The Best of 2009: #6

Struiselensis

Brewery: De Struise, Oostvleteren, Belgium

Style: Sour Ale

ABV: 6%

Rating: 5 stars

A gem find from a Christmas '08 trip to Sioux Falls. I had a handful of Struise beers to choose from, and randomly selected this sparkling sour ale.

Sour doesn't do this one justice. This is as tart as the tartest candy; enough to make your eyes water. Lots of funky yeast, too. The carbonation is great; I preferred it super cold, like a sparkling cold duck the kids drink on New Years. Floral, lemony and bright.

Yet with all these potent flavors and funks, it finished gently and was shockingly easy to drink. I like challenging my taste buds in all aspects of cuisine; whether it be a vinegar tart beer, a super spicy dish or pungent olive, and I don't mind a challenging sour. This one was not challenging, and I'd venture to guess that your average beer drinker might even enjoy a glass of this. Unfortunately, I haven't seen this bottle in Minnesota, though I haven't scoured the shelves completely. Hopefully I'll find it again soon. I've never driven as far as Sioux Falls just for a beer, but I'm not putting it completely out of the question.

Am I Strong Enough to Like a Bad Beer?

I've struggled with this concept my entire life, really. Some may call it lack of self-confidence or conviction, or a reluctance to openly go against the popular opinions. I guess I call it reassessment; forcing yourself to take another look at your own beliefs after gathering outside opinions to either validate or refute your initial response.

It basically boils down to this: am I comfortable enough with my own opinions to admittedly enjoy a product that has been widely panned? Will the experts write me off as a no-clue, inexperienced judge of quality? Will I be ostracized from the community of those who love and care and rate?

Mostly this happens in the arts; many might call them guilty pleasures, a term probably invented to make it ok for those like me to enjoy such atrocities in a half-joking, half-serious manner. Let's take music for example. I'll admit it: I enjoy listening to Hall & Oates. I sort-of half think I enjoy the spectacle and egocentric glamour of a Barry Manilow ballad. Most of the garbage pop of the 90s I could still regurgitate word for word. I will proudly and openly admit all of these things.

But still, there's a tint of really? in each of those admissions, and I am free at that point to say, "No, I don't really exercise to Michael McDonald's greatest hits, I just get a kick out of how ridiculous he sounds singing those crappy songs." It's an opt out clause.

Many people, including my much more free-of-society's-chains wife, don't have this dilemma. They like what they like, no apologies. To Kristie, there is no difference between a great song and a song she just loves listening to. Any appreciation, whether it be due to the technical wizardry, the bleeding-heart sincerity or the carefree exuberance, it all goes into the same pot of enjoyment. The same goes for movies. I can come out of a movie and say, "That was an amazing movie, but I didn't really enjoy it." I make the distinction, Kristie says why bother.

Let's bring this phenomenon to the world of beer. At this point, I thought I felt pretty comfortable with my own beer judgment, and was confident that my conclusions about any specific beer wouldn't fall far from the general beer nerd assessment. I know that the beer geeks love meaty stouts, layered with depth, and most enjoy the in-your-face hoppiness of an imperial IPA. I've also come to appreciate lambics and traditional Belgian sour ales, and know that while these are more of a polarizing blend, most beer lovers appreciate them.

Beer, like the arts, has its guilty pleasures as well. In my case, my guilty pleasures call back to my college days, when I was too poor to buy anything decent and spent a lot of nights hammering watery beer after watery beer. I have no problem stating my love for Grain Belt Premium, and if I happen to find myself at an Applebees, I'll probably order a Leinie's Honeyweiss. Do I actually like these beers? See, I thought I was at the point where I could say yes and deal with the consequences.

Then along came Chapeau Winter Gueuze. I've had a few lambics, krieks and sour ales, and have basically enjoyed them all. But this was my first real gueuze. Instantly, I could see the difference between this and the other lambics I've enjoyed. The color was unlike any I'd seen, a dark rust that lacked the fizzy bubble that I remember about the other lambics. The gueuze was nowhere near as tart, though it smelled as if it was. There was a massive sweetness that smothered the acidity; it tasted for a second like the sourness wanted to break through, but it couldn't penetrate the sugar forcefield. I didn't mind it. It reminded me a bit of a cider, with a decent amount of tartness, but more about the sugary sweetness. In fact, Kristie, who tries most of my beers and universally hates them, said this was the best beer she'd ever had. Looking back, that admission should have alarmed me. When I had finished the glass, I declared it a good beer and called it an "entirely pleasant experience."

This being my first gueuze, I just assumed that was how they were supposed to taste: sweet and sugary. How was I to know any better. It was nowhere near my favorite sour beer; I much prefer the unbalanced tartness of the more sour offerings. But I liked the beer none the less.

Then I found this. Uh-oh. Could I possibly like a beer rated in the 12th percentile? Let's look at it in reverse. Is it possible that I don't like a highly-rated beer? Sure, and many times I've confirmed this, though I'm too lazy to cite examples now. So maybe it's ok for me to enjoy this beer, no matter what my beer peers think. I guess spelling it out on a computer screen helps me process the quandary. I am comfortable enough to admit that I enjoyed a beer that almost no one has rated highly? Who cares. I mean, it's just a guilty pleasure, right?

January Snackers: Global Edition

I've decided to go on a mini body cleanse, something I convince myself to try every few months, and am trying to stay away from beer and other chemicals this week. These breaks usually happen right before I know my body will be taking a toll; in this case, it's a throwback kegger with the boys on Saturday, followed by a massive Super Bowl bash the next Sunday. Not long after, I'll be aboard a Caribbean cruise ship for a week. It's not exactly the healthiest of schedules. This week, and potentially the weeks in between events, will be dedicated to purging and cleansing.

Luckily, I reserve the other 48 weeks of the year for complete body negligence, and have a decent reservoir of early '09 reviews I can tap into. I'll hit a few today (you can call them something more catchy than January Snackers if you'd like) and save a few for later. Since I'm only doing mini reviews, I'll link the beers to their corresponding RateBeer.com pages if you'd like more information or opinion.

Verhaeghe Duchesse de Bourgogne

Verhaeghe
Vichte, West-Vlaanderen, Belgium
6.2% ABV
4 stars

A Belgian sour ale, a traditional Flemish red ale--call it what you want, but this one's spunky. I'm beginning to think that I can not just tolerate, but love this wild yeast stuff. I sampled this one at The Bulldog Lowertown in St. Paul, which is an expansive, fresh spot to get some good beer. Not the longest list of beers in town, but it's roomy, and the option of getting a flight of beers is nice. The waitress couldn't tell us the order of the flight, but an astute nose could figure it out. If you don't think you have one of those, ask the bartender. Staff's beer knowledge is a bit lacking.

Anyway, the beer had the vinegar sourness, but was sneaky sweet. One person in the group described it as a liquid sweet tart. I wouldn't go that far--if you dove into a glass of this with on the condition that it tasted like candy, you'd be in trouble. Unless you coat your candy in vinegar I guess. A good beer nonetheless.

Coniston Bluebird Bitter

Coniston
Coniston, England
3.6% ABV
3.5 stars

Part of the same sampler as the sour, this English bitter obviously didn't pack the same potency, but subtlety can be a huge strength in a beer. This one smelled of honey and sweet rum, and the honey was a huge component of the taste. Very nice thin texture. If you're looking for an approachable bitter, and one that you could drink a few pints of, this could be the one. The subtle sweetness balanced out the bitter component, and for a low-content beer (3.6%), the flavor was outstanding. Make sure you get the cask version, though, it looks from the reviews like the bottle doesn't go down quite as well.

Unibroue Blanche de Chambly

Unibroue
Chambly, Canada
5% ABV
3.5 stars

Unibroue sampler packs are beginning to pop up all over the place recently, and I received one as a Christmas gift from a co-worker (love co-workers who do their homework). It's not exactly the best time to dive into a Belgian White, but it's a beer-drinker's responsibility to be able to assess a beer objectively despite the circumstances.

Big froth on this one. I know it's called head, and I could use a finger measurement, but this really did remind me of cappuccino froth. Classic spicy witbier smell. I enjoyed the color spectrum especially on this one, from a dusty lemon peel to cloudy melon. Drinking this beer in the proper glass allows you to fully appreciate the multiple senses a beer can tickle.

There was definitely more fruit than spice as far as taste goes, and if you're not a fan of wheat beers, well, you know to stay away. But on the right day (maybe a Saturday), and in the right place (maybe on a boat) this beer could be perfect.

Eisenbahn Defumada

Cervejeria Sudbrack
Blumenau, Brazil
6.5%
2.5 stars

My first Brazilian beer, and one of the few smoked beers I've had. Right off the bat, I'll tell you that it's no Surly Smoke, nor is it close. But it's not bad. The smell was strangely sweet to me; I couldn't stop thinking about tangy barbeque sauce. Sweetness came through in the taste, with some caramel as well. It was good for a few sips, but I labored to get the whole bottle down. Eisenbahn is beginning to show up in Minnesota (I bought this one in South Dakota of all places) so maybe I'll give it another try.

Rochefort Trappistes 8

Brewery: Brasserie de Rochefort (Abbaye de Notre-Dame de Saint-Remy), Rochefort, Belgium

Style: Belgian Strong Dark Ale

ABV: 9.2%

Rating: 4.5 stars

What happens when you have this beer that in your mind you've always considered your favorite beer of all time. You keep this beer in your back pocket, not drinking one for a couple years while you develop some beer tasting and rating chops. You buy it in mid-December, pencil it in as your New Year's Eve nightcap, ideally topping off the best beer-drinking year of your life with the best beer of your life. Except do you really want to have your favorite beer--and rate it for the first time--when the ball drops to midnight, after you've had multiple drinks and clouded your overall (not to mention beer-rating) judgment? I guess not.

So my long-labeled favorite beer of all time sat in my fridge for a month, until last night.

But what happens when your favorite beer of all time is no longer your favorite beer of all time? It is sort of a mindset-altering experience. Even though when I was asked the all-time question, I would always preface Rochefort 8 by saying 'I'm not quite sure it still is, but I've always considered it to be...' And maybe that's why I didn't rate on in 2008. I didn't want to know. Didn't want to have to potentially change my mental rankings.

There's a very easy parallel to be drawn between this reluctance and my reluctance to knock clearly inferior, but sentimentally meaningful songs off my all time favorite songs list. Sure, maybe with my keener ear and more mature understanding of music a Get Up Kids emo-ballad doesn't stand up to a TV On the Radio psych-out. Maybe a Grain Belt Premium doesn't have the full-bodied flavor of a Bell's Third Coast Old Ale. But maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe sentimentality still has a place in ratings, and the power of pleasant memories should be included in the final tally.

Maybe I can still convince myself that Rochefort Trappistes 8 is my favorite beer of all time.

But no, I can't. There are too many good beers out there that just plain taste better to justify putting this one at top simply for poetic reasons.

I almost feel like I can't really even rate the beer at this point. I'll try. The first signal I received last night that maybe this wasn't the beer I remembered was its color. It pours a muddy, murky mahogany, so hazy that no light in my house could puncture it. This color of beer usually does not bode well for my taste buds.

It smells quite strong, and smells more like adjectives than it does actual identifiable scents: warm, deep, dark. There are definitely some dark fruits in there; figs, cherries, but mostly it smells like it looks. A bit daunting.

The fruits come through in the taste, and I can picture a friend of mine sensing a bit of cough syrup in this one. It is highly carbonated, which is a nice way to balance the bold flavor and high alcohol content. If you feel like you're drinking something sparkling, it really can't be that strong, can it? Mixed reviews about the prominence of alcohol, but if I can't taste it outright, I definitely know it's there.

The most pleasant characteristic about this beer is the wonderful burn it leaves. It's warming like a cognac, setting your mouth, esophagus and stomach ablaze. A nice second taste in every swallow. After a bottle of this, I wouldn't say you feel refreshed, but you do feel satisfied.

Maybe it isn't my favorite beer of all time, that potentially dubious honor now falling to Orval. But this is still a really good beer, and a must-try for anyone looking to broaden their beer palate. And perhaps I'll try another one in a couple years, forget about its old sentimental value, and leapfrog it back to the top.

Beers of the Year: 1. Orval

Brewery: Brasserie dOrval

Style: Belgian Ale

ABV: 6.2%

Rating: 5 stars


A complete sensory experience. The color of this beer suggests something completely different from the actual taste. It's very golden, not unlike your average mega-beer, but with a much stronger head. But the smells that emanate from that golden liquid are simply heavenly.

I got a huge crisp apple cider whiff on my first smell, and there's definitely a large fruit presence to go with some subtle hops. It smells delicious and interesting, and if it's possible for a beer to smell refreshing, this one does.

The first shocker in the taste is how dry this beer is. It's almost like drinking a dry champagne. Heavy fruit flavor, but with the sparkling cling of champagne. Really easy to swish around your mouth and swallow, and seeing that I prefer dryness to sweetness, it fit my needs perfectly.

This beer has it all, down even to its presentation. Its uniquely-shaped bottle is appealing, and if served correctly in an Orval tulip glass, it's a can't miss. Orval will quench and refresh you, give you enough alcohol presence at the back to satisfy those needs, and won't bog you down or take you two hours to finish. You probably will want to make it last that long, though.

Beers of the Year: 5. Delirium Tremens

Brewery: Browerij Huyghe, Melle, Belgium

Style: Belgian Strong Ale

ABV: 8.5%

Rating: 5 stars

One of the few beers on this list I'd had prior to 2008. This was the first really good, highly respected beer I ever had, and perhaps its sentimental worth makes me overvalue it a bit. Even so, it's a delicious beer.

It is outstanding on tap, better than it is in a bottle for sure. This beer is very complex, and I dare anyone to try to identify all of the fruity, sweet components. I'd have a hard time denying any detected flavor by another taster. I lean most toward an apricot flavor, with some subtle banana toward the end of the slurp. It's creamy but not sticky. Strong but not overbearing. Well-balanced but pungent. Overrated or not, this one's a keeper.

Beers of the Year: 9. Cantillon Kriek 100% Lambic

Brewery: Brasserie Cantillon, Brussels, Belgium

Style: Lambic

ABV: 5%

Rating: 4.5 stars

I'll post my original review of the beer. Nothing has changed.

After enjoying the Flat Earth wild ale, I knew I had to take the plunge and try a real Belgian lambic. Cantillon has brewed this beer the same way, in the same barrels, for over 100 years, and is a well-known name. I figured it was a good one to start with, though at $10.99, it was the most expensive 11 ounces I've purchased yet.

Again, this is a fruit beer, and one that is fermented with live bacteria instead of the more sanitary yeast. Kriek is cherry-flavored, but not like cherry Jolly Ranchers. The wild yeast gives it a very sour aroma and taste, and the aftertaste is almost pure vinegar. It's a beer that even after getting used to, you may find yourself still wanting to spit it out occasionally. Not meant for chugging.

I, for one, and I'm the one who counts, loved it. Its ruby red color is entirely unique, and if you were closed-minded about beer, you'd say it was rotten sparkling cherry cider. But it's not. It's beer, and that is the beauty of it. I've had enough porters, IPAs, lagers, stouts and ales for a while. Lambics are a style completely off the map in the American beer culture, and while they wouldn't be the best idea for a once-a-week change of pace, every now and then they might hit the spot.

The Cantillon website boasts that the Kriek "tastes delicious with a big slice of brown bread with white cheese, radishes, onions and chives." It's true, radishes, onions and chives might have strong enough flavor to wipe the dry vinegar aftertaste off the roof of your mouth, but the aftertaste was part of the experience for me. Maybe now that I've taken one straight I'll feel free to dabble in food pairings next time. Next time I'm willing to fork over 12 bucks for a tiny bottle of rotten cherry vinegar, that is.

Cantillon Kriek 100% Lambic

Brewery: Brasserie Cantillon, Brussels, Belgium

Style: Lambic

ABV: 5%

Rating: 4.5 Stars

After enjoying the Flat Earth wild ale, I knew I had to take the plunge and try a real Belgian lambic. Cantillon has brewed this beer the same way, in the same barrels, for over 100 years, and is a well-known name. I figured it was a good one to start with, though at $10.99, it was the most expensive 11 ounces I've purchased yet.

Again, this is a fruit beer, and one that is fermented with live bacteria instead of the more sanitary yeast. Kriek is cherry-flavored, but not like cherry Jolly Ranchers. The wild yeast gives it a very sour aroma and taste, and the aftertaste is almost pure vinegar. It's a beer that even after getting used to, you may find yourself still wanting to spit it out occasionally. Not meant for chugging.

I, for one, and I'm the one who counts, loved it. Its ruby red color is entirely unique, and if you were closed-minded about beer, you'd say it was rotten sparkling cherry cider. But it's not. It's beer, and that is the beauty of it. I've had enough porters, IPAs, lagers, stouts and ales for a while. Lambics are a style completely off the map in the American beer culture, and while they wouldn't be the best idea for a once-a-week change of pace, every now and then they might hit the spot.

The Cantillon website boasts that the Kriek "tastes delicious with a big slice of brown bread with white cheese, radishes, onions and chives." It's true, radishes, onions and chives might have strong enough flavor to wipe the dry vinegar aftertaste off the roof of your mouth, but the aftertaste was part of the experience for me. Maybe now that I've taken one straight I'll feel free to dabble in food pairings next time. Next time I'm willing to fork over 12 bucks for a tiny bottle of rotten cherry vinegar, that is.