My financial situation is pretty bleak, but screw it—I’m taking a trip around the world.
You might ask, “Brett, how do you plan on accomplishing this?” Not by racking up huge credit card bills or by backpacking from town to town, doing various jobs and staying in hostels and barns. Instead, I’m going to the international section of the beer aisle and buying some beers that intrigue me. Then I’ll go home, pour them into one type of glass or another, close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else.
Let’s start with an obvious country for lovers of beer: Belgium. As starved as we are compared to much of SoCal regarding craft-beer selection, there are still quite a few classic Belgian options on the shelves of any decent beer purveyor. What’s more, most of the beers you’ll find on warm shelves actually keep quite well. This has to do with the fact that many are bottle conditioned, meaning the beer inside is still alive, and the yeast is continuing to eat sugars, which results in more carbon dioxide and less oxygen. A well-kept bottle can actually age quite gracefully for years after being bottled.
Orval is an all-time favorite of mine. It’s been brewed since 1931 at the Orval Abbey in Florenville and was inspired by English pale ales and their use of dry-hopping, but the true beauty of this ale comes from the mixed fermentation. It receives a standard fermentation at the brewery, but another life is given to it inside the bottle. Brettanomyces (aka “wild”) yeast is pitched, feeding on whatever sugars remain. This dries out the beer to the point of making it tricky to pour without a ridiculous head if one is not careful. The result shows signs of citrus, a floral character, earthiness, straw, a slight tartness and a funkiness that is often described as “barnyard” or “horse blanket” in beer circles. I’ve tried bottles that were both as fresh as I could find and as close to the end of the recommended five-year cellaring on the label, and they were both beautiful in their own ways. Orval will always be welcome in my fridge, and it’s a miracle we get it here.
Since I’m already in Belgium, I might as well linger. The brewery at the abbey of St. Bernardus makes some of my favorite beers in the world, and their Abt 12 (aka the quadrupel) is their signature beer. It’s richly flavored, high in alcohol yet utterly and dangerously drinkable. The secret is in the candi sugar used in brewing. It’s a beet-derived sugar that’s been browned or caramelized and is added to boost the alcohol content of the finished beer without adding extra body. This leaves the beer a shockingly quaffable 10% in the case of the Abt 12. Flavors of raisins, prunes, figs, molasses, caramel and more abound. Pop a bottle of this with a holiday meal (or for dessert afterward while lounging around) instead of a bottle of wine.
Crossing an eastern border and heading southeast, we come to a hill overlooking the city of Freising in Germany, upon which the Weihenstephan brewery has sat for almost a millennium. Without getting into the long history, Weihenstephanerbeer is widely considered to be some of the best of the best in German beer. This time around, I chose Vitus, their weizenbock. Think of it as a hybrid between the yeast flavors of a weissbier with the malty flavors of a bock. I get the traditional flavors of clove and banana typical of weissbier, but with added notes of toasted bread, citrus and even a little apricot. At 7.7% alcohol by volume, it is also very drinkable, having a very light, creamy foam head, but with a carbonic bite like so many German beers do.
Next, I choose to jaunt over the channel to England. But this time, instead of going for something predictable or that I’ve mentioned here before (like the Samuel Smith Brewery, although I endorse those beers those as well), I took a chance with Santa’s Butt. Before you judge, this holiday porter from Ridgeway Brewery of Oxfordshire’s name refers to a particular size barrel used in traditional English brewing (or half a tun, as measured in imperial gallons, if you enjoy unrelatable comparisons). Santa’s Butt is a rather drinkable, relatively light-bodied ale with some toast, chocolate and a hint of cola. There is a light but noticeable bitterness to balance this 6% ABV beer. I love English ales for beers like this; it’s a beer suitable for winter (even if it is 85° outside).
Before you judge, the name “Santa’s Butt,” from Ridgeway Brewery of Oxfordshire, refers to a particular size barrel used in traditional English brewing.
On the return homeward, I choose stop in to visit Brasserie Unibroue in Quebec. We’ve come all this way … to find a brewery making incredibly faithful Belgian-style ales. La Fin Du Monde is brewed in the style of the tripel, and the beer is named for 16th century French explorers who found Quebec and assumed they reached the “end of the world.” Upon pouring this into a glass, you’ll find a gorgeous head, with notes of spice, candied fruit, citrus and banana bread wafting out. I hadn’t tried this in a while, and it’s as wonderful as ever. You could close your eyes and imagine yourself in a Belgian beer cafe, enjoying this alongside rich, aged cheese or moules frites.
With my tour complete, I return home and consider the combined traditions and the cultures that allowed me to make the trip. When I was a young man, the Vons supermarket in La Quinta had a section replete with bottles of various beers from around the world, and I did this “world tour” many times. It’s how I developed my love of well-crafted beer and began to learn about the differences in the beers from the traditional beer cultures of Europe, and the burgeoning craft beer (then called “microbrew”) culture in America.
If you’re a lover of beer experiences like I am and can’t tour the world on a whim to sample its beers, I hope you try the little tradition I’ve developed—so you can travel via your taste buds in the comfort of your own home.