Beer Geek Night and another Beer Geek Night. Oh and the Ouzo effect!

So much to do, and so little time to do it in...

Apologies, Constant Reader! It turns out I've a couple of undocumented beery incidents on my drive, accumulating cyberdust and feeling a bit forlorn.
What with all the brewing and contemplating beery things all day, I've a bunch of beer related events to cover, two of which are  Beer Geek Nights. So, enough of the apologetic preamble already, onward! For science!

Beer Geek Night #3 was a bit of a pot luck afair, with all attendees adding something to the pile of science to be assessed.
First beer of the evening was Vinken Blond:

Turns out fellow Beer Geek Johan's grandfather used to brew this beer back in (ahem) 1866, and apparently, the village of Geistingen thought it time to resurrect it. A beer with a bit of history and family folklore, I like that. However, much as I'd feared, Vinken Blond is a rather generic and interchangeable Belgian blond, which fails to stand out amidst the hectoliters of comparable blond beers available all over the country. Historic or not, Vinken Blond never makes a mark, and fades into the background of easy, commonplace blond flavours. Nice, don't get me wrong, but most of my sympathy vote is derived from the history behind the beer, rather than the organoleptic experience it evokes.

Next up was Tète Noire by Brass. Desprat:

Go ahead.
Google "Cèpes d'Auvergne" and try to think of a beer with that in it.

A mushroom beer then, and my first in this oh-so-easily (and perhaps deservedly) overlooked substyle. Cèpes are also known as porcini, although the latter tends to refer to the mushrooms when they're preserved in oil, whereas this probably contains the dried variety. Not an easy beer to describe, but when everyone involved takes a sniff, frowningly mutters "Hm. Interesting.", after which a bout of collective sniggering ensues, perhaps descriptions are bound to fall way off the mark. Beer Geek Frank, in an unusual display of leniency, described the smell as "rags which have soaked in something unspeakable, and then left to fester for several weeks behind the compost heap" (or something along those lines). I found the smell to be weird and definitely off-putting, unlike any beer I've ever smelled before (in a rather bad not quite as bad you'd think kinda way). In the mouth, the Tète Noire was thin and watery, mildly sour and disappointingly bland. Like an uninspired attempt at a Flanders Old Brown, with a dash of oddball to spruce it up.

Oh and incidentally: guess what Tète Noire translates to?

Only mildly more revolting than the beer, actually.

Onwards to number three: Pochs Summer Ale

Approved by Anubis

I'll share the details of how I came by this artisanal Catalunyan brewery in a later attempt at travelogue blogging, but for now, suffice to say it's a Spanish ale (du-UH-huh) brewed with Cascade and Willamette hops. Also, now's the time to talk about the Ouzo Effect.

--------------------------------INTERLUDIUM--------------------------------

You've all experienced it. You're on holidays in some faraway place. Let's say, for argument's sake, Greece.

The land that Thatcher forgot

You soaked up some rays, went clubbing in all the wrong places, and had that dinner at the shoreline where they served that drink. What's it called again?

Never figured out how to read the label but it certainly wasn't Petoiva

The next day, just before checking in at Krastinapalodopolis Regional Airport, your hungover head still swimming with delight from this unique discovery of local customs and alcoholic escapades, you purchase a bottle at the tax free shop. Hades, you went all out and bought six of them, determined to sip anise-flavoured booze on your porch till well into next spring.

Now, fifteen years later, check the contents of your bar. Look waaaaay in the back. Recognise that bottle?

That is the Ouzo Effect, and it applies to all things experienced abroad, and relived when no longer proverbially in Rome: the magical veneer of being somewhere else just can't withstand the ham-fisted skepsis of the homestead, and back in wherever-your-true-home-is, the whatever-it-was-you-purchased simply doesn't perform as well as it did in wherever-it-was-you-purchased-it.

Scientific fact, empirically verified but as yet unproved.

--------------------------------INTERLUDIUM ends about here--------------------------------

Poch's Summer Ale was such an eye-opener when I first had it in the shadow of Castellfollit's little church, that the Ouzo Effect had no option but to strike deep and hard: while the hops (hops! in a Spanish beer!) were still there, they were less pronounced and, well, refined, than they were back wherever. The ale yeast (ale yeast! in a Spanish beer!) which flocculated so nicely (flocculation! IN A SPAN...oh hell you get the point already) had accumulated as an ungainly muddy clump in the neck of the bottle. And while the beer was still a drastic step up from the Tète Noire, all assembled agreed that its superiority benefited significantly from the relativistic nature of the experiment: it's pretty hard to fail when you're being paired to a mushroom beer named after a chronically blocked sweat gland. By no means a bad beer, this Summer Ale, but it has a lot (and I mean a LOT) of competition from similar hoppy beers the world over. I've some more stashed away, and perhaps it stands up better on its own. 

Last up on this Pot Luck Beer Geek Night was the 5 Golden Rings by the Bruery

Because pine-apple-pimped christmas beer is best enjoyed
on the hottest day of the year

The Bruery are known for their Big-Assed, Bold-Faced, Brass-Balled brews, and this is perhaps the whackiest beer I've had in a long time. A thickly cloying malt base, heavy and dense like a barley wine deluded into believing it's an imperial stout. Pineapple is definitely present, to such an extent as to be close to overpowering. Spices and a boozy punch to the throat, lingering on and on and on, straight into next Christmas. At 11.5% ABV, this is no quaffing brew either, although the alcohol is remarkably restrained.
Not an easy brew at all, and most of the assembled Beer Geeks didn't actually like it, although I daresay some were intimidated by it. I think it was Beer Geek Frank who said something along the lines of "Innovation implies transgression of the established boundaries", and if there's one adjective which the 5 Golden Rings lives up to, it must be transgressive. If you ever get the chance to pick up a bottle of this, don't hesitate. It's one of those beers that's designed to make a single point:

...or rather "this is still beer"

In all, this was a fun, if somewhat bizarre Beer Geek night. Highlight of the evening was definitely the 5 Golden Rings. While not something I'd drink every (or even any) day, it was by far the most skillfully brewed beer of the lot.


Beer Geek Night #4 then, with a dark and stoutish theme.

Beer Geek Frank brought a bottle of Viking Chili Stout (Hornbeer).

Seriously, Google?

Hornbeer is a Danish brewing company, and going by what little I understand of the Danish language, I gather they brew some pretty creative beers. Their Viking Chili Stout is a spin on a thick imperial stout, infused with chocolate, liquorice, vanilla, chocolate and (du-UH-huh) chili. Pours thick and gloopy, just the way I like it, with a filthy richly chocolatey nose. In the mouth, there's a ton of boozy sweetness, laden with coffee flavours and a weird, mildly upsetting chili-afterburn in the throat. The alcohol combines with the chili (which isn't really noticeable in the flavour) to make this a potent, fiery brew.

A Viking Chili Dog?

Me likes, but my esophagus was getting worried by the time we hit the bottom.

Next up was one I'd been meaning to try ever since I acquired it, and since Beer Geek Bert was offering one of his own bottles, I wasn't going to say no to Tokyo Black Horizon.

Free ad space in the back for the initiated

This collaboration brew is a blend of three pretty drastic brews: Brew Dog's Tokyo*, Mikeller's Black and Nogne O's Dark Horizon, none of which I had first hand experience with when I tasted this blend. I'd been told both the Black and Tokyo* are "too much of a good thing": intensely black and overly potent brews which barely categorise as "still beer".

In this blend, you'll find so much it almost becomes impossible to describe what's going on. There's a prominently malty nose, rich and cozy without becoming decadent. Remarkable abscence of anything normally associated with a beer this black: no roast, no coffee or chocolate, but rather a velvet blanket of dark dried fruits and ripe figs and raisins. Smells like an insanely pimped quadruple, without that annoying hint of sugar in it. In the mouth, smoothness is the word again, albeit without that decadent velvety mouthfeel you'll find in many imperial stouts. It's smooth alright, but it's also very pure and honest: nothing is hidden or glossed over by booze or barrels or somesuch. Rich and rewarding, and remarkably balanced: even at 17.5% ABV, this beer is immensely easy and fulfilling, and definitely one of the finest dessert beers I've ever had.

Last up was the Embrasse Peated Oak Aged by De Dochter van de Korenaar.

Gotta love the presentation of this one

I love this brewery, and their basic Embrasse is anything but basic in its own right, but this barrel aged edition couldn't stand up to the preceding onslaught. I'd been told this one was "very peaty" but it turns out we should perhaps have started with this one, rather than keep it until last (peat tends to numb the tastebuds like pretty much nothing else this side of an acid-bleach cocktail). Neither the base beer -which is pretty present and stated under normal conditions- nor the added wood-and-whisky tones did stand out at all. What we did find was elegant and even a bit delicate, but I'm convinced we need to taste this beer again without first rewiring our concept of "balance" with beer like the Tokyo Black Horizon.

That being said: I'm not sure De Dochter has got her barrel aging skills fully under control just yet. I distinctly remember the Bravoure OASE as falling way short of the mark, in spite of what a wonderful beer the basic Bravoure is.

After half the assembly had left the premises, Beer Geek Frank and myself shared a nice Geuze Mariage Parfait by Boon, because all the above had left us a bit thirsty.

And also, of course, for science.

Next Beer Geek Night, we'll try to do a better match up.

Until then,

Greetz

Jo 



Black & Heady

Because we were curious as to how the Zwarte Madam was coming along, and because any excuse is good enough to share a beer or two, BeerBert and Yours Truly sat down at the table the other night to do some science.

Curiosity cannot be trusted around cats.

Because I had just acquired a can of Heady Topper (thanks, Denno!), we dug into that first. It needs to be drunk fresh after all, so it made no sense to keep it around. 

Drink from the can, it says, but since we're proper scientists, we did in fact use a glass. 

Blasphemy!
Pic not mine, sorry.

Pale and cloudy, with a minimal head, this is a splendid IPA, chock-full of hops, with some extra hops ladled on top. The beer checks all the proper boxes, and sort of sets the rules regarding IPAs. 

From the nose, across the tongue, bouncing across the hard and soft palate, all the way down into the throat, the Heady Topper is smooth and fresh hops all the way. You get just about the whole gammut of hoppy impressions, from grassy to piney, from fruity to flowery. Juicy almost. Almost as if it's not actually beer, but a beer-flavoured hops tea. Delicious. Although extremely hopped, it never becomes extreme. Except perhaps extremely drinkable, even at 8% abv.

But science beckoned, and the Zwarte Madam needed tasting too.

Pic by Dennoman, who wasn't even there.
FLTR: Zwarte Madam basic, caraway and water cress seed.

The basic version, now with about six weeks of bottle conditioning under the cap, still pours a sluggish black. Low carbonation and a slackish tan head. Nose is chocolate and just a faint whiff off greenish hops. With a thick pour like that, the nose is a bit underwhelming, actually, and could use a bit more chutzpah.

1 image > 1000 words in this case.

In the mouth, the Zwarte Madam doesn't surprise, and remains somewhat modest, with chocolatey, smooth dark malts tones. Onset is smooth, if a bit light, then peters out in the middle part, but luckily returns with a malty sweet aftertaste. Slightly too much body, or too narrow a taste to stand up against it.

In all, the basic version is okay, although unfinished. I need to adjust the malt bill to achieve a broader, more rewarding flavour to warrant the relatively heavy body. Perhaps a smidge more hops too. Carbonation should be increased as well. BeerBert seemed to be agreement: this beer is quite alright but in its current incarnation perhaps not interesting enough to have another one. Denno detected hints of oats in an independent tasting, and I'm tempted to add some toasted oats in future incarnations to spruce up the body.

But hark! I opened up two dry-spiced versions to compare and -gasp- blend! 

The caraway version is already decidedly overdosed, with the caraway so firmly in the picture that the delicate chocolate notes of the base beer can hardly stand up against it. I happen to like the particular flavour imparted by the caraway, but BeerBert was quite put off by it. Granted: too much is too much, especially since the base beer isn't really robust enough to withstand more than a pinch. A blend of perhaps 1/6 caraway and 5/6 base made a better impression on me, although Bert's palate got thoroughly wasted from the very first sip of pure caraway. In future incarnations, I may consider boiling the caraway instead of dry-spicing, to better incorporate the flavour into the beer. Mixed messages here, as some seem to like it (quite a lot actually), while some find it unpleasantly overspiced.

The watercress-seed version...well, what can I say other than that it was a bit of a nut-job? The beer really pongs. An overwhelming scent of watercress, poppy seeds and something vegetable which really kicks the shit out of the poor base beer. Even minimally blended (a tiny splash in the aforementioned 1/6 caraway blend) still violently annexed the beer. I can see how the flavour imparted by the cress seeds itself could be an asset to dark beers like this, but I really need to go Uncle Scrooge on it, lest it become an undrinkable mess. Also: for some odd reason, the cress seed seems to amplify the beer's sweetness, turning into a syrupy mess.

Conclusion: Zwarte Madam is a good idea, but needs quite a bit more work. The base beer as it is will serve as a good basis for a more rounded incarnation, possibly including a drastically lowered dose of caraway, and mayby some oats. On the cress seed, I'll refrain from make a decision just yet, but it's not a plausible ingredient at all.

BeerBert always brings stouts when he comes to visit and I'm not one to complain. Especially not if by "stout" you mean this:

Which I do.
Pic again not mine.

Murder & Larceny, and another ampersand pun from the Molen guys. "Screaming bloody murder" is the anglophonic counterpart, and yes, the beer is good enough to apply the proverb. 

All the usual Molen-boxes are ticked: a big, fat body, with a rich tan head. Sublime nose, with hints of smoke, vanilla and bourbon. There's a hint of playful, saturnine mischief lurking in the darkness, which I put down to the rye malts. While it's a big nose, it's not a big fat booze bomb at all: you can sniff the glass all evening and never get bored, nor overwhelmed, but ultimately, you're tempted to take a sip.

In the mouth, this beer simply oozes flavour. There's a nicely balanced smokiness in the undercurrent, beyond noticable but well within limits. Rye and oat malts complement this smokiness splendidly, and the bourbon sits just at the detetection threshold. It's truly amazing how well each individual ingredient of this beer pairs off with the others: the smoked malt elevates the roast and prevents it from becoming ash-like. The chocolate is tempered by the roasted, oat and rye malts, which prevent it from turning the beer into a more familiar (and I daresay less interesting in this case) chocolate-and-coffee stout. The bourbon barrel ageing adds a slightly boozy sweetness, but is quite delicate when compared to recent-day bourbon stouts.

Although they're completely unrelated style-wise, I'd like to take the opportunity to refer to Emelisse's Smoked Rye IPA. Both beers have an aluring undercurrent and an intriguingly delicate smokiness which make them an utter delight to drink.

Truly a marvellous beer, exceptionally well balanced and rewarding. Thanks, BeerBert!

Drunk separately the next day, each from within the confines of our own comfy chairs, we tasted the Emelisse Black & Tan. While I had half an idea what to expect, I daresay I was totally unprepared for this one. 

Okay I forgot to take pics alright?
Stop rubbing it in already!

Black-and-tan (sometimes called Half-and-Half) , for those of you interested in beer history, is something like a beer cocktail. It's a blend of two beer styles, which the landlord would blend on site according to the customer's taste. Typically, a pale ale and a dark beer would be combined in one glass, sometimes presented in two individual layers.

Beer for the pathologically indecisive.

In this case, the blend is between Emelisse's own TIPA (a splendid triple IPA) and their IRS (a solid imperial stout, well suited for all kinds of shenanigans). What's not on the label is the fact that it's also been aged on Islay whisky barrels. 

Peat lovers, start your drooling.

The beer pours a very dark brown, almost black, with cola touches near the edges and a light tan head. Nose is medicinal with peat and smoke at the forefront. While the intensity is quite moderate, the peat amplifies the experience, making this come across as a bit of a wrecking ball.

In the mouth, the first impression is a full gale blast of peat and smoke. Seriously, if you can't stand smoked malt, and if you're not already a dyed-in-the-wool fan of Islay's signature up-front peatiness, then you might as well turn back now. Very little of the constituent beers remains upright under the onslaught of Islay barrel goodness, and you're left with something which most resembles a firm-bodied stout. Not exactly an imperial, but by no means a dry stout either. The DIPA is normally quite (*) hoppy and chewy, and although the chewiness remains in the blend, the hops are entirely washed out by the peat.

*) by quite I mean very but not ridiculously. Adjectives become somewhat meaningless when discussing the hoppiness of double-and-above IPAs

That initial blast of peat mellows down slightly, after which the beer becomes intesely phenolic, in an absolutely unique way. Yes, there is a hint of medicine in there, which is precisely what makes Islay-fans seek out these iodine-and-sea-brine flavours. But the medicinality is really just an undercurrent: the impression which really carries the beer all the way home is one which is decidedly unique, and which took me until the last sip ere I could finally put the finger on it. This beer, ladies and gentlemen, tastes like vetiver smells.

Not that many people know what vetiver  smells like but still.

Truly a unique beer, this Black & Tan, but subject to polarisation. Some people will love it, but most people I know will consider it to be at least too much.

I am one of the latter: it's a beautiful beast of a beer, and it coated my tongue for the rest of the evening. Marvelous job again from Kees&co!

Greetz

Jo

 

Hoppy Slosh Steps Out!

It had to happen sometime. Living in Belgium, combined with a fondness for beer in all and any shape, necessitates a trip to Mecca. Exactly where its beery equivalent may lie depends on the beer geek in question, but I daresay more than a few will point towards the West.

't Es oldoare peizek

The West, from where I'm standing, would be Flanders' Fields.
The Westhoek.
A place so steeped in ancient history that the Flemish spoken by the locals is incomprehensible even to the staunchest of Flamingants. Think of the place as something between Blackpool and Oregon, populated by people who've learned the Dutch idea of Welsh from illustrations in a textbook.
That, but in Belgium.

But i digress...

Some people, he said, realising the rapidly rising level of offtopicness, claim that BeerMecca is situated at the abbey of St. Sixtus. For, all evidence to the contrary, still people seem to believe that "the best beer in the world" (*) is brewed by the Trappist monks in Westvleteren.

*) if such a thing exists, which I'm increasingly less certain about since a Google search on "best beer in the world" returns a picture of a Carlsberg bottle, some guys quaffing gallon-sized Oktoberbeer and a girl in a pink top.

I could ramble for quite some time about the harmful legacy which the late Peter Jackson has inadvertantly bequeathed unto beer, Belgium and monastic tradition alike when he hinted at the superiority of Westvleteren 12, but I'll leave that until some other time. That's how nice a guy I can be.
Fact of the matter is that ever since, so many people have been seeking out this beer that the hype exploded to ridiculous proportions and hasn't stopped balooning since.

Suffice to say that it's hard, as a beergeek, to drive through the region and not make the effort to stop at the abbey's visitors' center (*) to score a sixpack of it. I know enough people willing to part with a few surplus limbs in order to acquire a bottle of anything called Westvleteren, and truth be told: I'd forgotten what it tastes like myself.

*) for those not in the know: like most trappist abbeys, St.Sixtus isn't open to visitors. The visitors' center of which I speak is a bistro-like tavern named In de Vrede, situated just outside the abbey's walls.
Not a monk in sight, and the brewer's kettles are carefully hidden from view.

Scarceness breeds expectations, so here's to all things beery! BeerBuddies Bert, Frank and Goya, myself included, set out across Flanders' most pittoresque highway ("den E40 nor de Kust") and eventually settled down in de Vrede, a freshly poured 12 smiling beatifically at us. Except at Frank, who'd ordered a 6 because someone had to.

What to say about a beer which is so hyped even Belgians lower their voices when they speak of it? Even if they've never tasted it.

The 12 is a standard dark quadruple, with a typical but restrained banana-yeast nose and a moderate dose of spices. Alcohol is present but not at all distracting. Round and balanced, with a mellow, slightly chewy medium finish. Comparing it to other trappists is inherently nonsensical, since only three(*) of them are even remotely related in style, but if I must, I'd say the 12 is the easiest, most balanced of these four.

*) By which I mean the Rochefort 12, the Chimay Bleu and, for the heck of it, the La Trappe Quadrupel. I'm disregarding the Austrians and the Americans for lack of having tried them, as well as the fact that comparing them is a bit like comparing four otherwise unrelated puppies. Unfair and pointless.

There's nothing wrong with this beer, mark me well, but it's nowhere near special enough to warrant a lengthy detour, an overworked and underwhelmed tavern staff, and some pretty stiff prices. The tavern, the only place in the world where you're guaranteed to find the elusive brew, is spacious, but swiftly fills to full capacity on weekend afternoons. Beer is served from the bottle, so those hoping to enjoy a draft Vleteren had better quench their hopes already. The 12 is a wonderfully balanced beer, spiced without becoming a quad monster, and extremely drinkable. The 8 is an underwhelming brown ale, somewhat unremarkable on all levels, and the 6 is a wheaty blonde with some banana hints that befit its heritage.

None of these beers, I think, are world-shocking at either end of the good-bad scale.

Pointing straight at "meh".

I know, hold your horses already, I know!

It doesn't take a lot to transform the casual beer drinker into a snob. But, I asked myself several times these past few weeks, what's the difference between snobbery and being picky?
I've become a fussy customer where beer's concerned, I know that. I'll even apologise profusely for it whenever I understand people make an effort to accomodate my zythological quixoticness, and fall somewhat short of my ridiculously elevated bar of standards.

I know I'm a spoiled little beer brat, but I also know that at least half of Westvleteren's credits are due to its scarceness. Fill the supermarkets with the 12, strip it of its Trappist logo, and suddenly the world will stop caring so ludicrously much about it and simply admire it for what it is: a solid, balanced beer, expertly brewed in a tradition and style already overpopulated by similar brews.

Adding all of that up leads me to conclude that the famous Westvleteren, in either of its 3 incarnations falls short of the hype. Nowhere near worth the price they charge you in the visitors' center's shop (20 euros, not even batting an eye in shame, for a sixpack, I kid you not), and certainly a whole lot less than what they charge all over the world for a bottle. I've been places where you're charged 20 euros for one single bottle, and are expected to count yourself lucky.

That being said, I'm quite happy I got to try one again, and that I invested my 20 euros in beers to hand out to people who would otherwise have to part with one of their kidneys in order to acquire one. I am however all the more convinced that the world needs to be told, repeatedly and vociferously, that it's a hype.

It's a hype, I sez!

When drinking Westvleteren, nuance needs to be applied, lest one become conviced the hype is true, or, perhaps sadder still, that it's no good.
It's good, alright, but not that good.

I'm also quite certain I can easily tell the 12 apart from the so-called identical Sint Bernardus Abt. Go on, make me eat my words :)

Next week on Epic Rap Battles

All ranting aside, this trip to Westvleteren was actually only a pit stop, as we were really en route to that other place so many call BeerMecca: nearby (Oost)Vleteren where the Struise Brewers abide.

Give or take.

--------------------intermission starts about here------------------------------

Bear with me for a second.
Or ten minutes if I succumb to digression again.

In all that follows and came before, understand that I realise the parallels between the Struise and the StSixtus monks all too well.
Both brewers produce beers which are almost impossible to find outside of the specialty market. Some of the scarceness of the Struise brews stems from export issues, sapping the local market of its merchandise, while the trappist monks abide by the monastic laws of their order, resulting also in scarce beer.
Both produce beers which cost a bit of money (although the Struise's can actually be picked up for cheaps if you know where to look). Try as I might, I find it hard to reconcile the monastic tradition of poverty with the elevated prices of the on site brews. What wackos all over the world are willing to pay is up to them, but €5 for a beer is expensive, no matter how you look at it. De Struise have some budget brews priced around €2 on site, and charge robust prices (€15 and upward for a 75cl bottle) for their specialty brews. But, as you'll read below, these are specialty brews, often one-of-a-kind deals with a low chance of re-entry into any market whatsoever.
It's important to understand that both breweries have a different approach to beer, and to the selling of it. The monks brew beer as part of their ora et labora ideology, in which "surplus" beer can be sold to visitors, with the profits being considered non profit: used for charity and maintenance.
The Struise brew because they love beer, and have made a living from that love.

I'm aware of the parallels, as well as the differences, and while it may seem at times like I'm keeping double standards, I am actually willing to dish out credit either way with all of this taken into account.

--------------------done with the intermission I think------------------------------

That being said: the welcome at the Struise could not be more different from the aloof tourist attraction in Westvleteren if they'd put on skirts and danced the french can-can. Carlo and Urbain welcome each of their guests in person, and pour their beers with a generosity which borders on wellfare. I swear, we almost had to insist we pay for our drinks when we left.

And we'd had quite a few, I must add.

The brewery is located in the building of Vleteren's old elementary school, with much of the equipment installed outside in the school yard.

The only school which only opens on Saturdays

A narrow corridor hosts an array of beers for sale, as well as a graveyard display of  ridiculously rare and yummy foreign beer bottles, all sadly empty. An old class room has been converted into the visitors' center, with desks and chair and a blackboard on which the brewing process is outlined in chalk. Behind some barrels looms the Struise Rig, with no less than thirty (count 'em, biaatches, 30!) beers on tap.
No food, no bowls of nuts, no uniformed waitresses.
Just the Struise and their brews.

Oh and we ran into Kees Bubberman & crew. The Emelisse boys were visiting to pick up some gear for an upcoming brew, and we had a nice chat with them. More on Emelisse sometime soon, I promise :)

In the course of the next couple of hours, we had quite a few beers, served in 15cl sample glasses. With such a vast array of beers on tap, it'd be a crime to use the 33cl glasses Belgian beers are normally served in.

"Something easy to start with?", Urbain winked, while pouring us our first brew, the immensely drinkable Imperialist pilsner. With its 8-point-something % ABV, hidden under a playful load of Galaxy hops, this brew firmly asserts the Struise's merrit. Compare this to (and I know I'm being unfair but they asked for it) Jupiler's Tauro before InBev chucked its risibly prominent balls into the bin by lowering it from 8.2 to 6-point-something, and you realise the Struise know what beer is about.
The Imperialist is an imperial pilsner, higher in alcohol but still immensely smooth and refreshing. Unlike turbo lagers the world over, it isn't cloyingly sweet or chemically bitter, but fresh and hoppy.
First brew in and already I am in awe.

Between the four of us, we tucked into some of de Struise's trademark black brews. Apologies if I missed any in the overview below.

Mocha Bomb, Black Mes and Blackberry Albert were all on.
They're all incarnations of the Black Damnation project, in which their signature brew, the Black Albert (sadly out of stock) is blended with De Molen's Hel&Verdoemenis and submitted to the brewers' wiles.

Probably more accurate than we think

Mocha Bomb was slightly boozy (courtesy of both the H&V as well as the swig of Cuvée Delphine which make up part of the blend) and delicately coffee-ish. Surprisingly gentle and civil for such a monster brew. The Blackberry Albert, as hinted at by its name, has blackberries it, imparting a delicate tang to the brew, which is carried by a subtle port barrel undercurrent. Not much blackberry to be detected though.
The Black Mes is pure Black Albert, aged on Caol Ila barrels. It's got a nice kick to it, as it whispers soft obscenities under its breath.

Cuvée Delphine comes as a stand-alone brew as well. It's the Black Albert again, in unblended form and aged on Four Roses bourbon barrels. If you're into sweet brews, with a touch of boozy delight, Delphine's your thing. Not unlike a boozy bonbon, but in a good way. Compared to the Black Mes, the Cuvée is much more feminine and, all innuendo aside, more rounded.

O.N.E. takes the idea of the Cuvée Delphine and applies it to the Struise's other flagship brew, the Pannepot. This quad has been aged on bourbon barrels, and the result is a wonderful, robust yet delicately sweet brew.

But, and it's easy to forget this, the Struise brew more than black beers. In fact, some of their more risqué brews these days are anything but black. Take the recent Weltmerz for example, a low-alcohol lactic brew with hints of apple, flowers, and yoghurt. Definitely a polarising beer, but I for one am very much impressed by it. As if it weren't audacious enough already, Urbain&Co have made a variation by infusing it with red forest fruit. The result (I didn't catch the name, sorry) is a vividly red, immensely tart and puckering brew with an overpowering nose of berry skins, foresty things and something I can't put a name to. My guess is this one was quite young ("only" three years on a barrel, or so Urbain claimed) and needs to settle a bit before it becomes enjoyable. In its current state, it's too astringent, and perhaps a tad too rash.

If barrels are your thing but booze ain't, then I simply must recommend some of their more off-centered brews. T.H.R.E.E. is a barrel aged tripel (or a golden quad, I could't tell) which tastes more like an spiced light barley wine, thickly laced with oak. From the nose to the finish, this is a massive oak brew, with inbetween hints of vanilla and marzipan.

Similar, yet slightly more delicate, is the Rio Reserva, which has a bit more bourbon going but still shows that prominent woody flavor.

Apart from the red Weltmerz derivate, not a single questionable brew was encountered at the Struise. In fact, I was impressed by the side-by-side comparisons of their myriad of black'n'boozies, as each was able to hold its own, and reveal a different and distinct personality.

A note of criticism, ere someone accuse me partiality and bias. If you visit the Struise (and I insist that you do), try to enquire in advance if there's a group visit planned. The tap rig is installed in the class room where the (lengthy) group sessions are held, and if your plan is to try lots of different beer, waiting in the narrow corridor-annex-shop for the occasional break so you can have a refill is perhaps not your idea of a fun afternoon. I should hasten to say that I think the groups session is probably very worthwile: Carlo will take his time to run you, school style, through the entire brewing process. I'm sure if you ask politely, he'll even give you some pointers on how to brew something passable of your own.
Also, be forewarned that you're visiting a brewery where, sort of by coincidence, you can have a beer or thirty. It's not a tavern or an actual shop or a tourist attraction, so there's no food, no kiddie rides, no formal staff, no actual parking. I like that quaint and bare-basics approach of de Struise, but if your plan was to have a family outing, someone's going to end up disappointed.

As the day drew to a close -a pox on you, daylight savings time!- we headed back home, and there was much talk of beer and beery things related to beer.

If I'm making all of this seem like the monks are somehow to be avoided, allow me to set the matter straight.
If you're in the Westhoek on a Saturday, I fully recommend you pay a visit to Vleteren, be it Oost or West. Preferably both, if only to witness the difference in style and attitude. The deal is pretty straight forward.

You want WestVleteren and a see-saw for the kids? Head to SintSixtus.
You want beer in ways most of Belgium hasn't even dreamed of? Head to de Struise. My preference is the latter, but then again, I'm a spoiled little beer brat.


Greetz

Jo

Borefts! Beer! Buddies old and new!

Every year, the guys at De Molen organise a festival, highlighting some of the best breweries of Europe and thereabouts. Given my partiality to just about everything Menno&co undertake, it was only a matter of time and logistics ere I was able to attend in person.

Witness me attending

It's been at least twenty years since I attended a beer festival, and things have changed a lot since then. Not only am I older (and -at least by a margin- wiser), but the beer scene has changed as well. It took a Dutch beer to convince me that Belgium is not the navel of the world's beer belly, and it's since become clear to me that borders and beer simply don't combine well. Borefts embraces and in fact embodies this idea, and brewers from all over the world (alright, Europe plus the UK then, if you insist) joyfully examplified the concept of beer as a borderless unifier.

My buddy Bert and myself arrived early, as we'd been informed the whole town of Bodegraven would be taken over by the festival, and parking space would be scarce and contested. We were in luck and scored a parking spot in the very shadow of the brewery's eponymous mill.

What else could they've called it?

One advantage of arriving early to Borefts this year was actually being the first to whine to the Närke guys about the absence of Kaggen! Stormaktsporter. But Christopher kindly introduced us to the brewery's seasonal forest-inspired ales, pouring me a nice and balanced spruce beer called Gran Sus (*). A nice and friendly beer, with a firm Munich malt body, which gently evolved into a subte and lingering herby aftertaste. Not at all piney, but very mellow and utterly hospitable. Beer Buddy Bert had a beer with moose grass called Äljäjl, which did some pretty evocative things in the mouth, but was somewhat feebler of body, compared to the Gran Sus.

Good thing they didn't bring forest bears

Looking back, I'm sorry I didn't get to try Närke's other two forest beers, as the brewery had clearly made an effort to evoke the Scandinavian wildlife, without chucking their beers full of composting humus. A nice introduction to a brewery whose renown has reached the point where it's almost ludicrous. Very curious as to what else these guys can do (wait for it, we've only been here ten minutes).

*) It speaks volumes for the Swedes that they have a word for the wind blowing through the treetops. 

Onwards then, for across the street loomed the familiar shape of Dennis, patron saint of Beer Geeks the world over. He was manning De Struise Brouwers' trailer, an impressive array of (I didn't count but I daresay exaggeration is minimal) thirty taps. Dennis, being who he is, was singing beery praise to all and any with an ear to hear, and recommended the visiting Spaniards of Laugar, hosting nearly a dozen beers at the far end of the trailer. "Give them your love" he said, and love them I did and still do.

Nine garage brews. Au lait!

A jovial bunch of energetic beer enthusiasts, with an impressive array of beers on display. I had their ridiculously amazing Hop Shock, a low-alcohol (3.9%) session IPA with oodles of flavour. Immensely drinkable, and from what I hear, the festival favourite of quite a few people who would have got insanely drunk had they chosen differently. Beer Buddy Bert tucked into their very juicy Pumpkin Saison, a darker-than-usual, beefier-than-usual but again expertly crafted and insanely drinkable session beer.

There was no way for us to escape our orbit around Dennis' considerable gravity. The man helped me to a magnificent new version of De Struise's Ypres, which was so drastically different from the bottled version I'd tasted earlier this year it might as well be a different brew.

It's pronounce "wipers".
Even by Yprians.
Yperites.
People from Wipers.

Dennis revealed the new version is matured on Bordeaux barrels instead of the (less impressive) Bourgogne barrels, and it turns out this makes a huge difference. Vinous and tart, the new Ypres easily stands up to the greatest of Flemish Old Brown ales, and should be an instant pickup for anyone even remotely interested in the style. Urbain, I salute you! Beer Buddy Bert delivered himself unto the tender mercies of Saint Dennis, and was poured a generous serving of Laugar's flagship brew: the Aupa Tovarisch Oporto. Bert loves his black beers, and this one did not disappoint. Rich and complex, like any imperial stout should be, with a thick fat layer of port whipped liberally in between. Almost too much port, but in a good way: never did it become something spiked with boring grape juice, and the stately but tiresome flavours of over-aged ales were also pleasantly absent. Laugar are undertaking efforts to market this beer, so if you ever encounter them, don't hesitate. A brewery to watch, and for my part the pearl of the festival.

Burgers then, because the above was all just an excuse to be the first to reach the food stalls. Aperitifs safely slurped up, we tucked in for some grub, but I hasten to say we didn't waste too much time chewing, which is only proper when attending a beer festival.

A brief stroke of undecisiveness later found us queueing the taps of London's Finest: The Kernel.

London baby!

Toby himself did the honours, pouring me a very decent, but somewhat underwhelming and otherwise nameless barrel aged bière de table, a cloudy, pale-white saison of 4.6% ABV. The barrels where subtly there, and truth be told: without them, the beer would have been disappointing. But what was there made it an enjoyable lesson in humility: thin without actually being dry, with a casual nod at tartness, and a whiff of french oak. Oh but in the late September sun, the beer did grow on me. Bert, who likes his blacks, had fallen in love with the Imperial Brown Stout, aged in Glen Spey Whisky. And really, what can I say about this beer which can ever do it any justice? The Kernel's signature toffee/chocolate/coffee flavours are so perfectly paired off with the stately, slightly smoky balance of the scotch barrels, that the beer becomes instant organoleptic bliss. The only thing which could have made this beer any better (and I'm quoting Bert here) was a big fat cigar.

Time's awastin', so onward, to Jopen's array of brews. The cheerful ladies (wo)manning the taps were demonstrably proud of the brewery's achievements, and introduced us to one of the leading trends of the festival: gruit beer. Granted, the Koyt isn't really a gruitbeer, but close enough. BeerBert went for the Gouds Gruit which was really gruity. I don't normally pick up that typical herby gruit flavour, but in this beer it was pretty much all there was. Real nice if you like that stuff, but I'm a hop head myself, and I tire easily in such a herbal presence. I went for the Gratzer/Grodziskie. Normally a heavily hopped, smokey beer style, this one was sour and tart, and a little watery. Another trend this year was light-bodied, low-ABV beers, and while this one was all that, I found it perhaps one of the least impressive I sampled. Somehow, I still haven't had a Jopen beer which blew me away, and while I gave the Gratzer every chance, it remained a bit underwhelming.

Unlike the location of their pub.

Time for a short break, and some cheesy comestibles, whilst chatting to a couple of fellow countrymen, equally impressed by all the quality brews on display. BeerBert found himself accompanied by his first Italian brew: Brew Fist's X-Ray, an imperial porter. I thought it was pretty decent, but BeerBert's palate is becoming harder and harder to please, especially where black beers are concerned. I contented myself with nibbling the cheese, but quickly found myself facing Amager's Envy, which I was informed is the base beer which in pimped form became the Gluttony I had earlier this year.

Eat that, David Fincher.

Amager is another one of those breweries who can do no wrong, it seems. BeerBert, who likes his blacks (*) obviously went for the Hr. Fredriksen Nieport, another splendidly barrel aged imperial stout. Maybe my tastebuds were getting tired but I found drastically different from Laugar's port-based Aupa Tovarisch, and a bit heavier. A hint of tobacco perhaps.

*) did I mention Bert likes his blacks already? He sneaked off for a sip of De Struise Brouwers' O.N.E. while I wasn't watching.

Off our lazy asses, and back into the awning's shade, to check out what Thornbridge was up to. Ever since they introduced me to British ales when I was in London, I've had my eye on them, but they're hard to find in Belgium, besides which UK ales (especially Thornbridge's) tend to underwhelm when bottled and compared to casked (*)

*) casked beer is really a different product from bottled, kegged or canned beer.
A bit like soft cheese vs hard cheese.
Only different and without cheese.

Thornbridge brought their big and stately Bracia, barrel aged on bourbon. Guess when BeerBert stopped reading the menu? Not a stout but a strong dark ale, a bit like a quadrupel or a wee heavy. Bert wasn't too impressed and I concur, with reservations I'll line up a bit further on. For myself, I went for the Rum-aged Kacho porter, a wonderfully subtle brew which to me confirms Thornbridge's outstanding reputation. The rum brought wonderful flavours of cane sugar to the brew, as well as slight boozy tingle. A bit on the thinnish side, but I'm blaming that sip of Bracia I took earlier. For here's the snag with Thornbrigde as I've experienced them so far: they brew absurdly subtle brews. The Jaipur I remember from two years ago, and the Bracia, as well as the Kacho; all are stately but delicate brews, easily overshadowed in the presence of boozily barreled USA-inspired beers of today. I understand BeerBert's reservations towards the Bracia, especially in the light of several thick black impy stouts already savoured earlier. For my part, I was charmed by the Kacho, which stood out precisely because it wasn't a big ass brew. But on a festival like Borefts, it's easy to dismiss Thornbridge's elegance in favour of more bold and brazen brews.

Still working our way across the length of the festival's main venue, we stopped at Toccalmatto rig, where the Italians had set up a nice display of quaint-looking bottles. From what I've seen of Italian brewing, I gather presentation is not just the icing on the cake but part and parcel of the beer itself. Toccalmatto took this perhaps a step too far: a beautifully presented Russian Imperial Stout (Wild), aged on red Sagrantino barrels and decanted like a treasured wine, failed to impress either Be(e)rt or myself. It was a beautifully aged beer, no question, but the typical port-and-madeira flavours of aged beer got in the way with what I've come to expect from an impy stout. Similarly, their nameless Göse didn't really do much, and was a missed opportunity to put the brewery's stamp on the festival. If you're bringing a salty beer to Borefts, you better make sure it stands out, or people will end up disappointed.

But what a spectacularly classy presentation it is!

Heading back across the street to the brew house, I tried Närke's 5 o'clock Special: a thick and immensely sweet honey Braggot. Impressive, but not my kind of beer: shitloads of honey which acted like a fire blanket on top of the booze underneath. Braggots were another notable presence on the festival by the way, with many brewers bringing along their take on honey-and-herb beers. Again: not a style I'm particularly fond of, but it's always nice to see old traditions rise up from the past.

We chatted to a visiting Spanish couple with whom I forged some beer-swapping plans to be executed in the near future (*).

*) the plans. Not the Spanish couple. Just thought I'd clear that up. More on those plans later, as they reach fruition.

Meanwhile, we sipped some more Spanish beer, this time by Napar Bier, whose name is growing every day, even outside of Spain.

Naturally.

I had the Back in Black IPA, a robust, roasty chunk of solid brewing skill, while BeerBert hopped across the border to France to sample Brasserie du Mont Salève's Imperial Stout, which finally pierced the myth that French don't know jack shit about beer. Mont Salève is a brewery to watch, and I'm very curious as to what else they can do.

Giant twenties lady derails cable car.
Read all aBOUT it!

I think at some point BeerBert went back to The Kernel for refill of his festival favourite, the Imperial Brown Stout because when I got back from an urgent number one, he was chatting up brewer Evin. Turns out the Kernel don't really have many secrets, and base many of their beers on old 19th century recipes. Making mental notes to do some research of my own, we bid the Kernel goodbye and headed off for some local Chinese food to make a splash in our beer-laden bellies. Irony being what it is, we found a great beer store selling (almost) only Dutch beers, literally within a hundred paces of the Molen's own beer-emporium. We grabbed a few things to try back home, found and devoured some Chinese (*) and headed back to the festival for one last glass.

*) no denizens of the People's Republic of China were harmed in the process described above

The festival ended with a shared glass of De Molen's Russian Imperial Stout, aged in used Balsamico barrels. Yes, that's another novelty which others are picking up too: aging beer in non-boozy barrels. I wonder what's next. Beer in sauerkraut jugs? Natto-infused Imperial Double Wheat?

This, only in a fancy glass.

A quick stop at the beer store situated in the old mill proper, where agonising choices were made but some great great beers were purchased, and off we were, on the long and endless road home.

This was our first time at Borefts, and a fun time it was. Splendid weather, jovial guest and hosts, plenty of time to chat with people and strike up new friendships. I'm definitely going back.

Optimism only works if there's anything left in the glass though.

Until then

Greetz

Jo

Brewz anewz

I know, Constant Reader, I know.
I have been neglecting this blog, and you along with it, for far too long. And while my beery exploits in the months past have been diverse and many, time to yack about them has been scarce and without plenty.

Also this.

But hark! Rather than banter about other peoples' beer, I'll banter a bit about my own while I have time to spare.

So far, my supply of home brew has been dwindling swiftly. In order to correct this skewed situation and prevent my cellar from becoming a place of dry and dreary sobriety, I have decided to step up my brewing activities. Brewing is not a summery activiity per tradition and we can't mess with tradition now can we?

Unless tradition involves running from a herd of enraged bulls whilst wearing something red.

Bottled just this weekend, the prototypes of the Zwarte Madam are getting ready for sampling. I hazard that in about a week's time, I should be able to crack one open and reach a verdict. 

Bottled Bliss(*)

*) math-savvy Constant Readers may realise I am still nowhere near a point where I can confidently predict my final volume of brew. While I think I can account for most of my losses, I'm still not brewing a full 5 gallon batch.

From what I accidentally gulped down during bottling, the basic version is really smooth and chocolatey. More a slick porter than the top-fermenting ersatz-schwartzbier I had in mind, but very tasty even in its unfinished state. The three bonus batches I'd set up to test my various mystery ingredients were a mixed bag. One showed a lot of promise, the other forced me acknowledge my over-enthusiasm where dosage is concerned, and the last one...well...let's keep that last one our little secret until it mellows down a bit.

So far, we're dealing with a pitch-black robust porter of about 8% ABV and about 17° Plato. After bottling and maturation, I'll need to present to the Silsombos crew to see if it makes any sense to them. Even if it doesn't (porter isn't a common style over here), I'll have learned a thing or two again, and now I have a lovely basis for Porter à la Moi. 

So yay me!

The other brew is a cloning experiment, set up to get Beer Buddy Bert started on the road of Making-a-Mess-in-the-Kitchen-Whilst-Doing-Beery-Things. We went for Brew Dog's Libertine Black, a potent and ballsy black IPA, brimming with Simcoe hops. 

Brew Day went splendidly, and if I had a beer for every time someone mentioned hot cocoa after seeing our mash, I'd need another cellar just to store the labels.

Hot cocoa!
Idiots.

Brew Dog were kind enough to list (hopefully all of) their ingredients on the Libertine Black's label, so we slammed together something with a least a chance of approximating the original, and are now fairly certain we'll get a drinkable black IPA for our efforts.

Now dry hopping with what looks like not enough Simcoe.

Will it resemble the real thing? We'll have to wait and see.

Until then,

Greetz

Jo