Reintroductions

In late October, on a cool and clear Saturday afternoon, I found myself in Brussels for the third time this year. Not that I'm complaining. When a man is tired of Brussels he is tired of beer. Or hasn't done his beer research properly. Lunch was in order, nothing fancy, and I picked Manhattn's, an American-style burger joint alongside the Bourse.

Most of the beer here is supplied by Palm, and I had never had their flagship lager, Estaminet. I don't know if the ill-advised craze for Belgian pils has passed now, but one might have thought this is an archetype for the style. I don't think it is, though. Crisp corn is a hallmark of the likes of Stella and Maes; this one is floral and perfumey, following on from a wholesome porridgey aroma. It's estery, not dry, and far more like a Belgian blonde ale than a pils. Broadly that's a good thing but it doesn't make this a good beer. Ticking a ubiquitous beer off the to-do list is about the only satisfaction I got from it.

From there, down the street to Moeder Lambic Fontainas, where I hadn't set foot in a while. The seating has been rearranged, the rear upper deck has been lowered to become a ground-level lounge, and there's a brewery, though I'm told it mostly only makes the house soft drinks.

An IPA to start me off: Modern Mosaic, by Italians Ritual Lab. It's pale and completely clear, and has the delicious cantaloupe aroma which is exactly what I want from something advertising Mosaic. At 6.5% ABV it's heavy and sweet, but juicy too, with bags of assorted tropical fruit. The finish is clean, leaving a residual peach nectar and no real bitterness. It might have benefited from some, but otherwise this is a very fine expression of what the Mosaic hop can do when it's on form.

I couldn't leave without giving the Catalonian grape ale a whirl: Barrica Merlot, from Ales Agullons. It's pink, which is to be expected but isn't always the case with these. The aroma gives us a pleasant mix of cherry and raspberry, in keeping with the wine it's emulating, and there's a lovely seasoning of old oak spices. It's a little sticky, which I didn't expect given that it's only 5.5% ABV. The first thing that arrived in the flavour was a hard wax bitterness, not dissimilar to what you might get from a straight geuze. The sweet and juicy red grape takes a moment to arrive, but when it does, it lingers long, making this a rewarding slow sipper at a very approachable strength. Soft vanilla oak takes us out. I loved how slowly the flavour unfolds, and this unhurried complexity puts it on a par, for me, with the really good grape ales I've tasted from Italy and Belgium.

Brussels was not the destination. I had been invited to be one of the 90-odd (some extremely odd) judges at the Brussels Beer Challenge commercial beer competition. Despite the name, it moves around Belgium from year to year, and this year was being hosted in the eastern city of Turnhout. The actual judging bit was spread out over the following three mornings, but around it was built a quite wonderful social programme. That began with the pre-contest reception in the Typistenzaal, a beautiful art deco event space which was formerly part of a vast printworks which once took up much of the town's footprint.

A group of local brewers had been invited in to offer their wares for sampling. A couple were entirely new to me, including Den Berg, who had an also entirely new Brut IPA. It's pretty much exactly what you would expect one of these to be, being a bright clear yellow and tasting mostly dry with a hint of peach. They tend to finish abruptly and sometimes have a tang of sweat or onions. This one doesn't, offering instead a long finish of white grape. I've no idea if they plan to put it into regular production, but I think they should.

Gallico was the other new one, a client brewer branded on a classical theme. It owns the Taxandria series of beers, named after the Romans' word for the area. Hoppy Hunter is a dry-hopped lager, one with a nice shot of dankness to begin, but then an unwelcome plastic twang from its Sabro hops. Unlike many hop-forward modern lagers, they've gone big on the bitterness, to the point where it has more in common with a north German pilsner than an American pale ale. There's still a little bit of stone fruit hanging around, though it doesn't dovetail well with the bittering, or the plastic. Bit of a curate's egg, this one.

Next in sequence should have been Taxandria Copper Ale but I didn't get round to trying it on the night. Luckily, the brewers were responsive to my cheeky request for a take-home bottle. It is indeed a copper colour, though "amber" is the more usual beer term for it. Lots of head forms on pouring, then settles back to a thin skim. The aroma is warm and fruity, in a very Belgian way, and making no secret of its 8% ABV. But while it's all apple and raisin on the nose, the flavour is drier, with breadcrust, rye crackers and marmalade shred. The heat is still there, and the body matches it, being rounded and full. It has a lot in common with the multitude of Belgian golden ales, though I miss their cleanness in this deliberately dirtied-up job. It's fine. Belgium has plenty more similar to it.

They were warning people to leave Peaty Barrel to the end. This is a 9% ABV stout, including actual bourbon whisky in the recipe and then aged in Islay barrels. As one might expect, that has left it extremely peaty: turf and iodine for days. The stout isn't lost, however, adding a soft fudge sweetness behind it all. The downside is that, for the strength and style, it's a bit thin, accentuating the severity and preventing it from being the smooth and warm sipper I wanted it to be.

From just north of Turnhout, where Belgium meets the Netherlands, then meets Belgium then meets the Netherlands again, is De Dochter van de Korenaar, a brewery which is no stranger to these pages but not as regular as it was a decade ago. I've tended to find their rustic farmhouse beers more interesting than good, but was impressed by the newer ones.

That started with Nouveau Riche, a wheat beer with rosemary. And boy is it rosemary: you can actually feel the oils on your tongue. The wheat beer base is there to give it texture, but contributes little to the flavour, which is all savoury roast-lamb goodness. I fully recognise that this isn't a beer for everyone, but it suited me.

The mad stuff begins with L'Ensemble di Montalcino, a barley wine of 13% ABV, aged in the titular Italian wine barrels. It's quite hot, but maybe that's to be expected. Sometimes the oak and age smooths such things out; not here. The flavour is dominated by chocolate -- very much the dark and classy continental variety, rather than a Dairy Milk. Added to that, but much subtler, is a mature red grape or old red wine characteristic. The palate needs a little time to adjust to the booze, and the reward is a very enjoyable late-evening sipping beer when it does.

That leaves Rien Ne Va Plus, one of the oddest beers I've ever encountered, at least as regards its production process. This one, too, begins as a straightforward strong barley wine, but it has had even-stronger grain alcohol added in, and is then left to age in barrels for six whole years. They've called it a "malt-port" and it's enough to give any Irish Revenue officer nightmares.

But by golly it's worth doing. The end result is 19% ABV and retails for about €17 the 500ml bottle. It's an almost perfect recreation of the flavours of actual port, all smooth and vinous, with a solid but not intrusive kick from the fortification. The brewer said it was an experiment and he had no idea how it would turn out. Six years is a long time to wait for that, but I bet he thinks it was worthwhile now. Magnificent stuff, and a recommendation for anyone who's into the dark, boozy, barrelled-up side of the trade.

There were two more breweries in the room, but I'll be drinking the wares of both in later posts this week. Next, we pay one of them a visit.