All About Beer Magazine

One and Only One

Alone amongst Trappist breweries, Orval is unique in that it only produces one beer―a deep amber orange brew with an earthy and peppery nose underpinned by rich orange peel notes, a creamy and hoppy mouthfeel with snappy carbonation and flurries of sour and citrusy notes, followed by a bitter spicy finish. The bottle’s label says 6.2 percent ABV, but as it is bottle-conditioned it is said that it can often climb as high as 7 percent within a few months.

There is also Petite Orval, but this is a light version liquored down to 3.5 percent―think the ghost of Orval, some orange and hoppy characteristics but slighter and thinner on the palate (I thought hoppy water on tasting it). This is supposedly the house beer of the monks though Rock lets slip one of his enigmatic smiles when I ask if they also drink the stronger Orval. Later on during our visit, Rock casually announces that come the end of 2010, Petite Orval will be produced as a stand-alone brew rather than as a parti-gyle. It has only ever been available in the Orval café (currently being rebuilt), but does brewing a 25,000 liters batch mean it will become a commercial brand? Rock smiles again and says nothing.

Brewing occurs once a week with the beer spending four days in the conical fermenting vessels where the single strain top-fermenting yeast gets to work (each fresh pitch of yeast is propagated from the last batch). The beer is then lagered or matured in large horizontal containers built into the wall of the maturing cellars. As we pass through, Rock’s men are busy laying several sacks of hops on the bottom in preparation for the beer. These are for the illustrious dry hopping that differentiates Orval from its other Trappist companions. Either East Kent Goldings or Styrian Goldings have been favoured at times, but on our visit the Alsatian variety Strisselspalt was in use. Over 40 kilos of hops go into one tank where the beer spends two weeks at rest (20,000 tons are used throughout the year).

Then it’s time for it to be bottled, which is when Brettanomyces is added. “Why do this?” he echoes my question, “why not? It makes the taste, the Gout d’Orval. Orval is very special because of the dry hopping and the secondary fermentation, if we stopped that then it would be a very different beer. As for the reasons for its use, I’m sure that at the beginning in the 1930s that there was a problem that led to the beer being infected. This then became a commonplace part of its taste. Then in the 1950s the brewery had new equipment and the beer didn’t have quite the right taste. So they found an old bottle with the right taste, isolated the yeast and have used it ever since.”

The bottled beer is stored at 15 C for three weeks before being released. We pass through a room holding 90,000 crates. This is when the big debate about the beer starts. Young or old? Some think it should be held for two years before being opened. This is most certainly the view of Antwerp beer sommelier and author Ben Vinken when we talk at a Trappist beer dinner he’s hosting in London: “I think it is at its best then. All the sugar will have gone and the Brett will add softness to the beer.” With this in mind many Belgian cafés offer both a young and old Orval on their menus. Rock admits to preferring Orval young when the hop presence is fresher, while I prefer it older letting the horse blanket influence of the Brett emerge (though I once tried a 10-year-old which had lost a lot of character). As if to complicate the debate further, in the sampling room we are offered a glass of draught Orval, a true rarity.

This beer was brewed at the end of 2009. In the glass there’s a hint of almond on the nose mixed in with the more traditional hop-driven Seville orange note that doesn’t seem as assertive as when served from the bottle. The bitterness and dryness on the palate was immense and though the creamy, horse blanket character brought in by the Brett was present, it’s a cleaner Orval than I am used to. “I cannot accept to drink only one Orval,” says Rock as we discuss the beer’s glory, “its drinkability is very easy. I occasionally drink a little wine but I always prefer Orval with my lunch at midday.”

It’s easy to fall into the trap of nominating the best beer in the world, but sometimes I allow myself to descend and Orval is the designated tipple. It has an adaptability that makes it prime for the dinner table as well as contemplated all alone. That’s always been one of its attractions. Once in an empty restaurant in the Wallonian town of Tournai I asked for a beer. “Carlsberg?” queried the young waiter. Nodding no, disappointed that such a commonplace beer be offered in the centre of Saison country, I requested the beer menu. He returned with a tray on which stood bottles of Orval, Chimay Bleu, Stella Artois and Leffe. No contest: Orval. I was served turbot in a shrimp sauce that was bossed over by the beer. The dish brought out the creamy texture and citrusy notes of the beer, while the beer cut through the cream of the sauce. Of such unexpected moments are beer greatness made. And like Rock I couldn’t accept to drink only one Orval… .