those except spruce beer, so my curiosity was piqued.

In eighteenth century Nova Scotia’s culture of drinking, spruce beer drove the dances of rural farmers and strived to numb (or cheer up) the brutish lives of garrison soldiers. A punishing beverage, spruce beer was brewed from a recipe comprised of spruce tips, or spruce shoots, mixed with hops, yeast, water, and (a small mercy) molasses.

“A punishing beverage”? 18th century brewing techniques couldn’t have made it as strong as today’s high alcohol beers, so the “punishing” there must be a reference to the next morning, right? If the congeners in red wine can produce a headache, imagine what might come out of that kind of brew?

Biologists have discovered spruces, indeed all conifers, to be abundant in flavonoids commonly known for their antioxidant activity in combating free radicals thought responsible for naladies ascribed to the aging process and the onset of major diseases.

Of course, nothing says there can’t be upsides as well.

Anyway, the implication of the next section is that people managed to get pretty blootered on it.

• “The cup that cheers but not inebriates” is a non-alcoholic version of spruce beer (akin to root or ginger beer).
• Alcoholic and nonalcoholic spruce beers depend on the quantity of molasses used.
• Homebrews of spruce beer loosened inhibitions at farm dances. The menfolk imbibed; the womenfolk abstained; a good time was had by all, half of them would be told.

Apparently it was startlingly common around here–to the point of being a daily ration. This is a quote from the Daily Order for the Highland Regiment in North America, circa 1759 (you can see a scan online):

“Spruce beer is to be brewed for the health and conveniency [sic] of the troops which will be served at prime cost. Five quarts of molasses will be put into every barrel of Spruce Beer. Each gallon will cost nearly three coppers.”

I wonder what alcoholic strength you got from five quarts to barrel?

Winter orders that year instructed that each post should keep enough molasses on hand “to make two quarts of beer for each man every day.”

“The allowance was two quarts per day to each man, or 3 gallons and a half per week, for which he paid seven pence New York currency.”

Here’s what History Of Nova Scotia says about it, in the section on The Second Siege of Louisbourg, 1758:

“At Halifax, spruce beer was the big commodity and thought to be a very good beverage for the men. Captain John Knox set out a recipe for it: ‘It is made of the tops and branches of the sprucestrees, boiled for 3 hours, then strained into casks, with a certain quantity of molasses; and, as soon as cold, it is fit for use.”

Now Captain Knox’s (look, Scotsman named John Knox–go figure) recipe is pretty simple. A more detailed one was recorded in 1759, this recipe from General Jeffery Amherst (his name might not be familiar, despite the number of places named after him, but most Canadians would recognize him by proxy if he was identified as “James Wolfe’s superior officer”):

• Take 7 pounds of good spruce.
• Boil well tills [sic] the bark peels off.
• Take the spruce out and put 3 gallons of Molasses to the liquor.
• Boil again, scumming it well as it boils.
• Take it out of the kettle and put it in a cooler.
• Boil the remainder of the water sufficient for a Barrel of 30 gallons.
• When millkwarm in the cooler, put in a pint of Yest [sic] into it and mix well.
• Then put in the Barrel and let it work for 2 to 3 days.
• Keep filling it up as it works out.
• When done working, bung it up with a tent peg in the Barrel to give it vent every now and then.
• It may be used in 2 to 3 days and keeps a great well.

I’m sorely tempted to try it out, I must admit. I know where I could get a barrel, too. Note also that “bark peels off” bit and what it implies–the many of the reference to old school spruce beer, and all the modern spruce beer recipes I could find with Google talk about using “spruce tips”. Not the British Army though–they threw in branches with bark.

Of course, the Drink-o-pedia has some descriptions of the taste from modern drinkers:

• “I’ve tried it once before. It takes superhuman will and much prayer to even get my nose near this stuff. It smells like Vick’s Vaporub.”
• “The flavour (if that is the right word for self-inflicted torture of this depth) is pine and menthol. If you ever wanted to lick a pine tree, here’s your chance.”
• “After 2 years of aging in the refrigerator, it is now one of the most refreshing, light summer beers I’ve ever tasted.”

Perhaps perversely, this just makes me want to try it more. I’m probably too lazy to brew my own, but I’ll keep my eyes open. Worst case scenario, I know of a place in Montreal where I can get some, so I can do that next time I’m over there. If it really tastes as described above (and you know any modern version would be much less… um… raw than the 18th century version) I shall be astounded that the garrison lads went through their allotments and that the farmers managed to get blackout drunk. Well, maybe not so astounded… they were Nova Scotians, after all.