The Honey Comb Conundrum
My fascination with honey fermentation and my frugal inclinations have led me down some unexpected paths. What started as a simple venture into beekeeping for easy access to raw honey quickly devolved into boiling-wax-comb experiments, dead bees and all, to make plausible medieval mead. And to my surprise, it even culminated in winning a bronze medal in the National Homebrew Competition! Who would have expected that?
The combination of my avid interest in medieval brewing techniques, keeping the occasional hive, and growing various fermentable fruits on our small homestead, all came together in my rediscovery of traditional brewing methods that are not part of our modern toolkit. Sure, boiling dead bees may sound like an excellent reason not to emulate the past, but a careful examination of medieval and renaissance texts suggested that was not what they were actually doing.
Uncovering the Secrets of the Comb
In our modern times, honey frames can be easily emptied using specialized equipment that utilizes centrifugal force, resulting in very pure honey. The contemporary extractor even helps by only uncapping the comb cells, allowing the empty comb frame to be given back to the bees to refill. After all, bees need to use precious resources to make wax – they consume up to eight pounds of honey to make one pound of wax – and giving back empty comb wax helps them make even more honey for us to ferment.
But what if something unforeseen happens, and the modern method of extraction cannot be easily used? Many beekeepers write off partially spoilt or crystallized frames and give them back to the bees to rob out and recycle. Even if a beekeeper has no spoilage or crystallization, the process of extraction generates leftovers. To get the honey out of the comb, the outer edge of the frame is carefully cut off to open all the storage cells. These lids, called cappings, are dripping with honey but are generally only used for their superior wax.
As I discovered, it had never occurred to me to wash the comb with warm water to dilute the sugary goodness of leftover honey. But that is precisely what medieval beekeeping manuals teach. Back then, bees were kept in hives without an internal frame system, which meant the combs were free-hanging. When harvesting the honey, the waxy comb structure would have to be processed as well. If an extractor cannot be used – either because you want to collect only sections of a frame or the honey has crystallized and won’t budge – then the old and trusted method of washing the comb can make a honey solution perfect for fermentation.
Crafting Medieval Mead
In the past, I have used the washed comb method for a variety of reasons, but I find it most handy with honey that has crystallized within the comb. Unfortunately, I do not have good luck in keeping my hives over the winter for several reasons. After a long winter in a hive, the honey storage a surviving hive would have needed in early spring is now up for grabs, albeit in primarily solid form. As I do not have another hive to give the remnants to, I make leftover mead instead. And I must say, it is not at all a leftover choice. I find washed comb mead is much richer and fuller in fragrance and flavor than straightforward honey mead.
Whether you start with commercially bought honeycomb, a couple of honey frames from a backyard hive, or a bucket of honey-dripping cappings likely with the wax still on, the process is pretty simple. Start by cleaning your equipment – this includes your hands and lower arms. Then gently break up the sugary comb into a food-safe bucket. When all broken up, the liquid honey could also be harvested by letting it drip out of the comb on its own due to gravity, similar to the grated cappings bin.
In medieval times, this honey – from hand-crumbled but not mechanically crushed comb – was regarded as the best quality and called “life” or “virgin” honey. To make a fermentable must, cover the sugary comb with warm water straight from the tap, taking care to use water that is neither too cold nor too hot. Emulating the medieval brewers, I aim for water warm enough to dissolve but not so hot it hurts my hands – no more than 140°F. Because as I found, if it hurts our skin, it will also melt the wax of the comb.
I generally find about 1/3 comb and 2/3 warm water in volume enough to submerge the solids and make a good start. When all the sugars have dissolved and the empty wax rises to the top, scoop out the wax by hand and squeeze the honey liquor out. Some medieval texts feel this liquor makes for a “crude” honey must, probably as more contact with the wax imparts more wax-pollen flavor. Others find it appropriately frugal. Personally, I enjoy the spicy comb flavor – and apparently, the Homebrew judges did as well – so I squeeze my wax to maximize my must yield.
To remove the tiny wax bits, finish by pouring the must through a strainer lined with cheesecloth. I then float a fresh chicken egg in the must to check my gravity. Indeed, fresh eggs make for great hydrometers, and since we’re making medieval must, might as well stick to this golden oldie. I aim to make the initial must extra strong, as it is easier to dilute than to strengthen. The perfect fresh-egg density float is when the egg is bobbing upright and showing only a bit of shell above the surface. This density reading would make a semi-dry to sweet mead with a standard wine/beer yeast.
Pitch a sturdy yeast strain like Montrachet, the D47, or KV1116, then proceed with your preferred mead brewing process. Washed comb mead fermented with osmophilic yeast should be consumed fairly quickly – it would be good and sweet in a few months when fermented with bread yeast. Fermented with a wine-strength yeast strain, it would be like any other mead and best after a year or so.
The Allure of the Comb
At first, my interest in recreating historic recipes was the driving force behind working with scraped comb, as this is most similar to free-formed whole comb. But when I found that washed honey receives a slight flavor from the comb, a wonderful delicate spiciness, I got hooked. This contact with propolis and pollen, part of the waxy comb, makes for a unique and wholesome mead. And if you opt to make mead with low heat using raw honey, which already contains bee pollen, your mead would also have maximum immune system-boosting properties. As if we need another excuse for our nightly wassail, right?
The Up and Under Pub is the perfect spot to enjoy a glass of your homemade mead, or perhaps try one of our rotating taps featuring unique, hop-forward brews. Our knowledgeable staff can guide you through our selection and offer recommendations to pair with our delectable pub fare. Stop by and let us help you discover new flavors that will delight your senses.
Conclusion
Homebrewing is a journey of discovery, and sometimes taking the road less traveled can lead to unexpected rewards. Whether you’re drawn to the rich history of mead-making or the modern art of crafting the perfect IPA, there’s always room for creativity and flair in your homebrew endeavors. So don’t be afraid to get a little messy, experiment with unique techniques, and let your passion for brewing guide you to new and delicious horizons. Cheers!
