Can Americans Learn to Speak Flemish?

Ezra has a nice update on Oregon's latest brewery--Pfriem (see his backgrounder of the brewery here).  The brewer behind the project, Josh Pfriem (pn freem), is introducing a line of beers that includes an IPA and four Belgian-inflected beers.  It comes on the heels of the Crux opening, where Larry Sidor mentioned that his true love was Belgian ales.  The Commons, née Beetje, Solera, Upright, Breakside, Cascade Barrel House, Block 15, and Flat Tail all have strong Belgian connections, and some are in the direct lineage.  And that's just Oregon; add some of the stellar work being done at Russian River, Allagash, Destihl, the Bruery, New Belgium, Jolly Pumpkin and many more, and there is a definite trend toward Low Country brewing.

As an inveterate beer geek, I love it.  Belgians make wonderful, antiquated, oddball beers that are the washed rind cheeses of the beer world.  Their depth and complexity open up a world of flavor a standard pale-and-caramel-malt hop bomb can't approach.  Connoisseurs love them, but they remain inaccessible to casual fans.  A familiar story: Beckett is loved by the uber-bookish and Truffaut by the cinéaste, but the average fan prefers Larsson or Cameron.

Every form of expression--including food and beverage--runs a continuum from simple, broad, and accessible to complex, narrow, and difficult.  Rare is the person who appreciates either Époisses de Bourgogne or le bourgogne de Belgique on first sample.  If he ever gets there--a dicey proposition--it comes after some sampling and discussing.  Even in Belgium, the people who drink lambics, tart Flanders ales, or saisons are quite rare.  Collectively, the entire markets for these beers is smaller than the output of a brewery like Sierra Nevada.  And Belgian breweries have an advantage: these beer styles are old and traditional and therefore culturally familiar.  In the US, the same styles just seem bizarre and out of context.

How many beer geeks are there who love Belgian strong dark ales and saisons?  How many more can be manufactured?  We're running a real-world experiment to find out.  I hope the answer is "boatloads."  Fingers crossed.

The Trappist Ales

There is no reason Catholic monks should brew exceptional beer, and yet of the products produced by the Trappist monasteries of Belgium and Holland, three are regarded as world standards, one is arguably the best beer in the world, and none are less than excellent. I have recently returned to the monastic beers and have been tasting them in order for comparison, something I've never done.

American breweries are now beginning to tinker with the radical methods of the low countries--beer made with multiple yeast strains, using multiple fermentations, and with sometimes unexpected ingredients before being aged for sometimes long periods in wooden vessels. When you think of this kind of brewing, it makes sense that the monks would do it very well. They have the long view, not regarding beer as a commodity so much as another extension of God's work. They are in no rush to turn a buck, have no intention of becoming a multinational brand. The monks bring care and attention to their beers, and they have been perfecting them for decades. Considering these facts, it isn't surprising in the slightest that the would produce uniformly wonderful beer.

I'll review them in turn over the next few days. I have been looking at them with an eye to understanding what mkaes a Belgian ale tick, and what our own brewers need to do to match these standards. Since they also bring care and attention to their brewing, I don't think it's unreasonable to expect them to meet or exceed world standards within the next couple decades.

Speak of the Devil

This is shaping up to be the year of the Belgian strong ale. Max Tieger opened his new brewpub with Farmer's Daughter, one example. Double Mountain came out of the gate with a combo IPA and Belgian strong (IRA). And Deschutes' first foray into Belgians led them to brew a strong golden. It's a welcome change in direction for Oregon breweries, which have been dominated by big English-inspired ales, and I hope represents further maturation of brewing culture here.

Belgian beers are harder to categorize than other styles because, outside broad groups, they are mostly individualistic. So a Belgian "strong" may be an abbey-style ale, a blonde (Leffe, Affligem), or a golden in the style of Duvel or Delirium Tremens. By cocking your head, you can shift many of these beers into another, related category or find an argument for why they fit into none. Generally speaking, they're yellow/gold, alcoholic, spicy and fruity, and smooth. But each one is distinct. One style or two hundred--it's not always easy to say.

However, one of the clearest examples is Moortgat's Duvel. After trying the Deschutes Golden (a review that some folks seem to think was overly critical), I decided to go back to this touchstone beer and see what made it such a standard. As American breweries use elements of these beers in their own recipes, it's good to remember what the original is like.

The name Duvel ("DOO vul") is a corruption of the Flemish for "devil," has inspired a whole series of rivals and imitators, and their names signal their inspiration--Judas, Lucifer, Deugniet ("rascal"), and so on. Although I haven't seen it stated explicitly, the name seems to refer to misleading, seductive power of this beer--it looks and tastes like a much lighter, smaller beer than it is. The devil in these details read 8.5--the beer's strength. Drinker beware.

I was amazed again when I had a bottle over the weekend. It is fantastically lively. The instructions on the bottle say "pour unhurredly," but unless you've got a large glass, you can't pour slowly enough to stop the massive head from rushing to the rim. You pour in increments, steadily building the pure white froth up like a vanilla cone. The beer is pilsner pale (made in fact with pilsner malt) and roils with bubbles. Still, it's not at all viscous, evidence of ample added sugar that gives the Devil it's juice.

It is hopped with Saaz, and their essence is captured in the head. The flavor, however, is very gentle, boardering on sweet. The Saaz add a robust bitterness and the characteristic spiciness sets off the sweet nicely; it finishes mostly dryly, with just a bit of residual sugar. However, it is in no way challenging--all the notes are beguiling and you really have to remind yourself of the strength to avoid quaffing.

So what are the lessons of Duvel? It is apostacy among Oregon brewers to add sugar to a beer. Moortgat doesn't even bother with candi sugar--they throw in regular old sucrose. Boosting alcohol with malt means a much heavier, maltier beer. This may be a frontier worth exploring.

Duvel is fermented three times after infusions of sugar and yeast (two strains are used). It's bottle-conditioned and aged for at least 6 weeks in cold storage before heading out into the world (the expiration date of the bottle I tried this weekend was November 2009). Bottle-conditioned beers, because they contain live cultures, age better than "dead" beers. The pocket of air in non-conditioned beers inevitably leads to oxidation, which happens more slowly in bottle-conditioned beers, which are preserved by the yeast. Bottle-conditioned beers continue to slowly ferment as well, which removes sugars and dries a beer out.

I hope breweries continue to experiment with Belgian styles, and if they do, I hope they start to experiment with the methods Belgian breweries use. Although they are at odds with the way a lot of commercial breweries operate--getting beer out the door as soon as possible, focusing on "freshness" above maturation--I suspect they're critical to achieve the types of beers Belgians manage.