Brasserie Grain d’ Orge – Belzebuth 13%

A DEVIOUS NOVELTY, Belzebuth is one of those super-strength beers that wears its 13% ABV proudly on its collar like a laurel won in valorous contest. Yet despite its strength, rather rich golden hue, and finger-plus pile of foamy head, a glass full of Belzebuth is uncannily transparent. This is not necessarily to its detriment, as many ultra-strength beers exhibit symptoms of fermentation stress and unpleasant fusel notes that are unexpectedly absent from Belzebuth, at least in the aroma. Though clearly packing a massive dose of booze by beer standards, its nose is of clear pale grains, a touch of grass, with only a mild solventy undertone. A second pass reveals some Belgian-style yeasty esters emerging in a weirdly indistinct blend of sweeter fruit. Indeed, a sneakily transparent sweetness is the overarching element here—too pure to associate immediately with any fruit or traditional ester, one could almost overlook it at first. But once pointed out it casts a massive shadow over Belzebuth’s unassumingly bright presentation.

Still, the beer’s mouthfeel is more balanced than expected: sweet, yes, but not stuffed and chewy like a stout of comparable strength, still rather effervescent, and not entirely slick with alcohol. The sensation of alcohol warmth slides around the tongue but does not burn down the back of the throat (assuming it’s consumed cold enough) and the finish is deceptively clean.

This is the kind of naked strength one gets from adjunct brewing, and there’s no doubt that Belzebuth is boosted with dextrose, corn, and the like that contribute to its almost syrupy textures. The preservative E224 is used (assumedly, as its strength varies by market), which is known to kill off yeast and thus may be in part to blame (thank?) for the minimal yeast texture on the beer’s back end, despite being somewhat affiliated with the Belgian brewing tradition. This might leave one perplexed about the point of quaffing a transparent beer with such elevated alcohol if not just to get drunk, and that’s no simple question to answer….The devil’s dance, perchance?

Served: 12 oz bottle best before 19.10.14

Rating: 70 or 84 (depending on mood and/or state of inebriation)

Drie Fonteinen – Oude Geuze

ASIDE FROM the exclusivity inherent to its limited production, the bellwether Oude Geuze produced by Armand Debelder of 3 Fonteinen is the rare beer that develops into excellence not just as it warms, but also as it is exposed to oxygen. All beers’ flavors change once introduced to the elements, of course, but few open up and benefit as dramatically as does 3 Fonteinen’s. Fans of more robust, dry, and slatey champagnes will delight in the beer’s razor-edge refinement, uplifting brilliance of aroma and texture, almost bracing acidity, and exquisite, small-bubbled effervescence.

It pours with a copious pillow of white head, a slightly hazy color between deep gold and amber, and a light body readily apparent from its agile flow into the glass. Lemon, peach pit, green apple skin, nickel, wildflower honey, and a little Brett yeast tang bloom in the aroma and across the tongue, settling delicately into a lengthy and luxurious finish as it interacts with air. This is also the rare beer to gain confidence and character as one samples more of it, whereas in most cases each subsequent sip is a vain chase after the thrill of the first impression. 3 Fonteinen rather gains in strength, becoming clearer, crisper, more laser-like in its focus and revitalization of the palate. The interplay of robust but refined sensations (lemon tartness against lactic creaminess) also caters marvelously to food, from simple balsamic-tossed salad to paprika-laced goulash.

In 2009, a severe mishap in production obliged Armand to depend almost exclusively upon other producers (e.g. Girardin) for several years, but all throughout his blends deservedly retained their distinction and reputation. As of last year 3 Fonteinen is back to making its own beer to scale. Yet one more reason among many to raise a Geuze in recognition.

Served: 750 ml bottled Jan 17, 2013

Rating: 94

Mateo & Bernabé – Bernabé 11 Golden Ale

AN UNREPENTANT GUSHER, this bottle of Bernabé lost about a third of its contents before the remainder could be sloshed into the glass, where its frothy head and agitated yeast sediment took up as much space as the opaque golden liquid itself. From thereon out it was a smooth and easygoing companion, though, as most foreign-made Belgian blondes tend to be. The nose gently blends peach, very lightly toasted French bread crust, a zip of lemon, slightly sweetened baking spices, and doughy yeast. All mix together in the medium-light body for a round, somewhat soft flavor that’s mild without being entirely meek; the beer doesn’t strive for great complexity overall and thus oughtn’t to be judged against more robust competition. Despite that massive initial burst of foam, the head does not linger long and there is only moderate effervescence, quite creamy and evenly dispersing on the tongue. An easy aperitif on its own or as counterpoint for textural, airy amuse bouche, Bernabé touches upon the gentler core of Belgian ales without being featureless. It still could still use a firmer backbone overall, though, and perhaps a touch more dryness to outline its spice characteristic and accentuate the finish.

Served: 50 cl bottle (L07801)

Rating: 83

New Belgium / Dieu du Ciel! Collaboration – Heavenly Feijoa Tripel (Lips of Faith)

TRADITIONAL BELGIAN tripels are remarkable for many reasons, not least among them the complexity they extract from a modicum of ingredients. Heavenly Feijoa, a recent Lips of Faith collaboration between New Belgium Brewing and Dieu du Ciel!, is the antithesis of such economy. With hibiscus, feijoa juice, pungent New Zealand hops, and even a small dose of black malt, this 9.4% ABV tripel risked being a garish waste of ‘artisanal’ ingredients. Yet all these strange tweaks share a common thread, revealing the conscientious craftsmanship that drives this series—a refreshing reminder after a string of seemingly haphazard disappointments—and the results are rather charming.

The beer’s looks are traditional, if a little underwhelming: golden, a little hazy, and with a thin layer of white head but no lasting bubbles. The aroma blends ginger snap and lemon with an unexpected twist of tart berry coming from the feijoa juice, presumably bolstered by almost winey Nelson Sauvin hops. That bouquet presages a surprisingly tart, forward-focused flavor that shifts its focus from citrus early to berries late. Yeast and malt are more apparent in between, though more for the other flavors’ waning than their own waxing. Marked as Best Before March 2014, the beer’s has clearly smoothed considerably since its bottling—at that time a spicier midsection and more assertive effervescence would likely have helped keep its distinctive corners pinned up neatly. Carbonation remains fairly high, though, with small and creamy bubbles carrying smoothly from front to back and leaving the finish fairly clean, if not especially lasting. The beer’s body is likely a little fuller than most tripels, too, and the juice likely didn’t ferment out quite as cleanly as the traditional adjunct of candi sugar. Perhaps that aging has also diminished the alcohol presence, since a 9.4% ABV is rarely so unobtrusive, especially in a tripel. The ultimate balance is well-struck between mild titillation and simply good refreshment.

Served: 750 ml bottle best before March 2014

Rating: 85

New Belgium – Spring Blonde

TURNING BACK DOWN New Belgium’s founding path, Spring Blonde is a seasonal Belgian pale ale with perfect coppery-golden clarity and a medium frothy white head. The company’s description of the beer spends more time reminiscing about employee trips to Belgium than actually describing ingredients, but it’s still a serviceable preamble for a sessionable ale to share with friends after a day spent pedaling about the countryside. The label features a bevy of European cruiser bikes on its logo, perhaps also aiming to attract the eyes of Fat Tire drinkers, many of whom only know New Belgium for that flagship brand.

Also like Fat Tire and apropos of a session ale, Spring Blonde’s flavors are poised but not bold, well-formed but not especially assertive. The nose combines floral hop notes and soft pale malt, distinct in each but not aggressive. Floral and slightly spicy aromas allude to noble heritage, but the beer was actually single-hopped with Nugget. This explains the moderate bitterness—clean and a touch herbal—that forms about halfway through and tapers gently into the faintly sweet finish with a touch of water and final percolation of bubbles. Don’t wait up for the distinct Belgian esters to emerge: perhaps a bit of biscuit, but no real yeastiness in the finish and a rather malty character overall. Altogether Spring Blonde would be a pleasant addition to the picnic basket for an afternoon interlude, but nothing to fret over if it were forgotten back at the hostel.

Served: 12 oz bottle best before June 8, 2014

Rating: 80

Great Divide – Colette Farmhouse Ale

INTRODUCED In 2009, this punchy farmhouse ale from Great Divide debuted as a spring seasonal in 22 oz. bombers simply labeled ‘Saison’. The recipe caught on quickly with fans and judges alike and the beer had a busy sophomore year, winning a silver medal at the 2010 GABF, expanding its distribution into six-packs, and earning a soubriquet along the way: Colette. Her arrival came at a propitious time, as American tastes were awakening to the zesty delights of the style; today, Colette is the 10^th member of Great Divide’s year-round rotation.

The brewery mixed up a special cocktail of four yeast strains for this beer, which might sound excessive by the archetypal ‘set it and forget it’ standard for Saison. But the effort proves worthwhile, producing a moderately complex and quite refreshing take on the style. Avoiding the common American pitfalls of over-sweetening or over-hopping, Colette strolls comfortably down the middle path, picking traits from either side as she goes.

The beer pours a hazy straw yellow, reminiscent of a semi-filtered Weizen with a fluffy white pillow of head. Its aroma is delectable, showing biscuit, lemon, sweet baked pineapple, grassy wheat, bit of clove, and fusty yeast redolent of a billowing spring cleaning. A touch more spice would have been welcome, but this is a small complaint amidst a field of contentment. This positive first impression are well-matched by the flavor, with the additional sweetness of cookie lurking somewhere in the midsection that the wheat nicely counters. Rice is used as an adjunct, transparently boosting the ABV to 7.3% while helping keep Colette’s body light and color bright. And it works, imparting no gummy textures or flavors. A mild bitterness—floral, a bit leafy—rises in the finish, though it likely doesn’t crest 25 IBUs; it’s a tasteful American twist that separates Colette from its Belgian provenance without being obvious about it.

The beer’s mouthfeel is the final key to its success, initially alcoholic and a little tangy, then simultaneously dry and creamy as the microscopic carbonation bubbles across the palate. Though fairly crisp, but a touch longer fermentation would have given the carbonation that final bit of pop and sculpted the finish a little more, perhaps also drawing out a hint more phenolic character. Even so, Colette is a great charmer and an inspired choice for year-round six-pack production.

Served: On tap (Clementi’s, Arlington Heights)

Rating: 90

Tallgrass Brewing – Velvet Rooster Tripel

BEYOND BEING more appetizingly named than Tallgrass Brewing’s Buffalo Sweat milk stout, their Velvet Rooster is also a roundly decent American take on a Belgian tripel. Pouring a bright gold with strong lacing, it has better than average head retention and consistent if somewhat underpowered carbonation that takes a vigorous pour to draw out a lasting foamy head. There is some haze from yeast in suspension, but the beer is still uncommonly clear for a tripel. Otherwise high marks for appearance.

The aroma balances refreshing citric notes of American hops with Belgian yeast’s racier floral esters and candied edge. Clean fresh yeast and golden bread emerge later in the aroma and become dominant by the dregs. Despite its soft moniker, Velvet Rooster is actually a little coarser than most American versions, leading with a tangy mixture of lemon, citrus, a little green apple skin (not acetaldehyde, though), and orange peel before slipping in sweeter undertones of biscuit, caramel, and pale malt.

Then comes a distinct alcohol smack and slightly solventy sharpness, with alcohol fusels showing up retronasally and in a little stickiness on the lips; 8.5% ABV is elevated, to be sure, but most Belgian tripels are cagier about their strength than Tallgrass. As for hops, the comparatively neutral cultivars of Willamette and Northern Brewer are capped with enough Centennial to give the beer a fairly bitter midsection, though its 30 IBUs are mostly highlighted in the dry finish. Microscopic carbonation keeps the mouthfeel light but is not enough to achieve much brilliance or remarkable liveliness.

Many American tripels are too one-note, favoring sweetness over complexity and overlooking their yeast’s phenolic side in favor of candied esters. Velvet Rooster also lacks for a substantial phenolic counterpoint, but at least it has a little vim to compensate. Altogether it sets a good if somewhat rash precedent for the canning of tripels, being the world’s first. And on that note, all Tallgrass beers are canned since 2010, in part deriving from the founder’s prior career as a geologist and consideration of the environmental impact. More immediately, it also allows him to package all his brews in full pint sizes, delivering more beer for less and faster. And surely that’s worth another round?

Served: 16 oz can best by 12/04/14

Rating: 84

Green Flash Brewing – Le Freak

LE FREAK, apropos of its name, never quite finds its fit. From the first impression of its appearance through the lingering aftertaste, it vacillates between pros and cons, rarely notching more than a couple in a row on either side of the scales before shifting back again. Fortunately, the beer’s basics are appealing enough (albeit extreme)—joining sweet Belgian tripel-style yeast to an assertively-hopped West Coast pale ale, roughly similar to Lagunitas’ A Little Sumpin’ Wild or Stone’s Cali-Belgique. So for all its ambivalence Le Freak is still rather good. It just could have been so much better.

Very few Green Flash beers pour much lighter than 8 or 9 SRM and Le Freak is no exception; its dense orange color could easily be mistaken for Green Bullet or the West Coast IPA. Its head is slightly subpar, especially when compared to the magnificent fluffy crowns found on traditional Belgian tripels. But it wins back some points on the first nosing through a complicated interplay between citric hops and that Belgian signature—lightly candied, yeasty, with a touch of biscuit. The fuller aroma takes a step back, though, once the dry-hopping unfurls and leafy, piney, and pungent West Coast hops run a little roughshod over the yeast’s delicate fruit esters.

The first flavors replicate the aroma plus another layer of complexity from an herbal zip and bit of baking spice—almost cinnamon, though clove/coriander is likely closer to the mark. The malt character is present but restrained, showing pale grains, a little orange, clearing room for the yeast (more responsible for the biscuit tones) and hops to define the beer’s flavors. Green Flash calls Le Freak ‘zesty’, and there are indeed some Belgian-style phenols that give a piquancy and faint medicinal edge to the mix. But they are a little too tame to be particularly notable in the full context.

No sugar was used in the brewing process, as would be expected in a tripel-style beer (even a hybrid). Still, a high ABV of 9.2% was achieved without leaving excessive traces of malt or caramel in the flavor. Refermented in the bottle, the beer does also have some residual yeast, if not enough to dramatically alter the texture or aftertaste. Effervescence is quite elevated, more suitable for the style, and the body neatly straddles the lighter side of a double IPA and heavier tripels.

Massive bitterness ratings are a calling card of Green Flash’s, but even so this beer would have benefitted from more modest dosing. Le Freak’s hopping rate of 101 IBUs is just too aggressive to integrate with a Belgian tripel, a style rarely hopped beyond 40 IBUs. The beer we end up with is still a tasty twist on Green Flash’s typically pungent and almost savory hop assault, but overall it just seems to have missed the point.

Served: 22 oz bottle best by 9/18/15

Rating: 85

Left Hand Brewing – St. Vrain Tripel

LEFT HAND PRODUCES this tripel only rarely and a little according to whim, it seems. Its last manifestation came in 2009, and for its latest manifestation it’s received a label redesign (and presumably some light sprucing to its recipe). Perhaps the beer follows the spirit of the St. Vrain itself; called ‘mighty’ by the brewery, it’s a tongue-in-cheek reference to a tame nearby creek that flooded late last year. Hardly the Colorado River even at its worst, the damages were still enough for a relief fund to be established (see here).

The tripel named in honor of that waterway tries to hint at hidden strength (i.e. floods/a 9+% ABV) but in reality is too temperate and mild-mannered be much of a threat. It opens well with all the appropriately sweet and estery flavors of a winding creek—honey, tangerine, all the associations of Belgian candied yeast, green apple, and a lemony, slightly spicy twist from its Celeia hops (essentially an alias for Styrian Golding). But it lacks for the phenol counterpart (e.g. a little dustiness, clove, or medical twinge) that gives excellent tripels their depth and act as a buffer against sweetness in lieu of significant hopping. At only 18 IBU, St. Vrain’s is one of the least bitter tripels around, exaggerating its imbalance towards the front end. Too, it also lacks for significant alcohol warmth or texture in the finish. Structurally the beer is otherwise well-made, though, with appropriately elevated effervescence, good head retention, and a full fermentation that leaves the mouthfeel brisk and the finish fairly dry. Nonetheless, we’d all have been better off it St. Vrain had been bolder in the bottle than in its riverbed.

Served: 750 ml bottle

Rating: 82

Allagash – Black

ALLAGASH WHITE gets all the girls, metaphorically speaking. One of craft’s iconic ‘gateway’ beers, it may be lesser-known than Fat Tire or Sierra Nevada Pale Ale but is still first call for witbier once macro efforts like MillerCoors’ Blue Moon or InBev’s Hoegaarden lose their luster. White is also that uncommon stepping stone to ‘real craft’ that holds up to future scrutiny, rarely losing fans once they’ve been made. But for all its qualities White is arguably not the best of Allagash’s year-round hues.

The challenger to that title is Black, a 7.5% ABV ale brewed with a handful of different grains (barley, wheat, oats, two kinds of roasted malt) and dark candi sugar. Black won’t win any popularity contests, though. White is far and away the more common sighting on tap and available in 4-packs, besides, whereas Black’s smallest format is a 750 ml bottle. This comparative rarity may have several causes, but two stand out: one, dark ales are less popular overall; two, as a self-proclaimed ‘Belgian-style stout’, Black self-selects into an even smaller niche market. What is a Belgian-style stout? Does it really even exist? Google suggests that Allagash has a monopoly on the term prompting one to think it’s more marketing lingo than fact-based. Yet this beer is distinctively roasted and considerably darker in complexion (both in looks and taste) than virtually any traditional Belgian strong dark ale. So the description does indeed have merit—and after one taste of Black it’s a wonder more breweries haven’t caught on.

True to its name, Black has a clean nose of roasted grains, with torrified wheat being unusually prominent. It does not smell burnt despite the substantial dose of dark malts, though; instead, dark chocolate or molasses lurks deeply alongside a bit of anise or faint vanilla touch. The mouthfeel is quite crisp, reflecting the inclusion of candi sugar that lightens the midsection and gives it some licorice and jammy sweetness without leaving it hollow like a dry Irish. There’s a distinctive early sweetness, too, prominent yet hard to define—elderberry or dark red grapes, perhaps, almost a little winelike though far from that level of gravity. It makes a beguiling early statement before being washed away by assertive carbonation (high for a stout, on the lower side for a Belgian), toast, light phenol dust, and some mineral in finish. The alcohol is quite masked and overall this beer is suspiciously easy to drink. In the ongoing battle royale for retail shelf space, four-packs of Black would be equally threatening to Dragon’s Milk and Chimay Blue. And, for that matter, maybe even to White.

Served: On tap (Clementi’s, Arlington Heights)

Rating: 91