Apostrophising

An invitation to judge at this year's Brussels Beer Challenge had me in Belgium a fortnight ago. Despite the name, the event moves around the country, and this year was hosted in the far south: the sleepy village of Marche-en-Famenne in Belgian Luxembourg. You probably don't need to put it on your must-visit list and I can't tell you much about its hospitality establishments, although it has several. Judging was conducted at the local council's sports hall, and for the opening night there was a reception with beer pouring from a number of local breweries. It appears that the local dialect of French likes apostrophes, because they featured a lot in the beer names.

I started at the apostrophe-free Brasserie de la Lesse, and their pilsner Top Lesse. This pale and murky fellow was an instant reminder that Belgian pils is its own thing, and very nearly became fashionable a year or two ago. The horror! The problem, in this very typical example, is that it's far too dry, lacking all but the most acrid of leafy hop bittering and totally devoid of soft and balancing malt. The defining feature is a mineral rasp, like water with too much dissolved metal in it. In accordance with proper judging procedure, I award this example full marks for style fidelity, but I don't recommend drinking it unless you already have an affinity for specifically Belgian pils.

Next up was Brasserie Du Comte Hener, and one called IPA'ir Tendue. It's an IPA but I'm not going to unpick the name any further than that. Pale and hazy, with 5% ABV, the aroma begins on fresh and zesty citrus but quickly devolves into some ropey chlorophenols. There's no escaping that in the flavour: bleach, and plenty of it. No freshness; none of the rounded fruit esters that the Belgian way of brewing can impart. No enjoyment, in short. I well remember when exploring the world's beers meant regular encounters with commercial offerings that tasted like low-grade homebrew. It rarely happens these days, but this beer brought me right back there.

We plod along to La MA'riebrasse in the hope of better beer. Dark seems like a good idea right now. Their La Sainte MA'! Noire is not billed as a stout, but it has a lot in common with it. A chocolate foretaste kicks things off on the right foot, and is followed by a bouquet garni of herbs, from which I could pick out thyme, rosemary and fennel, though I'd say none are included in the recipe and it's all done with hops and a spicy, phenol-forward, Belgian yeast. 6% ABV gives it a satisfying weight, and ensures that the flavours are bright and the finish long. We haven't quite escaped from the homebrew effect here, but this unorthodox offering is at least fun.

Brasserie du Château de Leignon is the grand name of the next brewery in the queue, and Leignon Triple is the beer. I kept having to correct my spelling away from the usual Flemish "tripel". This example is broadly to style, with a thumping 9.1% ABV and a heat to match. The flavour is dominated by sweet pear, with no more than a hint of clove to make up the spice side of the profile. The overall impression is of a hybridised hard candy, part clove rock, part pear drop, and with enormous potential to cause devastating hangovers.

The brewery with the fanciest mobile set-up was Rochehaut, investing in American-style branded tap handles for each of its draught offerings. There was another tripel too, called simply Rochehaut Triple. This is another very clovey one, and although it's lighter than the previous at 8.5% ABV it's still pretty damn boozy, with the hot syrupy character offset only by the cold serving temperature. A bottle would likely have been much harder work. Still, I liked its full and chewy body, and that might have been lost if they dried it out more. I'll file this one under "workmanlike". And also "not bad for free".

Rochehaut also brought their winter ale, Hivern'ale. Kegs being what they are, this copper-coloured job was also pouring at Arctic temperatures, so at the beginning it was easy to miss its 10% ABV. But while it rounded out nicely after a few minutes under the lights, it didn't develop any great flavour complexity. There's clove aplenty once more, and a more piquant minty quality. The dark side manifests as no more than a sprinkling of burnt caramel. While I can see how it would work as a beer to drink in cold weather, I don't see the advantage of it over more mainstream -- and better -- year-round dark Belgian ales. Pick a quadrupel, any quadrupel.

But one more tripel before moving on. Triple du Miel is from the St. Monon brewery and, as the name states, is made with honey. I liked the idea of that, reckoning the flavours would be nicely complementary. Before I even got there, I found honey in the aroma, and indeed it was well integrated into the tripel experience, not feeling artificial or tacked-on. The honey is a bit more punchy in the flavour, tasting more waxy than sweet. The base beer is only 8% ABV and doesn't have much to say for itself; I was just happy this one didn't taste of cloves. On the whole it's decent and drinkable, but ultimately rather plain, in a way that this kind of strong ale shouldn't be. I still think there's more room for honey/tripel experimentation, though.

From the same brewery: St Monon Brune. Other than Leffe, you don't see many of these in the northern reaches of Belgium, and I think this one could easily pass for dubbel up there. It's a full 7.5% ABV for one thing, although the alcohol is well hidden. An attractive clear dark ruby colour, it opens with an almost porter-like roasted grain aroma. The flavour has lots of dubbel's fig and prune notes, but without the warmth it feels a little like something is missing: it doesn't go full fruitcake, and maybe that's what makes it merely brune. Regardless, it's a lovely beer, even if it's slightly strong for what it delivers.

There was something a little similar from Microbrasserie des Coccinelles, called La Morhette au Clair de Lune, pouring from a 75cl bottle. This one is a mere 5.9% ABV, and quite a pale amber colour for a beer invoking night scenes, but it tastes the part. There's a solid backbone of rich roastiness and smooth caramel, then a generous heaping of mixed Christmassy spice: clove, yes, but nutmeg and a little cinnamon too. It finishes dry, your slice of fruitcake served with a mug of strong black tea. Everything about it is incredibly, deliciously, Belgian. Except for the ABV.

Our finishers are pale. First it's a blonde ale by Brasserie de Tenneville, called Tenn'City. This 6.2%-er is a fizzy beast, and surprisingly light, given the strength. It refreshes almost as well as a lager, with only some mildly sweet pear and melon notes to indicate warm fermentation. This won't win any awards for complexity or elegance, but it's one of several I drank on the night that I would be perfectly happy to have as a characterful local beer if I lived in the region.

An IPA brings us out: how modern. And it's canned, too. Johnny is from Babeleir, in the big city of Namur, and is 6% ABV. It's straw yellow and lightly hazy, all contributing to its general too-cool-for-Belgium vibe. I'm guessing they've tried hard to make it taste like the New World, promising juice and a soft texture, but Belgium will out, and this seemed very much in the Belgian IPA style to me. Rather than juicy sweetness, it's a cleaner hard-candy effect, in both the flavour and aroma. The tell-tale cloves sneak their way into the middle, and the finish is assertively bitter, very much in an Old World way, with lots of Germanic grass and herb. For something presenting as fun, it's a little harsh, but I enjoyed the various twists it took. I don't get new Belgian IPAs very often, and it's noteworthy that I didn't see many others in the room, so finding this one was most welcome.

You may have noticed, as I did, a slightly amateurish vibe to many of the beers on display. I don't know if that's typical of small rural Belgian breweries in general, or just this somewhat remote part of the country. As someone who mostly sticks to the big Flemish cities, it felt a little like stepping back to the Belgian beer of 10 or more years ago. That can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the beer, but it's always interesting. In the next post I'll be stepping into a couple of other local breweries for some at-source critique.