Sour beers, I owe you an apology.

When I said you were the result of a flaw, I really didn’t mean it like that. My point was that beer, wine, et al are the outcome of a once-upon-a-time oops that produced an unintended chemical reaction humans learned to appreciate, embrace and manipulate.

But I get how it came off as personal.

Full disclosure: My experience with sours has been very hit and miss. I love a good gose on a hot day. And sours have played a starring role in some of my more memorable — and transcendent — food pairing experiences.

They’ve also led to heartburn and questioning of my palate … and existential purpose.

If I can’t get into serious sours, am I just a tourist in the craft beer world?

Maybe. But I can live with that if there are hazy IPAs to keep me company.

Either way, I regret leaving things on a sour note.

Sour beers have a long and storied history. When humanity’s first brewers got to work probably around 4,000 B.C., that’s what they created, with the help of wild yeasts such as Brettanomyces and naturally occurring bacteria including Lactobacillus and Pediococcus.

The style reigned until the mid-1800s, when refrigeration and advances in fermentation cued a sea change in production and drinking habits. By the middle of the 20th century, most commercial beer was being brewed with domesticated single-cell cultures, which led to more consistent beer that lacked the old distinctive funk and tartness.

Then came the sour renaissance.

“In a development that would make Pasteur, the father of biogenesis (as well as his method for halting it, pasteurization) roll in his grave, brewers, especially in the United States, have embraced the time-honored Belgian art of deliberately infecting beer with the same ‘wild’ bugs that generations of their predecessors so painstakingly eradicated,” wrote Christian DeBenedetti in a 2013 piece in The New Yorker about the history of sour beers.

The style covers the spectrum from mild and highly approachable German and Belgian beers to wild ales, blends and entries that boast enamel-stripping intensity.

“With pH akin to good Pinot Noir, the best make it onto serious menus. The worst taste of nail-polish remover, rotten apple, coconut, or the dreaded ‘baby diaper,’” DeBenedetti wrote. “A consistent product is notoriously tricky to pull off; brewers might be said to guide, rather than master, the beers, hoping for serendipity.”

A drinker’s knee-jerk take on sours might be innate, to a certain degree.

“Some biologists believe that humans evolved to enjoy low-level bacterial sourness to encourage probiotic health. High-proof pucker, on the other hand, can indicate spoilage,” wrote DeBenedetti, the founder, head brewer and beekeeper at Wolves and People Farmhouse Brewery in Newberg, Ore. “Sour beer lovers sometimes speak of being ruined on conventional beer styles — forever. It must be love. Or is it lightning, bottled? The ions of acidic foods, it turns out, can penetrate the cell walls of our taste buds, triggering an electrical response, exchanging free radicals, like our skin in the open ocean.”

Hardwired reaction or not, if you’re looking to get sweet on sours, the experts at Coaltrain Fine Wine, Craft Beer & Spirits suggest O’dell Brewing Co.’s Sippin Pretty, a fruited sour ale made with acai, guava and elderberry and Himalayan pink sea salt that’s an approachable introduction to the style.

For a light sour, look for a Berliner Weisse-style beer at your local tasting room; WeldWerks Brewing has several popular versions available in cans.

Crooked Stave’s Sour Rosè is a wild ale fermented in oak, with raspberries and blueberries, with a mixed culture of wild yeast.

Divide’s Paradox Beer Co. has a celebrated sour program and lots of options. The brewery’s Colorado Springs “Outpost” is coming soon to 522 W. Colorado Ave.