Our expectations may have been misplaced. Simply seeing the term hefeweizen, or a variation, on a label turns out to be no guarantee that a beer is intended to emulate the south German style. Of our 20 brews selected by our tasting coordinator, Bernard Kirsch, because his research or sources led him to believe they would be hefeweizens, I would estimate that half had barely a tangential relation to the style.

This does not mean that they were bad beers. Lagunitas’s Little Sumpin’ Sumpin’ Ale, for example, was most definitely not in the hefeweizen style. Hops contribute little to the outward character of the true Bavarian brews, but Little Sumpin’ practically vibrated with the fruity, breezy aromas of American hops. It had also been filtered.

It was also by far the most alcoholic of the beers, at 7.5 percent, while most of the others were under 5 percent, and no more than 5.5. We nonetheless thought it was an excellent beer, though we gave it only two stars. If the category had been American wheat ales, a catchall term that seems to have been invented for hybrids like this, we might have scored it higher.

The American wheat ale category illustrates both the benefits and drawbacks of loosely regulated American brewing and terminology. Craft brewers have the freedom to create new and exciting styles, which has made for inventive and inspiring beers. But vague terminology often leaves consumers confused by what they might reasonably expect from their beer.

This is particularly frustrating to Hayley and Chase, whose jobs include translating what’s in the glass to their customers. “Real hefe showcases its German yeast,” Hayley said. “If you’re using dull American yeast, don’t call it hefeweizen.”