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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 :)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
 |
| '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... |
*) 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. |
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.
.jpg) |
| 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 |
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 |
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
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