#362: Saison de Fête

It was a pleasant surprise to see beer from Burning Sky, a brewery that has thus evaded me, turn up in Cork recently. By reputation I had known them for their classic continental styles and I barely lingered over the label of Saison de Fête before making it my choice. 

So hasty was I that I had missed the part about the beer being a bit of a mixed ferm job with time spent in wood, and so the wash of lactic acidity that accompanied the first lively sip was a mild shock. Students of the form (or, those who have read Farmhouse Ales by Phil Markowski) will have known that 'authentic' saisons and other farmhouse beers of antiquity would be expected to have this sour edge, so Burning Sky are very much delving into the history books here. In any case, it's delicious. Despite the time spent in oak it doesn't have any of the aged, cellar character of, say, a gueuze, but it is awash with dry grain, mild peppery spice and a flourish of flowery hops. The only age that does show through is a refreshing, good tart cider character that lasts throughout, and it is far more mellow and moreish than the initial prominent sip suggested. 

This has more or less everything a farmhouse ale could hope to offer, at least for this palate; noble green-nosed hops, soft black pepper and clove, a beautifully pillowy, multigrain and dry malt composition, and all buoyed by typically effervescent carbonation and laced with tangy fruity acidity.

Saison de Fête is a stunning beer, and even though it wasn't the big bottle of modernly-interpreted-Dupont that I guessed I might be buying, it's all the better for it.

#361: Chimay Grande Réserve 2012

On the same day that I opened (and eventually drainpoured) a 2011 vintage of Westvleteren XII, my disappointment drove me to immediately open another old quadrupel, a 2012 vintage of Chimay Grande Réserve. 

In contrast to the XII, the Grande Réserve 2012 is a delight. It has retained much more of its characteristic carbonation than the former, while it exhibits similar oxidised flavours, all rum, old wood and leather. There's dried fruit, particularly raison, but also the warm candied citrus and spice of winter baking. There are darker malt notes too - the subtle chocolate I often find in the style is probably more prominent, while I feel the yeasty bread aromatics have actually dissipated compared to the original. The main effect is of a beer that is darker and sweeter on the nose, but with some medium sherry-like vinous age thrown onto the palate. The carbonation has dissipated some - it's not as effervescent as it should be, and this does give it a slightly thicker and more sluggish feel, but it's just lively enough to remain true to its digestible roots. 

And this is the key. 

The point is elucidated best in Brew Like a Monk, where Stan Hieronymus relays a brewing principle key to the Trappist brewers and secular abbey stylists alike; digestibility. Regardless of the size and strength of the beer it should be drinkable - it should never feel heavy or thick, it should function well as a digestif after a full meal, without demanding too much of the drinker's gut. At least, this is my interpretation of the term, and it summarises my feelings about well-made examples of this type of beer. Both beers have this quality in spades when fresh, but the Wesvleteren seemed to lose every shred of digestibility in the nine intervening years, while the Chimay retains it, at least in the most part. It has developed over the years - it's richer, and arguably more complex than a fresh example. 

There are some differences between the two to consider before a fair comparison can be made; the Chimay is of course a year younger and is packaged in a 750ml cork and cage bottle, rather than a 330ml with a crown cap. They are different beers - the Chimay/Westvleteren comparison is never going to be as closely run as a St Bernardus/Westvleteren comparison, but the two occupy the same ballpark to my mind. Crucial is the difference in price and scarcity - in the United States, they call this kind of thing a shelf turd. No hype, old world, readily available. I've spent enough money on expensive, rare beer from incredibly good breweries recently* that have all gone directly down the drain, to know that every beer can be a shelf turd if you treat it poorly enough. 

This Chimay lived its eight year lifespan a few inches away from the Westvleteren in the same cupboard, subjected to the same conditions.

It's certainly no turd.

*the Double Barrel-aged Harmonic Convergence (the original is astounding) from Galway Bay and both Sound of Islay and Sound of Kentucky from Buxton

#360: Jever And Friends

The most recent Amsterdam excursion was one of the more relaxed and least beer-focused of all, to the point where I barely pulled my camera onto the table to get illustrations for a blog that was more or less dormant at the time.

Of course, I still have to take notes, because otherwise how will my great-great grandchildren know how I wasted my youth?

The Arendsnest is always the first stop and, despite its familiarity and unbelievably approachable service, the sheer scope of the menu can be daunting at times. As such, it was with a hint of impulsive panic that I immediately ordered Platte Lambiek, a cask-served unblended lambic-a-like from Vandenbroek. From Groningen it may have come, but it makes a very convincing Payottenland impression - wheat, wax and lemon in a flatish and quite sour mixture, it's rather simple and one-dimensional, even though it's quite pleasant, but I guess that's why the boffins usually blend these. A tad cheaper and served in bigger measures, this would be a session hit.

I'm never far from something dark and soupy either, and the latest quadrupel against the wall was Gulpener Quadrupel. I mean it in a nice way when I say it's a by-the-numbers quadrupel.; it is sweeter than some and less carbonated than many (which are points against it) but it is definitely rich and interesting enough with raisiny syrup and actual grain flavours to make it a satisfying possible step-up from the Arendsnest's permanent La Trappe quad.

Another and yet more interesting rendition is Kracht Hout from Breugem, a tad stronger at 10.7% and leaning more towards ruby red than the brown-black depth of the Gulpener. It's intriguing - drier by far and with a prominent marzipan icing and praline streak, blazing through a very wintery landscape of nutmeg, faint cinnamon and apple strudel. As is breathes and reacts to the cold November air, it develops more of a sort of ripe fruit or even dry red wine character. It's a fantastic beer tailor made for the season, and in my notes I opine on whether there's an unusual yeast component at play or something else. As it happens, I later discover the beer has seen the use of Palo Santo wood, which I class as a revelation. This has all the contributions a brewer thinks they're making when they spice a beer for Christmas, without the almost ubiquitous grossness that accompanies such beers - there's no sense of artificial flavouring, no Fantôme weirdness, just some subtle but noticeable sweet spice and dried fruit flavours, laced through a good strong Belgian ale. Something to note for the homebrewer.

Season allowing, I always try to get my hands on a few variations on the bok theme, and Uddelaer's Dubbel Bok was the first of those. Here we return to lagery cleanliness, even though I'm still not certain if a bokbier is typically a lager or ale-yeast fermented beer (I'm under the impression that, like saison, it's more a state of brewing than a straight style - a stronger, higher gravity beer of any style than the brewer usually produces, often for the colder months). There's some crunchy green, celery-like bitterness going on, playing off some powdery milk chocolate, but it never approaches anything as sweet or boozy as its (presumed) cousin the German doppelbock. It's just as clean though, in strk contrast to the Akkerman disaster, so I can update my latest opinion on bokbier to 'Cold Fermented'.

Southward across town but in the same family is Craft and Draft, and I started in a similarly wild manner as in the Arendsnest. MONYO Brewing are from Budapest and their Hungarian Terroir: Villány is a wild ale aged in Hungarian syrah barrels with the pomace of said wine in tow, information I was not privy to upon drinking and note-taking at the time. It produces a wonderfully soft, only lightly acidic beer reminsicent of an Alsace wine; vanilla and melon are present throughout and the carbonation is relatively low, but the beer remains clean and sharp as a tack, finishing bright on citrus. Very nice and moreish.

Back on the winter warmers is Stone Eagle, a barleywine of Morebeer's own making with some involvement from Stone Brewing. I was expecting something in an American vein but this seems to lean more toward the British tradition - think boozy slick malts with aged rum and wood character pinning it down. Rich fruitcake is the lasting impression, and it's quite pleasant. 

It was probably about time I tasted a hop, and so last of the session was 't Uiltje's Dr Raptor, A DIPA of 9.2%. Sweetly pungent right from the off, the aroma almost precedes the glass to the table. Candied tropicals and those artificially flavour Tutti Frutti sweets dominate the aroma, but there's more bitterness to be found on tasting. Proper orangey, pithy bitterness, in a way that seems positively old fashioned these days, but very welcome to my taste. There's a lasting boozy pineapple thing that lingers between sips, as the beer doesn't try too hard to hide the high alcohol, but thatkfully it never becomes hot or sticky. A good way to sign off proceedings.

But not as good as ambling into In de Wildeman on the afternoon of our departing flight, where I couldn't resist a half litre of draught Jever. It's predictably better than the bottled version, showing less skunk (a trait I don't particularly find unattractive in the bottle version if I'm being honest), allowing bold noble hop bitterness and florals to take centre stage. Squeaky clean, bitter, moreish, gently herbal - almost menthol - this is my perfect lager at the moment. I would adore a regular draught stockist of this in Cork.

#359: Westvleteren XII

I last spoke about Westvleteren XII in December 2015. At the time, the bottle was around four years old and, if not necessarily improved (to my taste), it certainly hadn't depreciated. 

The same could not be said for a bottle opened earlier this year. This one-time legend of Belgian beer suffered from the typical malaise of an over- (or incorrectly-)aged beer - oxidised aroma compounds cascade from the glass on pouring. There's a staleness to the otherwise recognisable raisin jam palate, a sort of cardboard edge to the spiced stewed apple ester play, but most prohibitive to any real enjoyment is the thick, slick and soupy texture to the body. This feels every bit of its 10.2%, but without much finesse or even pleasantly warming heat. The scarcity and age of the beer meant I felt compelled to soldier through the glass, but I only made it halfway before regrettably sending the rest down the drain.

I'm confident that this beer hasn't been contaminated or infected in any way, despite the slightly more prominent appearance of unsightly dregs roused by serving. Rather, I suspect the almost 9 years spent sitting in a cupboard with no temperature control has not served it well. Such is the risk taken with long periods of ageing, especially without properly regulated conditions. 

#358: George Gale & Co. Prize Old Ale

It's not often a Marble beer is welcomed into my home, and this one had to go to Amsterdam to find a way into my hands.

This one is a special one; a collaboration with Fuller's reviving a classic old ale by George Gale and Co. A few renditions were done, each with a different barrel finish. This particular George Gale & Co. Prize Old Ale comes from a second fill pinot noir barrel, and it's stunning. The first impression is like an aged Flemish red ale with the acidity stripped out - syrupy plum, wood, leather and chocolate. There is an element of funk hiding in the background, but it never appears more than a fun accent on the rest of the beer. The body is neither heavy nor sugary, but does have enough satisfying heft to justify the high alcohol content.

For all the superlative richness and a thumping 11.2% ABV, this is cosy, easy going, and the perfect sort of thing to sip while roasting your toes in front of a fire. 

#357: Boonbox

This intriguing set of four single vat Boon gueuze monoblends is still knocking around, aiming to showcase the influence of a variety of casks on Boon's geuze-bound lambic. I had mine for about a year before remembering to demolish the whole set over a single (albeit lengthy) session one Sunday before the seat fell out of the pants of the world.

First is Vat 91, a calvados vessel bottled (like all the rest) in December 2016, making this around two and a half years old at the time of drinking. Compared to the likes of Mariage Parfait or the superb Black Label it seems rather rich and mouthfilling, if not particularly acidic. There's a lemon sorbet almost-sweetness with a gentle sour edge, and a complex foundation of musty age and wet grain. It's pretty much a Boon geuze straight up, all balance and rustic satisfaction. I like it, and, SPOILER, it becomes my favourite of the quartet.

I like to picture Vat 92 occupying the space directly next to this in the presumably extensive Boon wood storage spaces, even though this wood started life cuddling red wine in the Rhone valley. As in Vat 91 (and indeed the rest of the set), there is no actual taste of the cask's previous occupant transferred to the beer, but what it does give is seemingly less than the calvados; it's drier and less 'rich', lacking some of the fullsome wheat base of the others. More of an issue is the tiny shade of cardboard lurking in the background, but for all that Vat 92 is not a bad geuze, just not particularly great.

Vat 108 ratchets up the acidity, making it the most sour of the bunch but also the flattest. Beyond acid there's a pungency of old wood and a coppery, blood-like sharpness. Even aside from these flavour elements, the lack of carbonation and aggressive sourness makes it the least 'complete' and drinkable geuze of the sitting. The vat in question is a dyed-in-the-wool lambic vessel from c. 1935, accounting for the higher acidity and aged character.

Last up is Vat 110, an old cognac vessel, though if you had told me this was aged in virgin oak, I  would have believed you; it has a subtle but present fresh wood-shaving and vanilla sweetness, in an otherwise tame and muted geuze. 

Needless to say, I made 1:1:1:1 polyblend of these monoblends, and it was surprisingly delicious, though still not as balanced and well-rounded as the Vat 91. If these bottles were roaming the wild loose of the set, I would pick up Vat 91 before the others, though the real value of the box is in experimenting and blending. 

A Note on Style...

The function and frequency of this blog is changing along with its name - The Drunken Destrier has become La Vie en Gueuze.

The reasons for this are twofold; firstly, while the blog has not quite become a ghost blog it has been idling with a greatly reduced output and in need of a reboot, so redesigning the blog to make it feel fresher seems like a good idea.

Secondly, one of the original functions of the blog was to document my experiences of the Irish craft beer industry from a strictly consumer point of view - I would excitedly try new beer that the country's brewers have to offer and give my honest opinion. Occasionally this would require me to vent my frustration or disappointment or even rather harsh criticism of a beer. However, since August 2018 I have been working in a brewery, heading up the packaging end of things in Eight Degrees Brewing, spending a lot of time working in the fermentation cellar of the brewery, as well as working on dispatching and local deliveries, dealing with trade customers and increasingly spending more time in the brewhouse and having a hand with recipe formulation. Safe to say that, despite still being a very active consumer of beer (both Irish and otherwise), I am not exclusively a consumer. While I am still happy to taste and talk about the beers I love (good beer should be advocated, no matter the brewer), I admit to feeling less comfortable with the prospect of publicly slamming a beer or brewer while working in the industry - such a thing seems unprofessional, and I would much rather engage in a conversation with brewers and producers about quality and brewing processes, than just shoot my mouth off on this blog.

So what can you expect to see here from now on?

Honestly, much of the same. Years ago I abandoned the notion that I could try even a paltry amount of the new beers released weekly by Irish brewers, and there are only so many variations on an IPA I can face before losing a bit of interest. As such, expect to see beers emptied from the cellar, interesting imports and a diversity of styles, reflecting pretty much what I feel like drinking at the time. On top of this, I intend to share my infrequent experiences in homebrewing, hopefully in long-form 'grain to glass' posts. You may even see me design and apply labels to my beer, in the interest of journalistic completion-ism.

Lastly, this is clearly coming about because I have an unusual amount of time on my hands because of the pandemic, and there's only so much drawing a man can do before he loses his mind. I hope you are keeping safe and well.

PS. A hat tip to John at The Beer Nut, the original inspiration for this blog and the one whose model I stole followed (and still more or less follow) from the beginning. Still the benchmark for informed and honest beer opinion and pleasant travelogues, and 15 years old this month.