Wit is it?

Poor neglected witbier is today's subject. The style's problem, as I see it, is that the archetype Hoegaarden has perfected it and there isn't much room for improvement. I'll grant you St Bernardus may have managed it, but otherwise* it's not something worth brewing because you'll only get "not as good as Hoegaarden" as feedback. I don't think any other beer style suffers from quite the same issue.

Anyway, I'm giving two other Belgian examples a whirl, beginning with De Brabandere's Bavik Super Wit. The brewery has a raft of tied pubs in west Flanders, which is presumably why this exists, a Hoegaarden-matching 5% ABV. Immediate negative points were scored when it poured completely clear in the glass, looking identical to a pils. I gave the lees a good shake but no extra haze was forthcoming. They've nailed the soft wheaty texture but the distinctive witbier flavours are very muted. Coriander is no more than a mildly soapy twang, and I couldn't pick out the alleged orange zest at all. What remains is a dry grain effect, bringing us back to the similarity with pils. Nothing wrong with pils, but not what I was after. This is a very dull affair, and not even the glorious sunshine could save it for me.

I figured La Chouffe would make a better fist of things. For one, they've struck out on their own with a bold 6.5% ABV on Chouffe Blanche. That gnome has hollow legs. Again, it was initially clear in the glass but a swirl at the bottom of the bottle gave it some haze, as well as an oddly deep orange colour. Spices and herbs fill the aroma pleasingly, while citrus zest sits up front in the flavour. I was expecting it to be a little hot and heavy, but if anything it's thin, lacking that rich Belgian warmth. I guess when your flagship is 8% ABV you're really slumming it down here in the mid-sixes. It does bear a closer resemblance to La Chouffe Blond than Hoegaarden, though. A peppery spice suggests that La Chouffe's signature yeast is involved here somewhere. And maybe that's the key to breakout witbier: don't clone Hoegaarden; go somewhere else with it. This didn't deliver what I wanted from a wit, but I still really enjoyed it. I can see it being a nice trade-down for the dedicated La Chouffe drinker looking for something lighter but still packed with gnomeish character.

Conclusions? Err... still Hoegaarden for me please. Or Bernardus when I'm feeling fancy. The Chouffe does indicate that there's room for exploration here still, though.

*yes, yes, I hear you, Allagash White fanboys and fangirls.

Konnichi Watou

For some reason there's a bar in Tokyo themed around the St Bernardus brewery in west Flanders. As good a theme as any, I suppose. In 2012 the brewery produced a special witbier for it, and again I'm not sure why: St Bernardus already has a perfectly serviceable wit. It was meant as a one-off but was revived earlier this year with an updated recipe and distribution which included my local off licences.

The website describes Tokyo (for such is its name) as somewhere between a saison and a witbier. It's half a percent stronger than St Bernardus Wit at 6% ABV but looks ordinarily witty: yellow with a faint haze and a frothy white head. The aroma too, of sweet oranges and gentle peppery spices, says witbier to me. There's something different in the flavour, though. I get green tea and aniseed, bringing a kind of oriental feel to proceedings. The official blurb says I should be tasting chamomile, clove, banana, vanilla and red apple. The first of these, yes, but it's not complex enough for the rest.

This is no radical re-imagining of witbier. Pierre Celis would still recognise it, and maybe even enjoy it. If you fancy a mild twist on standard witbier, but still well-constructed and not too outré, look no further.

Hopping up to Dundrum

There was quite a turnout on Friday evening for the second beer tasting evening run by Deveney's off licence in Dundrum. Ruth did a great job keeping the punters' glasses filled, and in the correct sequence too.

The theme was Belgian, and there were a few in the line-up I'd never had. Vedett Extra White, for instance. Though I'm not a fan of Vedett lager, I thought this worked quite well, and had a hoppy bite you generally won't find in a witbier. It's a tasty alternative to Hoegaarden, even if not quite up to the standard of St Bernardus Wit in my estimation.

I was also quite impressed with Chapeau Kriek -- a wonderfully aromatic and easy-drinking cherry beer which put me in mind of Bellvue Kriek, an old favourite now gone from the Irish market. I can see myself getting a few of these in for al fresco drinking as the longer evenings arrive.

Find of the evening, however, was another of those oh-so-fashionable hoppy Belgian blondes: Gouden Carolus Hopsinjoor. Unlike most of the others I've tried, this has a really crisp, green, fresh hop character sitting on a very typical blonde Belgian ale which is not a million miles from the likes of La Chouffe. Remarkably, the hops aren't crushed under the sharp bitterness of the Belgian yeast. Ruth had some LeFebvre Hopus -- another of this style -- lying around, a beer which I tried recently but hadn't yet got around to posting about. I was interested to try them side by side to see if the Hopsinjoor really is hoppier than the opposition.

Hopus gives off an innocent and sweet tropical fruit aroma: mangos, melons and the like. There's quite a bit of head, which settles stiffly after a few minutes. The fruity aroma is complemented by that sharp yeasty character once the lees are poured in. The bitterness in the flavour -- and there's a lot of it -- is probably half-and-half from the yeast and the hops. It's peppery and tangy, unlike the raw vegetal Hopsinjoor, and the 8.3% ABV gives it a very pleasant overall warmth.

The bottom line is, I guess, if you want your hopped-up blonde to taste of actual real hops, the Hopsinjoor is the one to go for. However, if you'd like them to contribute to a more complex overall fruitiness, then Hopus is your only man. As a person of simple tastes, I think I'd go for the former, but that's not to say Hopus isn't a great beer.

Thanks to Ruth for her hospitality again, and it was great meeting Lisa of What We Eat as well. I'm heartened by the interest in quality beer being shown by the upstanding citizens of Dundrum. Long may it continue.

And if you're in the area, don't forget to drop in to Deveney's to pick up a bottle or two of something interesting.

Hanging with Bernard

The weather hasn't improved much since my last round of St Bernardus beers back in June. Not that that stopped me trying out the lighter and paler beers in the range.

St Bernardus Wit first, with its strikingly non-retro foil label. It's quite pale and yellowish, and shares the same kind of firm heavy head as the Prior 8. The texture is very prickly, generally a positive addition to the classic witbier spice. But of that spice there was very little sign. The whole taste experience was really rather watery to begin with. I'd been storing the bottle on its side in the fridge so had let it stand a while before opening, to allow the considerable sediment drop down to the bottom. Really I shouldn't have bothered: as soon as the lees went in the flavour opened up and all the great things about Belgian witbier came out. The coriander and orange peel were easily spotted and there's even a good bit of hop character to it. The result is an aftertaste of spice and honey following an up-front tart and sherbet-like citrus kick. The fingerprints of Pierre Celis, godfather of witbier, are all over this. Yet for all the complexity and rather high 5.5% ABV, it's still a very quaffable beer and didn't last long in my glass.

The monastic hierarchy series of ales bottoms out with Pater 6, pouring light brown with lots of floaty bits and that familiar cream topping. The nose is brimful of raisins, though the taste is light on fruit, with just a hint of it, dominated by a sharp and yeasty bitterness. My overall impression was of an easy-going, relatively lightweight, but very Belgian dark ale: your every-day sort of abbey beer.

Last of the bunch is the Tripel. From the bottle it's a beautiful shade of orange with a promising suggestion of spices on the nose. A bit like the Wit, I was underwhelmed with my first sip and was about to dimiss it as flavourless when the toffee arrived: big slabs of it. What I'm normally after in a tripel is summer fruits and exotic spices, but there are only traces of these in here. The end result is quite low-key, but pleasant enough. No match for any of the trappists in the tripel stakes, however.

(The complex historical relationship between the St Bernardus brewery at Watou and the nearby brewing monks of St Sixtus in Westvleteren is explained rather well by Stan Hieronymous here.)

Next on the agenda for me is the Great British Beer Festival in London tomorrow. I'm on the red-eye to Heathrow in the morning and -- what with all those wonderful-sounding strong beers to try before 5pm -- the even-redder-eye home again.