Brace for the nonsense

Not for the first time, Melissa Cole said it best: "Are you here for the nonsense?" The nonsense in question is the Belgian Beer Weekend, a festival of sorts which takes over Grand Place in Brussels on the first weekend of every September. I had never been, and have Carey to thank for putting it into my 2023 schedule.

It is not as other beer festivals. There is, and I don't think this gets mentioned enough, nowhere to sit. Standing, perching, shuffling is the way of it. The payment system is a convoluted one, whereby a card is issued, for free, at the entrance, which needs to be topped up with credit by phone. Said credit is for buying beers but, this being Belgium, each exhibitor has their own glass on which you pay a deposit, refundable when you bring it back: perfect for a Bavarian quaffing fest; an absolute pain for a small-measure Belgian sipping one. Still, I bravely put up with it for several hours over two days, and here's what I sipped.

Swinkels was using the occasion to launch yet another Rodenbach brand extension: Rodenbach Evolved. I'm a huge fan of basic, unevolved, Rodenbach Classic, and I'm guessing all the variants are made with the likes of me in mind, but I've never found one I prefer over the original. And so it is with Evolved, which started out as ordinary Grand Cru and has been aged for ten years. The first and most obvious difference is to the texture: it's very thick and chewy; bready and spiced, like a hot cross bun. Think of it as an after-dinner sort of Rodenbach. Normally, Grand Cru is too vinegary for me, so at least they've knocked that out of it. Indeed the sourness is so minimal that I found myself missing it. The spritzy happy medium between Evolved and Grand Cru is, of course, Rodenbach Classic.

Staying with the sour, Lindemans launched the latest of their fruited lambics. It never occurred to me that Tarot Noir, at a grown-up 8% ABV, would be kin to their various artificially flavoured sugar bombs, but unfortunately it is. There's no sourness, just lots and lots of tooth-rotting pink-tasting candy. "Forest fruit" is the official description; blackberries, blueberries and black elderberries are the touted varieties; meh, next, is the review.

Sweetening up their act more successfully was Duchesse de Bourgogne with a Cherry Chocolate version I hadn't seen before. This retains the richness and sour poke of the original, but adds a complementary sourness from the cherries: nothing sugary or syrupy about it. It's not a kriek, being too warm and dark, but it's an interestingly different twist in the same direction. The chocolate side is minimal, barely perceptible, and I can't help thinking that's a good thing. Adding flavourings without losing sight of the classic beer underneath must be tough to do, but this one manages it in a pleasingly no-nonsense way.

If it's nonsense you want, of course, there's no need to go past the Huyghe stall, which was pouring a wide range of Floris flavoured wheat beers, plus the Mongozo range, served in a half coconut, as is correct. I have been intrigued by the existence of Floris Cactus for decades, and here was my chance to try it at last. It certainly provides some green for your money, being a brightly lurid bubblebath colour. The flavour resembles nothing so much as a Fat Frog ice lolly and therefore, presumably, the alcopop named after it. It's a sweet lime candy effect set on a soft texture; sweet but not cloying, but very silly and unbeerlike. I have a soft spot for it. I discovered Belgian beer through the likes of this so I'm never too angry at them for pulling daft shapes.

On a more serious note, Huyghe was also pouring Deliria, a strong blonde ale they originally produced for International Women's Day. At 8.5% ABV it appears to be pitching at Duvel's end of the market, which is a perfectly worthy target. It carries the same sort of lagery dryness with sparks of herbs and pepper up front and a little peach and mango arriving late, carried by the alcohol heat. It doesn't quite have the easy-going poise of Duvel -- few beers do -- but presents a decent take on the same angle.

Multinational-owned Grimbergen is a brewery I've come to associate with overly-sweet beers in standard Belgian abbey styles, so was very intrigued to see Magnum Opus brut beer. It turned out to be a very clear pale yellow and 8% ABV. The wine yeast has certainly cleared all the sugar out, and the result is extremely dry. There's a hint of grapefruit peel which I'm guessing is down to whatever hops they used. The aim seems to have been to create something crisp like Champagne, but it hasn't really worked and lacks the subtle complexities -- pale toast and white grape -- that I would expect to find in something like this.

Though I knew that Achel had lost its trappist designation, I didn't know it had changed its blonde ale. I wrote about the 8% ABV Achel Blond way back in 2007. In 2016, it seems they changed this to a 9.5% ABV beast called Achel Superior Blond. I gave this a go when I saw it. Though it has a very clean white sugar base, there's a fun herbal complexity to the flavour, giving me aniseed and rosemary in particular. That makes it seem a bit like a tripel, mixing the savoury and sweet aspects, though drier and much more like a standard, but very good, Belgian blonde ale. I have tended not to enjoy Achel's beers in general but this one had me thinking they're worth a revisit.

Vesper Tripel, by Brouwerij Cornelissen, came my way early on. This one is 9% ABV and a perfect clear golden. The flavour is intensely bitter, all raw green vegetables and wax. That certainly gives it character, but I'm not sure it's one I appreciate. While tripel may not be supposed to be easy drinking, I found this example to be too much work to be enjoyable.

I spotted Red Flo advertised on one of the vans on the festival periphery, and made a point of buying one just because the name is so silly. It's not even red, being a straight tripel from the brewery Flobecq. Orange-amber in colour, the aroma goes all-out for bready malt while the flavour is rough and grainy with an acrid, tacked-on, bitterness. This is not a good tripel, lacking any warming smoothness or invigorating spices. While far from bad, its big loud flavours make the wrong kind of noise.

Conversely, VBDCK Brewery nailed its target style with Kerel Bière de Garde. This one is appropriately dark orange and as crisp as you like, showing just a tiny pinch of citric bitterness. I got elements of straw, melba toast and wheat crackers, plus a certain soft richness, like golden syrup, for balance. Bières de garde are sufficiently rare that I'll always choose one when given the option. While this one offers little by way of complexities, it still does the basics very well.

Finally for today, a shot of whisky, in the form of Cuveée Clarisse Whisky Infused from Brouwerij Wilderen. The base beer is a 9.2% ABV dark ale, and the bourbon barrel boosts that to 10.2%. It's a murky dark red in the glass, giving off highly unsubtle sweet whisky liqueur flavours in the foretaste, with vanilla dominating. There's also a burnt brown sugar edge, creating a kind of crème brûlée effect. Surprisingly, the finish is quick and it's very light-bodied and easy-drinking too, which something of this strength shouldn't be. Overall it's decent and unfussy, which is a bit of a failure from a beer that ought to be a flavour powerhouse.

That wasn't the only traditional Belgian style getting the bourbon treatment at the festival. See tomorrow's post for more.