When in Rome: HoppySlosh Goes on Holiday(*)

*) not actually to Rome though.

Ah. The holidays. Pack your baggiest shorts, your floweriest shirt and your toelessest sandals, head down south and soak up some rays.

And some local cheap ass lager while you're at it.

Well not if you're me, you don't. My sandals may be toeless, but my shirts are plain and I like my beer authentic thank you very much.

Because there has to be some proper beer in Europe, right?

On my last visit to De Struise, I met Cécile and Benoit, a French couple of beer geeks who've quit their jobs to chase the dream and sell beer. As I may have hinted at before, France is considered to be very much a third world country in terms of potable beer where most Belgians are concerned. Needless to say, I was happy to make their acquaintance and promised to stop by their beer shop in Nîmes on my way down to Spain this year.

Promise is like a pie crust, but when I tossed the idea to the Missus extending the duration of our annual 2-day road trip to the Spanish Costa by an unknown length of time "because honey, they sell beer! In France!", she did not bat an eye. "Of course we're going to see them, dear. It'd be lovely to meet them".
I have such an awesome wife.

Yes you are, honey.

So off to France!

Et un peu vite quoi! Hein?

Benoit was off with the kids when we stopped by on the way down to Spain, but Cécile was happy to point me towards the aisle containing the French beers.

Not my pic because the camera was -where else?- waaaaay down at the bottom of the trunk.

Turns out the French have been busy, and there are quite a few microbreweries enthusiastically cooking up beers which are decidedly un-French. IPAs, always the heralds of budding craft brew movements the world over, are becoming common, and there were even a couple of porters on display. With limited space left in the car, I let Cécile help me decide on six bottles of various but always French origins (°) and then it was time already for us to take our collective leave, with promises to return on the way back home.

°) because, really, when you're in France, in a store like this, you bury your misgivings and buy French beer. Even if they stock some awesome international beers, and even if they have some Belgian beers you'd much rather find around the corner at home.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I dutifully and with no small amount of personal satisfaction worked my way through this small stash, sitting beside the swimming pool, in the residual heat of the longest and largest heat wave sweeping Spain (and most of Europe) since the invention of recorded meteorology.

Suffice to say it was a bit hot.

From Curemonte in the Dordogne hails Brasserie Corrézienne,  with an impressive array of beers in their portfolio. HopHopHop is (du-uh) a hoppy American Pale Ale which, besides a rather forward resinous twang, brought loads of grapefruit and pine. A very smooth brew, and an excellent eye-opener: the French know beer!

No.
I meant beer.

They also do a double IPA called Dordogne Valley, which blew me away.
Rich tropical fruit, pineapple and mango. Juicy and smooth with a bitter kick at the finish. I found it to be almost New-Zealandish with its fruit-basket punch, and while the label only mentioned Chinook, Centennial, Simcoe and Amarillo, the website also mentions Nelson Sauvin which could explain a lot.

Or else it's the secret ingredients they chuck in the mash.

Matten, from Matzenheim, near the German border, did a collaboration brew with the (now sadly liquidised) Brasserie Fleurac. Highway to Ale (°) is a 666-themed IPA, with Brewer's Gold giving it a very British character, leaning more towards a Barley Wine à la Old Foghorn than an IPA as we know it. A bit monocline perhaps,but pretty decent.

°) Zee French are not zee onlee waans oo laik laffink wif zee French accent, eh?

Smack in the middle between Die and Gap we find BhB, a cocky bunch (°) of upstarts brewing all sorts of crazy like they were Brew Dog with a baret.

°) David D and his myriad of fractured personalities.

Rudimentary Peni is a hoppy wheat lager (who does hoppy wheat lagers? In France?) which smells like Skittles and tastes like spicy watermelon. Awesome beer, and great gift for anyone called Rudi.
Grätzer is (du-UH-huh) a grätzer(°) with a wheaty-lemony smell which belies the mild but pronounced smokey tartness underneath.

°) a nearly extinct Polish beer style. Think smoked weizen, only different.

BhB is one of the only breweries in the world who pair beer with music, and each comes with its own recommendation. De gustibus etcetera but if turn the volume down a bit, you're left with two excellent beers from a brewer I'm very keen to meet and whose beer I'd very much like to have available here.

Brasserie de Sulauze lies not far from Marseille. I got their Pan Pan Cul Cul, a dangerously quaffable rye IPA. Piney and citrusy in the nose, with spicy rye on the tongue. Exessive carbonation made this turn out a bit weak in the body, which was a shame because it's evidently a good recipe.

So. Six beers to re-introduce me to French brewing anno 2015, and I'm hooked. Take into account the fact that France is a nation built on tradition and conservativeness (°), and you may appreciate the relative novelty of these beers. Sure, there are more innovatives brews aplenty to be found elsewhere, but try finding anything like decent IPA in France without actually knowing in which village the brewer lives. France's beer revolution is still very much in its grassroots phase. A small number of renowned breweries aside, most are still very much local, and very much trying to establish a foothold, which isn't easy in a country whose inhabitants are used to Pastis, Pelforth and 1664.

Or, à dieu ne plaise, panaché.

We stopped by the store again on the way back home, with the camera even deeper enconced inside the trunk, but again, Cécile and the now-present Benoit were very hospitable, and we left with another (modest but precious) cargo of French beers, forever ambassadors to not only the Global Beer Cause, but also to L'Arene des Bieres. Seriously, if you're ever anywhere near Nîmes, drop by and give them your love.

You'll be reading more about French beers as soon as they've recovered from the journey and have found their way into my glass.

Until then,

Greetz

Jo

HoppySlosh Innovation: Leuven Innovation Beer Festival hits the ground running

Fate is a fickle bitch.

Ain't it just so?

One day you're running a brewery in the hinterlands of Brabant, the next your looking at its smouldering ruins while the devil shits hot coals down your spine.

In January 2015, a fire laid waste to the buildings in which Hof ten Dormaal housed its brewery. Even though most of the equipment was salvaged from the flames, a large part of the brewery's stock was lost. Things looked pretty bleak for the brewery, and its future looked as promising as a republican during the pre-election tour.

And slighty less cheerful.

A bitch she may be, but fickleness comes in forms not always unpleasant. Even as the ashes were still smouldering, the beer community reared up. Incentives were launched, crowdfundings initiated, and brewers the world over reached out to lend a hand.

Instead of rejoicing at their competitor's misfortune, brewers from around the globe came to their friend's rescue, and before the end of winter, the brewery's future was more or less secured. Flame and fire and a shitload of bad luck later, Hof ten Dormaal was still in business, and the display of compassionate camaraderie in the face of such misfortune was a sight for sore eyes in these seemingly callous times of selfish capitalist opportunism.

Long story short: in the wake of all that's happened, André decided to launch a festival. Tired of Belgium's somewhat sad reputation as the Land of Blonde, Dubbel and Tripel, he decided the theme of the festival was to be Innovation.

Hence, perhaps, the name.

As I have lamented about before, Belgium doesn't seem to be too keen on foreign beers, but will you just look at that list of attending breweries? 

BeerBert and I attended the last day of festival, in the stunning venue of Leuven's historical brew house De Hoorn. 

"You've got style" achievement unlocked.

The venue alone would be a reason to visit the festival all by itself, even if there was no actual beer present, but sometimes fate smiles on us, and we can have our cake and eat it too.

Because who would lie about cake?

But there was beer (*), and some of it was really quite innovative (°).

*) obviously. Wouldn't be much of a beer festival if there wasn't, right?

°) obviously. Wouldn't be much of an innovation beer festival if it wasn't, right?

We started things off with a visit to Siren Craft Brew's, stall. They embrace a brew philosophy which I've come to think of as the New Wave of British Brewing, which is somewhere in the middle between present-day contintental craft brewing and contemporary USA attitude. This translates to beers like the wonderfully refreshing Calypso, a Berliner weisse hopped with Comet and Simcoe. I remember having the Amarillo version earlier this year (°) but this iteration was decidedly more rounded and complete, blending the lactic sourness of the Berliner weisse with the American craft vibe of Simcoe and Comet. Deelish. 

°) Praise be unto Saint Arnoldus for specialty beer stores (De Caigny in this particular case). If it weren't for them, we'd never have proper foreign beer in Belgium at all.

Beerbert had the  7 Seas, a black IPA (*) with 7 C hops. 

Clever beer needs a clever name.

*) I know. It makes no sense until you drink one. 

From there on, we headed over to Goose Island. Yes, friends and neighbours, Goose Island showed up at a Belgian festival. I was sceptic about the obvious tie-in with InBev (*) but honestly, I was happy to see them.

*) Seriously. When you exit the Leuven train station and take a right, just walk donw the road for 5 minutes. Before you know it, you will find yourself inside InBev Citadel. It's like mini-Europe with Leffe posters plastered all over it. Pretty weird, a craft beer festival in the middle of enemy territory.

BeerBert had their Sofie, which, despite being called a farmhouse ale, tasted more like an up-state wit. Loads of orange zest, with a faint lactic/wheaty zip in the back. Classy, but not my taste at all. I went for the Class of 1988, a complex beer with tonnes of oak and grape. 

Much much later, Goose Island brought forth their flagship brew in the form of the Bourbon County Brand Stout and its Vanilla Rye variant. The Constant Reader may recall my infatuation with both the 2011 edition and the Vanilla edition, but it saddens me to say that time has made me a difficult geek to please. I found the the BCBS 2015 and the Vanilla Rye both to be overly sweet. Syrupy brews, both bordering on liquid ice cream desserts. Oodles of flavour, yes, but the sweetness got the better of me very quickly. Festivals like this are a dream for beer geeks though, because they provide an opportunity to taste rare(°) brews which would otherwise remain unobtainable to them. In this case, quite a few visitors where possitively creaming themselves in aticipation to snatch a sample of BCBS, to the further glory of All Things Craft. Say what you will, but Belgium's just not kitted out for this kind of stout violence.

°) and sometimes pretty damn expensive.

Lunch then. 

Hell yeah.

De Hoorn hosts a pop-up restaurant where we were served a nice meal, which we washed down with some brews by De Molen, recommended  by John & John. BeerBert had the Cuvée#3, a blend of thisses and thats, aged in various barrels. I think my exact words, upon sniff ing the beer, were "Even if I never got to taste this, I'd still be happy knowing just how amazing it smells". It has that signature Molen-smell all over it: roast and coffee and chocolate and booze and leather and vanilla and lots and lots of other things all just screaming at you to be drank. Spectacular brew again, and empiric proof that you can't go wrong with De Molen's stouts. I went for Groot&Sterk, a beer which was described by various people as "that ham beer". A smoked barley wine with a spicy chili bite, this really was a lot like prosciutto in a glass. The fleur de sel was a nice touch as well, emphasising the meaty character of the beer, without turning into beery broth. Awesome, and well into innovation territory.

Think this, minus the actual meat.

Heading back inside, we bumped into Kjetil, the gentle viking and CEO of Norway's Nøgne ø brewery. Whilst sampling his outstanding Vic Secret IPA (gotta love those NZ hops) as well as the Aurora Australis (°), I goaded him into commenting in my homebrewed fenugreek porter.

°) Aurora has an amazing story behind it. Apparently, it is a Norwegian tradition to send alcoholic beverages across the globe in order to benefit from the temperature fluctations as they cross the equator. How much of this is yippy-talk I cannot say (how many Norwegian alcoholic beverages can you name?), but in Aurora's case, the beer (a Belgian-style quadrupel) is brewed in two locations. A batch is brewed in Grimstad, Norway, where Nøgne ø is located. The other is brewed in Beechworth, Australia, where friendly brewers Bridge Road are located. Kjetil racks his batch into whisky barrels and sends them to Australia, where it's bottled as Aurora Borealis. The guys at Bridge Road rack theirs into red wine barrels and ship to Norway where it gets bottles as Aurora Australis. Wonderfully complex and vinous, and another fine example of International Innovative Intoxication I mean Inventiveness.

---

Interludium : fenugreek & festivals

---

Really, there is no better way to get feedback on your own brews than by asking a brewer his opinion about it.

So every time I attend a festival, I make sure a haul a couple of bottles along with the express purpose of harrassing brewers and anyone interested until they voice their opinion. If they think it's shit, I'm counting on them telling me. And while the "It's shit and this is what's wrong with it" comments are invariably priceless in terms of learning and upping one's game, secretly of course, there's always that eager kid inside hoping for approval from the big guys.

So, pepper fenugreek porter this time, and a single bottle of Zwarte Madam with raspberry. For the heck of it.

---

Done Interluding

---

Kjetil seemed to genuinely appreciate my porter, which made me all fuzzy and glowy on the inside. Until (and I kid you not) he asked for seconds! Which made me all glowy and fuzzy on the outside as well! 

I was all, like, wiiiiiiiii!

John&John seemed to like it too, so I must be doing something right. 

Back to the actual attendees, whose limelight was in no danger of being eclipsed by yours truly's homebrews. 

We headed over to Tiny Rebel, where we sampled the vowel-less cwtch, a Welsh red IPA which I thought had a bit of lager-funk going on. I've said it before and I'll say it again: IPAs tend to not work well for me in a festival setting. There's only so much hoppiness I can objectively compare before my brain and palate seem to fuse into a single alpha-acid saturated lump of lupulin. I'm sure the cwtch would have fared better had I tried it earlier though, as it was a very decent brew. I got a taste of the Dirty Stop Out which was a solid smokey brew.

Stillwater Artisanal's Surround is a coffee-flavoured beer and delivers its coffee in spades. Reminded me a lot of cafe con hielo which I like having on hot spanish mornings whilst on vacation. 

Sidling over to Freigeist Bierkultur for quick primer to what's brewing in Germany of late, we got ourselves some Nosco's Café, another coffee infused brew which reminded me a bit of my own Yog-Shotoddy, which is both a good thing ("Hey this could have been brewed by me.") and a bad ("I'm not sure I'd want that particular brew to be on display at a festival"). 
Later on, I tried their Atlantis Gose, a beer which seems to drive home the fact that I am underwhelmed by most goses. This one was a mildly lactic, refreshing and uncomplicated brew. I can see myself using this as a reward for mowing the lawn: easy, quenching  and interesting without being complex.

Wenn ich meine Rasen gemähet hatte, möchte ich gerne eine Gose trincken bitte. 

Ja?

Heading out for more sun, I dragged out two brews by Foglie d'Erba. HopFelia is a an Americo-Italian IPA, hopped with USA hops and, surprisingly, Tettnanger in dryhops. Freewheelin is its DIPA counterpart, using pretty much the same ingredients but in a double version of the HopFelia.

Perhaps it's just me and festival-IPAs again, but I found myself a bit underwhelmed. There was a certain lingering undercurrent to both beers which I've started to associate with Italian IPAs, and which doesn't seem to agree with me.

Kees!  was there!
And he brought (among others) his intensely roasty Export Porter 1750. A robust, bitter, but very smooth brew which impressed me no end. The nutty flavours which I detected in the batch he brought to ACBF earlier this year were gone, and I think what Kees has produced now is pretty much as authentic a porter as we could hope to get without actually drowning an entire borough in it.

Horror, even without metric conversion.

Brekeriet were present, and I had their Rye Whiskey Sour which brought a big smile to my face. Daring to the point of being brash, the beer was assertively sour, with the rye and the whiskey bringing an smoky touch to the whole. The best weird sour I had that day. 

Time to head over to the award ceremony; walk this way please!

No, not that way.

---

Interludium : brewing contest

---

Realising how homebrewers have ever been at the forefront of innovative brewing, André organised a competition, inviting attending homebrewers to submit their most novel brew.

I hastened to oblige and submitted Good Girl Ginger, figuring a ginger-hibiscus radler-saison hybrid would be adequately innovative to have the jury sit up and take notice.

Meta never felt so good.

Long story short, I did not win but got honourable mentions for innovativity. The beer needs work (quite of few of my beers do) but the idea seems solid enough to explore it further. Which I will, and you will read about it when I do.

This Honorable Mentions thing, together with what seemed like genuine approval from whoever I subjected to my brews is certainly invigorating, and an incentive to step up my game.

Congratz to the winner and the runners-up! Pity we never got to sample each other's brews though.

---

Done Interluding Again

---

A couple of post-ceremonial samples later (*), BeerBert and Yours Truly settled on the terrace with a final serving of Cuvée#3 (°), whilst chatting about beer and nationality and whatnot with the amiable Mikkel .

*)Zure van Tildonk was a pretty classy lambic-ish brew, and the Revenge of the Raspberry was revealed to be a beer re-racked onto raspberries, which imparted a solid falvour without the color. Definitely one of the more innovative ideas I saw explored to great effect that day.

°) Someday, I'm going to post something deep and meaningful about "the final beer of the festival" and what this says about both the beer and the festival, but today is not that day.

In spîte of being relatively below-radar, this was a fantastic festival, crammed with nice people, nice beers, in a setting which was just awesomely spectacular.

André, this was a blast. May friends, good cheer and good beer be ever with you, even in the face of chaos and the fickleness of fate.

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