Lambic reminds me of kaanji , the fermented drink my family and others in north India make on Holi. Kaanji , of course, is not regarded as alcohol at all — just ‘pickled water’, with mustard for the kick. Lambic, on the other hand, is very much a beer despite its relative low alcohol. Its bracing sourness is, however, as addictive as kaanji ’s. You need to acquire a taste for both. And, to my mind, it’s a worthy acquisition.
Witbieren (white beers) made from wheat may have been rediscovered by trendy fans all over the world, but there are other craft traditions still awaiting their moment of glory in Belgium, the land of fries, waffles and brews. This one is going to be quite a whirlwind trip through the country. By the end, we will have sampled as many as 51 types of craft beer, after visiting breweries in different villages, neighbourhood pubs and restaurants, pairing exclusive cheese and other titbits with elusive ales, and more.
And the first discovery I make is Lambic.
What sets Lambic apart from any other beer in the world — there are just seven breweries in and around Brussels — is ‘spontaneous fermentation’. Unlike other beer — where special and lab-produced varieties of yeast are added and the fermentation is tightly controlled — this is made pretty much as the ancients may have attempted it. It is left to be naturally fermented by two micro-organisms — Brettanomyces Bruxellensis and Brettanomyces Lambicus — that apparently are found in the air only around this specific region. The scarcity of ‘real’ Lambic is thus the outcome of both its traditional and time-consuming process of brewing and its geographic production area.
With beer nerds and ‘serious’ beer drinkers all over the world latching on to elusive craft traditions, Lambic styles may be produced anywhere — some experiments are said to be happening in the U.S. too. But, like Basmati or Champagne, the beer is a product of both its history and geography. I sample some of refreshing sourness at Timmerman’s in Itterbeek, a few miles from Brussels.
One of the questions I ask Geert, a well-known beer writer who is accompanying us on the trip, is fairly basic: What defines Belgian beer? What makes it distinct? It is a deceptively simple query because, after all, there are so many answers.
World-over, ‘Belgian beer’ has the image of being ‘dark, heavy and old’ (styles) — speciality beer that stands at the opposite end of the spectrum from those pilsners you glug in Munich beer gardens. Belgian brewers, on the other hand, all seem to prize ‘balance’ in their brews: Creating complexity with sweet, sour, bitter. Some treat their craft products like wine… more on that later. Particularly, since a number of other ingredients like spices and fruit are also allowed into the brew making this a very gourmet affair. (The German ‘purity decree’, Reinheitsgebot, for instance, only permitted water, hops, and malt as beer ingredients for many years. Thus, the resulting brews had a simpler profile.)
But the one thing that sets Belgian beer apart is its sheer diversity. Both World Wars impacted the country hugely and this included beer making. The craft beer industry almost crumbled because traditional copper equipment from village breweries were taken over by German forces looking for metal).
Production of pilsner only started post-World War I. Then, post-World War II, English-style stouts became popular. And finally, post the Flower Power era of the 1960s, traditional brews came back to occupy centre stage once more. We sampled some of these.
The Flanders sour ales and red beers, quite a well-known craft style here, may have their roots in the English tradition of ales. Rodenbach Brewery leads the category of reds, mixing old and new beers and ageing them in oak. The deep red and sour ales (the sourness comes from oak fermentation) also have notes of cherry, plum and vinegar and are quite unique. Flanders brown ales, on the other hand, are maltier, fruitier and less sour.
But it is in the small town of Buggenhout that I find the beer that, perhaps, suits my style best: ‘Champagne beer’! Brouwerij Bosteels has been in the family business since 1791 and Antoine, its present owner, is a seventh-generation brewer. He welcomes us into his old home with some baguette smeared with truffle tapenade and some sparkling. Only this one is beer. It comes in champagne flutes, has the acidity and dryness to match the best of bubblies, as well as tiny bubbles. DeuS is unlike any other beer you will encounter anywhere. Produced using traditional methods at a secret location in nearby France, the beer is matured, has a high level of carbonation and the bottles are riddled and disgorged just in the manner of Champagne.
The beer is a relatively new entrant into the family— reflective of the growing obsession in the beer-drinking world to marry the two enemies: Beer and wine. It is also a reflection of diversity of Belgian craft beer. If you sipped the two other beers Bosteels is known for — Pauwel Kwak and Tripel Karmeliet — you wouldn’t know that the three came from the same stables. Each beer uses a different recipe and yeast to get very distinct characters. And the beers don’t use hops at all. Of these, Tripel Karmeliet, which uses a three-grain recipe (wheat for lightness, oats for creaminess and barley for body), is also a non-certified Abbey beer.
In the last few years, the Abbey and Trappist ales of Belgium have occupied quite a snob spot. Trappist ales have to be brewed within a monastery; traditionally they are dark and sweet with low alcohol content. Of the 10 certified Trappist beers in the world, six are in Belgium. Abbey beer, on the other hand, is more common; it can refer to anything that is in the style of a Trappist beer or brewed by a private house with financial arrangements with a monastery.
Abbey ales come in different styles. Two of the most popular ones you are likely to stumble upon repeatedly are ‘dubbel’ and ‘tripel’. Dubbels are just reddish brown-coloured ales of moderate strength (6-8 per cent ABV) and have heavily caramelised beet sugar as an ingredient. Tripels, also popularised by Westmalle monastery, have more fruit and spice nose and higher alcohol.
But if images of monks brewing beer are what you associate with Belgian beer, the devil is not far behind. Belgian brewer Duvel Moortgat started the style known as Belgian strong pale ale with its Duvel (‘devil’ in Flemish) beer — bright, golden, crisp and strong. Today there are many who imitate both the style and the devilish name. I land up pairing Duvel and others in the Moortgart portfolio with cheese from Van Tricht store near Antwerp, named the best cheese store in Europe by the Wall Street Journal. Duvel’s bitterness and lightness are best savoured through a unique cheese called Comte from Jura in France. This is a small-batch cheese with crystals of protein within it. It is a match made in heaven, devil or not.
