De Proef Brouwerij Saison Imperiale Belgian Farmhouse Ale

So, I hear this story about how farmhouse saison ales were originally made to give to the field hands as part of their pay.  You know, hot day, long hours, give 'em a bucket of beer, pay 'em, and everyone is happy.  That sounds like a good deal to me.  I wish I got a bucket of beer at the end of my work day.  I do question how much beer farmers had on hand, though.  Even if you're just hiring 5 or 6 folks to slap your rutabagas, it takes a hell of a stash of beer to give out 5 or 6 buckets of it a day, every day, each rutabaga slapping season.  So, maybe the story I heard is kinda bullshit.  Who knows?

Come to think of it, who cares?  Why do I give a rutabaga slap about why this beer was made when I could just be drinking it?

From the Brewmaster Collection, De Proef Brouwerij Saison Imperiale Belgian Farmhouse Ale, from Lochristi, Belgium.  750ml bottle.  8.5% ABV.  Slightly cloudy, darkish brown caramel color, solid head, and bottled up with a hugely obnoxious synthetic cork that does NOT want to exit the bottle.

I like it.  It's rich and flavorful, with lots of sweet malt, honey, some herbalness, and a present (but not excessive) hops.  Most saisons, and most farmhouse ales, are hopped to rat-shit hell.  This one shows restraint.  This one recognizes that not everyone want to have a nettle and beer-salad.

Omar says it is "kinda bland, not real note-worthy" and the head died too quick for his taste.  Omar don't take no shit off'a no beer.

Maybe he's right.  I was looking forward to trashing a farmhouse saison, but,with this one, I can't.  For a traditionally big beer, this is pretty small, so there isn't much to get worked up about.  It's like the beer is teasing me or trying to lure me in.  This beer is a trap!

OK, the movies say that the first step in avoiding a trap is knowing it exists.  I gotta tread carefully with this beer.  First I'll establish trust and diffuse the situation with my smarm.  Wow! What a boffo beer!  I really like it.  It isn't wimpy or a shameful representation of its pedigree at all.  Next, I'll distract it.  Look over there! It's Batman... and he's got a great pair of tits!  Finally, the for the home stretch, I'll make sure it can never trap anyone else ever again.  By drinking it.

That's the funny thing about trying new beers: you're taking a big risk.  Maybe you'll get lucky and have a fantastic new brew to slug down, or maybe the beer will be a depraved bottle of pure evil.  You can't know until you try.

This is why beer-drinking is the greatest and most dangerous of all adventures.  Mountain climbers know how their mountain is shaped and can plan their routes.  Explorers can study maps and encyclopedias for months before ever leaving their living rooms.  Astronauts have teams of great minds planning for every possible problem they might encounter.  But we beer drinkers, we hoppy few, we fans of brewers, we are the only true adventurers left.  What starts out as payment for murdering vegetables can eventually become a deceitful bottle of sweet malty lies.  Could NASA's wizards have foretold that?

Meanwhile, we sober on.  One bottle to the next.  We are adventurers, we are farmers, we are drinkers, one and all.

The Wild Beer Co., Somerset Saison

My beer, it's looking at you.  My beer is angry with you.  Look at those beerfull eyes, feel the heat.  The label says, "Crisp + Zesty + Spicy," but those eye say something far more menacing.  They say, "Woodland hate."

Somerset Saison, no more.  I rename this beer Woodland Hate, and you are only allowed to drink it after you win a staring contest with it.  Let me tell you a story.

Passing through the aisles at my local, my mind roaming innocently, I felt an intense burning on the back of my neck.  It was just as if some demon's cloven claw-fang snagged on my soul and killed everything I ever loved.  I turned and bravely met the cold gaze of my spiritual assassin.  The hart and I were locked in combat, our wills pressing at the boundaries of each other existence.  BANG!  My hand, faster than reflection, peeled through the onion skins of time and experience, to wrap itself around the beast's neck.  Freed from the ice cave that gave it power and persistence, we fought to the death, and victory was mine.  I possessed my demon and brought it home.

The hart of the Woodland Hate bubbled and foamed an anger that lasted.  Its golden pelt settled into the cage I made for it.  Then I consumed it.  It tasted wild at first, sour, but when we understood each other the rage died as quickly as it had first frothed over.  I was left bitter.  Maybe the disappointment I felt was the curse those eyes whispered to me when I first walked past.

Basically, this beer is jut OK, if you like saisons.  There is also a cool illustration on the label.

To Ol By Udder Means American-Style Stout

OK, let me get this out of the way first thing, this beer is from To Ol (that's the "O" with the slash through it) De Proef Brouwerij, Lochristi-Hijfte, Belguim.  I know that looks like a random collection of letters, but it is really the name of some made up place called "Belgium".

The magical land of "Belgium" has a rich and storied history of having no idea what the fuck makes something an "American-Style" stout.  Now that I mention it, I also have no idea what makes a stout become "American-Style".  Maybe it's being made by Belgians, because I've never heard of it here.

Let's assume, wrongly, that the Belgies know what they're doing.  An "American-Style" stout must smell like hops, roasted malt, yeast, and dirty dirty swannish lies.  DAMN YOU BELGIUM, DAMN YOUR LIES!!!

7% ABV, probably true.
Imported? Yes.  From Belgium? Likely one of those alcoves I've heard so much about.
By Udder Means? I just don't even know what that means.

This beer is a mess.  It tastes pretty good, but that's not what's important right now.  The important thing is that, WTF Belgium?  Nothing about this bottle makes a damn lick of sense (except the beer).  The bottle has a disgusting picture of froth in floamish black and white, two actually, there is an icon of two beer bottles on the bottle, it's called "To Ol" (with a slash through the second "O"), the name is... I don't even know what the hell is up with the name, By Udder Means, and, and... and jebus I need a beer.

Look at this abomination.

Vomitous.

Nice frothy head on the beer, though.  Lasts for several satisfying gulps, too.  It has a rich and malty flavor, if a bit overly metallic at the end.  It lingers on the tongue and develops into a floral and light sublimation.  Not that any of that has a place in this beer review.  I mean, look at that hideous label art!  I hoped they flushed after they took the picture.

So, never buy this beer.  Don't seek it out.  If you happen to cross its path, for god's sake don't look directly at it.  Don't feed it after midnight, Don't expose it to light, Don't travel to its country of origin, and see their beautiful swans and canals.  If you do, don't eat the chocolate and stay away from Koningid Astrid Park.  Do try the ketamine and prostitutes, though.

Deus Brut des Flandres

This week's beer was generously donated by Diego, because he thinks that I'm cheap.  I don't think I'm cheap, just low rent.  So, he squandered $34 on a fancy bottle of Deus Brut des Flandres.  It comes with a leaflet collared to its neck, which details in 3 languages how to serve this beer-of-beers.  I wonder if I am fancy enough for a beer like this, or if Diego (and the old gypsy woman) was right.

First, I should tell you about the bottle.  It is a really majestic bottle, no doubt.  Its shape is that of a champagne bottle for reasons to be made clear.  The label is styled to evoke the look of European wine labels.  I guess that may be a very American observation, and, if so, deserves extra credibility because 'Murica!  Fuck, yeah.  As you can see from the pictures, the label does feature many of the stylistic bells and whistles one might expect from an old-world booze label.

The full text of the name is pretty impressive, "Beyond The Best of Deus Brut des Flandres, Cuvee Prestige 2011"  What balls!  Seriously, that's like just hanging a pair of nuts on the bottle.  The back label talks about how it is bottled in Belgium, then shipped to France for the "traditional 'remuage' and 'degorgement'."  I could look those words up, but the internet is difficult and filled with kitties and porn.  Everything about the bottle is designed to ask the shopper, could this bottle be worth $34?

So, Diego bought it for me, I took it home, shoved it in the fridge over night, and pulled it out today to do some drinking.  Before I get to the drinking, though, I had to read the leaflet.  I'd hate to drink it wrong, after all.  The leaflet has two points to make: one, this beer has been very carefully treated like a bottle of old-school champagne, double fermented, bottled, aged, spun daily, de-yeasted, and re-bottled just for me, and, two, serve chilled.  Not just a little chilled, either, chilled like a son of a bitch.  Specifically, 6-12 hours in the fridge, then either 10 minutes in an ice bucket or 20 minutes in the freezer, finally poured "gently" into chilled fluted glasses, with the bottle re-chilled between pours. Now, there it sits, in my chilled, fluted, fancy-pants glass, and here I sit, hoping that with my first sip, I will grow a tweed jacket with elbow patches.

I tasted it.  It is light, sweet, sparkly, yeasty, and pretty fun.  No spontaneous tweed yet, sadly, but not a bad sip of beer.  I still feel more like Xander than Jiles.  That's not such a bad thing, but an auto-Jiles elixir would be pretty awesome.  I could compare it to a cross between champagne and a malt-martini, but that just sounds gross.  Its not gross, its good.  The intent of the brewers was an aperitif or dessert beer.  The sweetness certainly makes that the right direction.

This is the kind of beer that you don't just drink, but sip and stare at in the glass.  You thoughtfully watch the bubbles and try to decide what you think of it.  Part of you kind of just wanted a damn beer and what the hell is this shit, but at the same time, you kind of dig it.  Sure, its different, not what you expected.  Do you like it?  Hate it?  By this point, you are on your second glass, and when the shit did that happen?  You finish that glass and the next, but you still don't know how you feel.  So, there you are, staring at bubbles hurrying up to the top of a straw yellow liquid, trying really hard not to think it looks way too much like urine, wondering if you like this beer or not.  The answer is, yes you like it.  If you didn't spit it out at the first sip, then, yeah, you like it.  Maybe grudgingly, maybe outright, but you do like it.

That is where I fall on this beer.  I like it.  I'm not 100% sure why I like it, but I'm several glasses in with no regrets.  It was fun to be extra fussy about chilling and pouring it.  Also, Diego was the chump that paid for it, so even better.  You'd have to be some kind of chump to pay $34 for this stuff and not even taste it for yourself.  #DiegoRules

I don't know how it got into the glasses, but I'm glad it did.  I think.

Wolf 7 and a bit of a gamble

Wolf 7.  Great name. But, is it better than Wolf 9?  This week we find out.  I will be drinking a bottle of Wolf 7 and (joining me again) Omar will be drinking a bottle of Wolf 9.  As always, I have no experience with the beers before today.  We will only drink our own, I write my review of the 7, he reads it, then he tells me whether his was better than mine or not.  It's about trust, fate, and having a bit of fun!

We selected these two guys off the shelf because they were just sitting there next to each other, identical in almost every way, at first glance.  The label features an en-flagged Belgium with a howling wolf silhouette imposed over it.  But, the borders were different colors.  Why? We asked each other, not yet noticing the mysterious numerals resting in the lower right corner of the labels.  Then we noticed the numerals resting in the lower right corner of the labels.  Seeing the numerals resting in the lower right corner of the labels only deepened the mystery, as there is no explanation of the significance of the number anywhere on the label, and the brown bottle hides any clues that might have been found in the color of the beer inside.  This was a grade-A Scooby mystery, gang!

Wolf 7 (great name!) is brewed in Brouwerij Lupus Belgium, Betekomsesteenweg 76 (not sure what that is), 3200 Aarschot, Belgium.  7.4% ABV, 12.2fl oz bottle.  Golden and reasonably frothy.  Knowing is half the battle.

Glass #1 is yummy.  I like it.  Off the bat, it is not the best beer I have every had, but I could get behind this.  It is light and zesty, with an abundance of flavor molecules, and it goes down without a fight.  Not overtly boozy or obnoxiously hoppy, I find it to be a quality all-around beer.  Sounds good, right?  I'm feeling pretty confident about my pick.  Incidentally, we just picked which one we got at random, and right now I'm thinking I should buy a lottery ticket.  Then again, Omar doesn't look like he's vomiting into his shoes or anything, so maybe I'm celebrating a little early.  That Omar is a crafty bastard.  Crafty as in beer, and bastard as in I question his lineage.  Here ends glass 1.

Before I could pour my second glass, the "tasting" glass, the dog had a wiz to throw (you remember the dog, she's available for rent at a reasonable rate).  Shivering in the back yard watching the dog pee gave me time to reflect on my first glass, to think about its flavors and the experience of drinking it.  I will now masterfully combine those musings with the gentle art of making tasting-face while drinking my second glass.  Scents of citrus and a hint of banana are hand-in-hand with the yeastiness when the foamy head hits me.  This is what smart people have called a "good moment".  The first taste is clean, almost neutral on my tongue, then blossoms into a slightly chewy, cool breeze on a summer's day.  That veers far more to the poetic than I generally like to go, but this beer really takes me some place.  I think this is what Wurstfest in New Braunfels should taste like.  If you haven't been, then your life is incomplete, sad, and worthless, because you have never had the pork chop on a stick while making fun of a guy from Oklahoma and watching (participating in) someone's marriage falling apart.  It is good times.  And the beer... it's OK.  In my mind, however, the beer should taste like this Wolf 7.  It is deep and rich and, I'm going to say, "traditional".  Like one of those really well done German Reinheitsgebot beers, where the flavors come from someone who really really knows what they are doing and assembles a beer that far exceeds the sum of it's parts.  It is a tasty damn beer.

But, what does Omar have to say?  What is the verdict? 7 or 9? Remember 7 of 9 on Star Trek Voyager?  She was super hot, and Janeway was the greatest of all the Star Trek captains, hands down.  That is off topic, let's get back to what is important.  Did I have the better beer?  Over to you Omar...

I can only respond by a simple reply.....as you state "I'm feeling pretty confident about my pick", I will whisper closely in your ear.....no.

Now, for double jeopardy.  Does he dare take the last sip of mine.  Putting his world-wide reputation on the line, and really laying it out there.  Will he taste my beer?  HE WILL!

He was bold and he was brave.  He said to me of the Wolf 9, that there is a reason the Belgian monks carry chocolate in their shorts.  We wait for the sipping, on the edge of our seats...

BUY THE 9

Bastogne La Truffette Belledete

"Ew."

This week I am joined by my friend and beer brewing partner, Omar (Omargeddon on G+ and facesbook). We are drinking a bottle we found that looked to have a lot of potential, but ended up simply begging the question: does being a summer wheat beer excuse an un-enjoyable taste if imbibed in winter?  And, I'm with Omar on this one when I say "no".  No sir, I don't like it.

-Swish, swirl, stare, sip, ponder, say, "I think this horse was diabetic."

                                      -A Witty Person

-It's like concentrated Miller Lite-

                                      -Omar

Bastogne La Trouffetee Belle d'ete, a summer wheat with coriander and orange peel.  Brewed at Brasserie de Bastogne, Belgium. 1pint, 9.4 oz, 5.7% ABV. Golden amber with a modest head.

The label is pleasing and features an ugly wood-block boar, evocative of Asian shadow puppets. Why?  Because Belgium, that's why.   The whole look is fun, but not special.  In a bold move  the label offers the e-mail address, info@brasseriedebastogne.be, so, if you have questions (or dick-pics) have fun with that.  Perhaps they would like to see your bottle and cork?

Our opinion is that this beer is crap.  I mean that nicely.  Nice, nice, crap.  Don't drink it.  It's probably low-carb.  Who knows, this swill might be organic or some shit.  At first sip, there is bitterness and a sharp chill.  The advertised coriander and orange peel make themselves known, followed by... disappointment.  Do you remember in that one episode of Better Off Ted, when they have the guy taste testing the lab-grown meat, and they ask him what it tastes like?  He responds, "...despair?"  I'm not saying this beer tastes like despair.  I'm saying Omar nailed it with concentrated Miller Lite.  

The taste break-down... well, I don't care.  It is gross and I don't want to think about it.  I'm sure there are many many good and honest people who might drink this and enjoy it whole-heartedly.  But, that ain't me.  And it ain't Omar.  So, to all those people: good news, you can have mine.

Should you find yourself in a back-alley drinking contest against the Germans, and it all comes down to this final chug, feel free to forget to spin the boot.  Yes, you will lose and be lame forever, but at least you won't have to finish a glass of this shit.

Viven Smoked Porter

Belgium, it would be great country, if only it weren't in Belgium.  I dedicate this weeks blog to that fantastic film, In Bruges.  This beer is not from Bruges, though (which is sad, because it means fewer movie references), this beer is from a place so small, you can't even read the name on the label.  No kidding, it may be late and the lights low, but even in better light, good luck passing that eye exam.  The front of the label has no such issues.  Meet Viven Smoked Porter, a product of Belgium.

Ask yourself, "What is Belgium famous for?"  Chocolates and child abuse, mostly.  Did you know they also make beer?  They make many wacky beers, with crazy wild yeasts and often thumb their noses at German purity laws (perhaps a low-carb strawberry beer called She-Wolf?).  They also make the full range of more traditional ales; doing up my malty dark favorites proper.  Here we have the art of Flemish brewing, from a brewery dating back to the dark ages of 1999, producing one of those fun-if-you-can-find-them smoked ales.  I am glad Belgians learned to make beer, because they only invented the chocolates to the to the kids.

Viven Smoked Porter, 11.2oz bottle, 7%ABV.  Opaque deep brown, a small head that dissipates quickly.  Label best appreciated by a discerning drunk, mid-stumble.

The label grabbed my attention right away.  Huge text, shouting out, "Hey Drunkie! Over here! I am definitely a smoked porter!"  So forceful, yet helpful.  The faux-aged look is fun.  I don't care what anyone thinks, give me a stock parchment from Istockphoto, some old-timey fonts, and a crest: I'm good to go.  The front label has may enjoyable things to look at and read while you sit at your favorite bar. I love that.  I don't know what the hell is going on behind the shield on the crest.  If you find out, please tell me.  The back label makes me regret what I just said about the parchment, fonts and stuff.  That rear label is made only of hate and contempt for the honest drunk.  I can't read print that small, and I'm not going to try just so this label thinks it got one over on me.  Screw that back label; it is stupid and I hate it's stupid face.  Lets move on, the back label is a shit-hole anyway.

At glass one, I can safely say, this beer and I are going to be friends.  We have so much in common!  We both have depth and character, we both smell good, and neither one of us is Chinese (a very different movie reference).  It was a surprisingly short trip to the bottom of glass one.  Despite the respectable (but not excessive) ABV, this guy is smooth and easy.  As far as smoked porters go, Viven's is well put together.  It is not trying to be fancy, just good.  See?  Just like me.

The smell of this beer is gooooooood.  Don't you just love the smell of a smoked beer?  I mean, a porter smells good, but a smoked porter... Well, you just don't pass that up.  Unless you are driving or operating heavy machinery, one should always make time for the bouquet of a lovely smoked beer.  So, it smells good, how's it taste?  Have you ever sat in a large, cushion-y wing-back chair?  Ever had a nice glass of red wine and watched the rain fall outside the window?  I could say words like malty, rich, bitter chocolate, coffee, smoky, yeasty,  and the rest of the crew.  But you already know what a porter tastes like, and a smoked porter as well.  What is notable about this fellow, is how well it works.  Most beers will have a few notes that disagree with me.  Not this one.  Viven just makes it work.  Crappy back label: forgiven.

If you find this beer, buy it. Then hide from your friends and loved ones, wait until you are alone, fluff up your favorite comfy chair, and enjoy.  If you need a place to hide, there are a lot of alcoves in the Astridpark.  You use this word, "alcoves"?