#387: Mescing

At one point in time you might have referred to Mescan as Ireland's resident Belgophiles, but these days I can think of two or three other brewers who might count themselves as such a thing. Still, none other have opted for the stubby Duvel skittle bottles or have pitched themselves as something like a local village abbey brewery, and for that alone Mescan deserve some credit. And so, to celebrate Lá Fhéile Bríde recently it seemed apt to opt for Westport Blond, twelve years after its first appearance on the blog (and since the last mention of Mescan on the blog at all).

Such a plain billing as blond doesn't usually get me excited even when the beer comes from a Low Country but my pleasant surprise with Moinette Blond - along with the fact that so many of the world's most beautiful beers could concievably be called blond ale - leaves me hoping for something fun. What I'm hoping for from a sub-5%-er is a bit of quaffable and quenching yeasty prickle. It's not quite what you get. The spicing here (and of course I'm just referring to the fermentation esters on show) are more wit-like in character; lemon zestr and lemongrass abound, with an almost juicy quality thanks to the slightly tart finish. As the beer warms a little there is a simply wonderful and uncanny ripe raspbery aroma that follows through on the palate. If blindfolded and going by the aroma alone, I reckon there's a good chance I might have pegged this for being fruited. There's no sugaryness to the taste though, to the extent where it could actually have used more. As a result it ends up feeling slightly thin and wan, relying on a rush of spirited carbonation, a mild wheaty body and just a hint of lemony tartness to quench the thirst.

And it does quench the thirst. A rainy bank holiday in February is not the worst time for any beer, but this will clearly come into its element in high summer. 

All in all, while slightly plainer than I'd hoped, it more than delivers as a plain Belgian quaffer, with more of a fruity wheaty slant than a dry spicy one. 

Stepping things up is the Red Tripel, which isn't really red but it certainly is a tripel. While lowish on aromatic heft the details are all there - the slightly heady strength, leafy herbals, a sprinking of pepper. The slightly hazy amber doesn't look particularly but it does suggest some body and this is delivered in the form of honey, marshmallow and warm fermentation sweetness. Over time a touch of banana edges into the aroma and manages to add jollity rather than cloying nonsense. Warm, estery aromatics do develop further over time but never to the extent that you might get from one of the more aromatic tripels or even the (in my opinion) more sweet dominated Westmalle. Ultimately, it's a lovely simple sipper with plenty of cockle-warming credentials and that's more than enough for me.