June 25, 2008
It’s impossible to forget the first time your taste-buds are left smarting from a slap of Belgian beer.
Like most, I was weaned on traditional lager or pilsener, the kind of stuff ‘Johnny Sixpack’ might pick up in his, well, pick-up.
To make watching sporting events palatable, such as our failing local hockey team’s perpetual first round exit from the playoffs, or as an adjunct to a post-work barbecue in someone’s suburban backyard, our greatest concern was a six-pack that wouldn’t tax the wallet—and would leave us comfortably under the $10-dollar mark to to grab a bag of Doritos and pay for the last bus of the night without having to scramble for change.
If any of these bargain garage sale suds strayed too far from having what we came later to realize was a distinctly “beer” finish, it wasn’t uncommon to hear “it’s got a bitter aftertaste” bellyaching. This was odd, given that whenever anyone would inhale a candy bar, you’d never hear a “isn’t that a sweet aftertaste?”
Belgian beer, as I came to learn, not only has aftertaste, but a heady “before” and “during” taste as well, and furthermore, some types weren’t bitter at all.
Like the first time I guzzled a Guinness and realized it wasn’t a facsimile of orange juice, like a Corona, or the first time I took a belt of whiskey left out in the bedroom of an older acquaintance whose jail-bait sis was hosting a party for precocious 9th grade tipplers, I realized it was a flavor distinctly unlike I’d ever encountered.
Most people’s experience with Belgian beer comes via Stella Artois, which goes to show just how damn spoiled the Belgians are as that is the worst beer they make.
However, their other, more interesting beers trace their origins back to monasteries from the Middle Ages, and the product was so damn good many a monk broke their vow of silence to say as much. Unlike a lager, where the yeast ferments at the bottom at cooler temperatures, or an ale, the opposite, where the bits of goodness rise to the top, Belgian ‘Lambic’ beers do so spontaneously within the bottle itself.
This is admittedly a bit weird, and leaves the drinker wondering if the little bits floating around in the bottom of the bottle aren’t the result of the local bog water source, rather than natural springs. It’s also closed with a cork, so that you couldn’t give it to the guy who got straight A’s in shop class to remove the cap with his teeth.
Lambic beers are also laid down like fine wine to age, and sparkle as well. One of the sub-types (Kriek) is given a second fermentation with sour cherries, and another (Gueuze), is sometimes called Brussels Champagne.
For a country with a population only slightly higher than that of New York City, Belgium has 125 breweries, and an eye-popping 1000 + brands. Having been recently wowed by fruit beers, not for sissies as it turns out as they often pack a 10 and 12% alcohol punch, I figured I’d make a beer pilgrimage to the land that makes, and it pains me to say this with a mother and grandparents who hail from Germany, the world’s finest beer.
I visited the Cantillon brewery, and if anyone is interested reading more about the brewing process, you can do so here, as this is not the forum to bore you with minutiae.
– Chris
For more Shark Guy travels, check out what happened to Ireland’s supply of a certain stout called Beamish when Noel visited the Emerald Isle by clicking here.
July 12th, 2008 at 11:18 am
With a very special thanks to Suzan Krepostman for the photos.
July 15th, 2008 at 11:09 am
thanks ;) !