Mead is a fascinating, elusive, enticing and frustrating beverage. It seems so simple at first – it is just fermented honey – yet displays such utter complexity while defying easy categorization. Never mind that I have never successfully brewed a mead with the flavours I am looking for (hence the “frustrating” adjective). I am also fascinated by mead because it is neither wine nor beer. Obviously it is its own thing but neither wine nor beer can exclusively claim it as part of their extended family. It straddles both worlds.

I explored the enigma that is mead in a recent column in Vue Weekly (you can read here). I reviewed two Alberta-made meads that perfectly demonstrate how mead can be both and neither. Honey I Have Meads from the Birds and Bees Fruit Winery near Brasseau is very much wine-like. Still, moderately sweet with floral and earthy accents it is very reminiscent of a medium-sweet white wine. I thought it resembled a Sauvignon Blanc.

Wine, right? Not so fast.

Water Valley’s (north of Cochrane) Fallentimber Meadery makes Hopped Mead, which boasts bittering and late additions of chinook and cascade hops. The effect alters the beverage completely. It still starts with a fresh honey character, but the hops start shifting the profiile, adding not so much bitterness as an earthy, spicing note that orients the tastebuds toward beer. Plus it has a substantial carbonation level, adding the classic beer prickliness never found in wine.

So beer gets its licks in, too. That is one of the reasons I am drawn to mead. It offers an entirely different tasting experience. It can draw wine and beer lovers together to enjoy the same beverage. Not many things can claim to do that.

Now, if only I could figure out how to make a decent one myself.