Of course, we ate the mussels and frites and we tasted the chocolates and waffles. But you know the real reason for our trip. We, too, had watched Michael Jackson’s “Beer Hunter” video in which he visited Father Theobold at Chimay, one of the country’s largest Trappist breweries.

At the time, America’s craft brewing revival was still young, and the only Belgian-style ales we’d enjoyed were from a limited bottle selection at a local store. We knew the trip would be an adventure, but had no idea it would uncork, so to speak, an entire new world.

We think it’s worth a trip by itself, but even if you’re visiting London or Paris, extend the trip and take the train to Belgium. You won’t regret it. Trust us on this one.

Belgium—the Source

In Brussels, we got a fascinating peek into brewing history at the Brasserie Cantillon and their Gueuze Museum. Since 1900, the Van Roy-Cantillon family has carried on the tradition—and art—of wild yeast brewing.

Yes. You read that correctly—wild yeast, the homebrewer’s worst nightmare. At Cantillon, they literally open the louvers after they fill wide, shallow cooling tuns with wort. Then they let Mother Nature take over. The result is lambic, one of the world’s oldest beer styles, and the aged, blended or flavored variants on lambic.

The self-guided tour explains lambic as you walk through the working brewery. Then comes the sampling. We were served from traditional stone pitchers in the intimate tasting room. Gueuze (aged lambic) and kriek (lambic flavored with cherries) are only the beginning. We got lucky, and were offered some faro, a lambic sweetened with sugar or caramel. It was the most popular drink in Brussels a hundred years ago.

Not into touring? That’s O.K. too. There’s an abundance of beer bars to visit. Imagine looking at a menu of 350 or 400 beers, all brewed in Belgium. And every one of them is served in a glass specially designed to match the beer. It’s reading material for beer lovers, and tasting fit for the gods.

Luckily, the fine art of brewing Belgian-style beer has spread to this side of the Atlantic. Not long after our first visit, America’s craft brewing community began to fill the void. For that we can thank intrepid brewers who stepped up to the plate with new beers, and took on the daunting task of educating consumers about these novel styles. A tip of the hat as well to grass-roots groups that successfully challenged silly laws about bottle sizes and alcohol content, making distribution possible in even more states.

Belgium—the Inspiration

Whether or not you’ve made it to Belgium, visiting local Belgian-style breweries is a great experience. Join us at a few of our favorites…

Brewery Ommegang in upstate New York is just a few miles away from the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Now owned by the Belgian company Duvel Moortgat, the 136-acre property was, fittingly enough, a hops farm in a previous life. A century ago, 80 percent of all hops grown in the United States were cultivated within 40 miles of there.

The brewery can be a little tricky to find among the winding county roads, but your effort will be rewarded. As you approach the door to the reception area, notice the wrought-iron strap hinge in the form of a hop plant. It was hand-forged by a fourth generation Dutch blacksmith who lives nearby. It’s just one example of the handiwork inside.

If you take the tour, you’ll be led through a rambling two-winged building that’s reminiscent of an old French farmhouse. A highlight of the tour is the open fermenters, where you’ll learn how the yeast is skimmed off the top and re-used to ensure consistency. Afterwards you’ll be offered samples of the exquisite beer along with some complimentary Belgian snack items including pretzels, mustards and malted milk eggs. Your admission ticket can be applied as a credit towards a purchase.

The brewery produces five year-round brews: Rare Vos, Ommegang, Hennepin, Three Philosophers and Witte, along with seasonal brews for special occasions. The most recent offering was their 10th anniversary ale, Chocolate Indulgence

In 2004, when a local brewer named Ron Jeffries set up his own shop, we couldn’t have been happier. Along with his wife and partner Laurie, Ron opened Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales in Dexter, MI, a quiet village outside Ann Arbor with plenty of charm.

Buzz about the beer is anything but quiet however. Jolly Pumpkin won a gold medal at the 2004 Great American Beer Festival—with Ron’s first batch, no less. Oro de Calabaza won in the Belgian- and French-style category and, in 2005 won a bronze.

The name says a lot about Ron and his brewery. “Jolly Pumpkin” is the fun part of the name. Everyone loves Halloween, Ron told us, and the smiling jack-o’-lantern that symbolizes it. And yes the name, like the beer, brings a smile to our faces. But the rest of the name, “Artisan Ales,” is the serious part. Even the bottle labels, which feature the fantastic, almost surreal, work of the illustrator Adam Forman, are part of the brewery’s artisanal bent.

Ron open-ferments and then barrel-ages his beer, bottle-conditioning it before it leaves the brewery. There is no taproom, but there is a retail area. The decor, as you might expect, is fun. Ron’s GABF medals hang from a monkey-themed tapestry, not far from the plastic palm tree decked out in Christmas lights and the stuffed parrot in an open cage.

In addition to Oro de Calabaza, there are three year-round beers: La Roja, Bam Bière and Blanca Calabaza, along with a long list of seasonals. Production for 2007 was less than 1000 barrels, but Jolly Pumpkin finds its way into most states—perhaps yours if you look carefully.

Belgium—the Name

At New Belgium Brewing in Fort Collins, CO, husband-and-wife team Jeff Lebesch and Kim Jordan have been front and center in the American craft brew industry. Twenty years ago Jeff bicycled around Belgium with Michael Jackson’s book in tow. Jeff enjoyed what he found there so much that after returning home, he homebrewed Belgian-style beer.

In 1991, Jeff’s basement operation went commercial, and New Belgium has grown steadily. The brewery moved to new and larger quarters in 1995. Today it’s one of the largest craft brew operations in the country. It’s an environmentally friendly operation to boot; the electricity, for instance, is generated by wind power. It’s a sight to see: an aesthetically pleasing building, modern brewing equipment and row after row of oaken barrels.

Look carefully, and you’ll see just how far they’ve come. Jeff’s original brewing equipment sits in one corner of the brewhouse, dwarfed by one of the Steinecker brew kettles. Those first galvanized steel containers look like toys in comparison.

There are seven beers plus seasonals in the lineup. Fat Tire, the largest seller, is named after Jeff’s epiphany trip and the mountain bike he rode in Belgium.

Do all their beers fit into what some purists say are true Belgian-style guidelines? No. But the spirit of fruits and spices, wild yeast strains and oak barrels are predominant in all of them. Don’t forget, this is New Belgium. It’s a subtle, yet important, point.

New Belgium Brewing will always be special for us because that’s where we had the privilege of meeting Michael Jackson. We tasted Chimay from several different years that evening, while listening to Michael impart his wisdom and tell fascinating stories. And yes, one of them was about Father Theobold.

The best examples are made by Trappist monasteries, where divinity and purpose congregate. Dubbels are clearly a case of the sum far exceeding the parts and the simplistic and deliberate manner in which they are formulated. They are a combination of understated opulence (with the full, rich flavor and palate of dark malt), mellow drinkability and unparalleled finesse. A fine dubbel is malty with a touch of caramel sweetness; fruity with hints of raisin, rum, berry or even fig; and spicy with cinnamon, nutmeg or pepper.

Of course, none of the fruit or spice notes is added, they are simply the suggestive byproducts of the kettle and fermentation, the malt and candi sugar and the business of the house yeast—some very distinctly Belgian items. The sugar also offers a tempered mouthfeel, making the body a bit more nimble. Perfect for pairing with hearty foods, cheese and dessert among them, dubbel makes as good a case for beer as cuisine as any other. Similar beers to dubbel have been produced for hundreds of years, but modern interpretations are products of monastic refinement within the past century and a half. Heaven-sent, for sure.

On The Dubbel

All good brewers are dedicated to their craft, but most would defer to the monastic brewers as steadfast testament to diligence and excellence. It truly is an ageless way of life for them, a trinity, if you will, of work, devotion and rest.

The seven Trappist monasteries are well-known for their beer, and most of them make a dubbel. Brewing has been a part of the monastic life since the beginning of the Middle Ages in Europe, or about 1500 years ago. St. Benedictine monks of that time brewed for both sustenance and support. Unhappiness with the original Order led some to matriculate and found their own monasteries. The Trappist order, which first established itself in Normandy, France, was driven from there by the Napoleonic Wars, and eventually settled in Belgium and The Netherlands. Through it all, it was necessary to maintain a level of self-sufficiency, primarily through agrarian endeavors.

At the heart, in many cases, was brewing. Beer was nourishment on several levels, both spiritually and literally. It was a commercial means to maintain their lifestyle (and undoubtedly secure the good grace of the locals), it was essentially a source of calories and nutrients and it was vehicle for contemplation.

As the monks worked cloistered and unified towards a goal, it would make sense that the minimal outside influence would lead to distinct styles of beer. To this day, the brewers of Belgium beyond the walls of the monasteries are very individualistic in this regard, but the styles of dubbel and tripel are wholly attributed to the efforts of the Trappist monks.

To the original point, the Trappist brewers used their isolation to perfect their own beers, and the high quality of the product is held with reverence around the world. In keeping with the conviction to simplicity, monasteries seldom make more than 3 different beers, with dubbel and tripel styles being the most recognizable. Even these are rather loose designations, beyond the fact that a dubbel is dark and medium in strength where a tripel is pale and quite strong. The old Belgian system of degrees consisted of 3, 6 and 9. Six became dubbel and 9, tripel. Rochefort designates their beers as 6, 8, or 10 and all are a shade of brown, with the 10 being quadrupel in strength at11.3% ABV, and the 6 in roughly the style of a dubbel. No point in quibbling over classification: quality supercedes such pigeonholing.

Dubbel may have been polished in Trappist monasteries, but it is brewed by a number of abbeys and secular brewers throughout Belgium. In addition, North America has a burgeoning number of breweries that make tasty examples, some of whom specialize in Belgian-inspired beers as their sole enterprise. This is, in a way, a very Belgian manner of doing things relative to most North American breweries. This ideal has served the brewers in Belgium for centuries and endures today as both a paradoxical adherence to tradition and a thumbed-nose to convention: beer brewed for beer’s sake, on the crest of contoured artisanal independence, with respectful disregard for well-defined borders.

Dubbel Agents

A first-rate dubbel is usually a sublime and transcendent combination of malt, candi sugar and yeast, a somewhat unusual triumvirate in conventional beerdom. Running the spectrum from dark amber to mahogany, dubbel can gets its color from a somewhat unpretentious grain bill. Beyond just simply being dark, dubbels also have a bountiful backbone of maltiness, in great part from use of toasted malt and/or caramel malt. Usually, this type of toasted malt is known as “Munich” and it has been kilned to a higher temperature than pale malts like pilsner, which also makes up a portion of the grist.

The Munich malt provides a lot of fermentables to the wort, but its production enhances a malty profile. The combination of the delicate pilsner malt and the flavorful Munich harmonize perfectly if utilized. Other, darker malts, such as caramel and Special may be employed as well. Many of the complementary flavors, such as raisin, fig, cherry, or rum, are a result of caramelization, either by the addition of a highly stewed, or caramelized, dark malt, or by a prolonged, intense boil of the wort after it finds its way into the kettle.

The common practice of adding candi sugar to the wort among Belgian brewers, and their North American protégé, helps to lighten the body somewhat and add to the fortitude, but augments the brew in other ways. Dark candi sugar is reminiscent of the raw turbinado or demerara sugar that is found in natural food stores. It contains the “impurities” in concentrated form, that might otherwise be distilled away during processing. It is made from sugar beets and adds some of the same qualities as the abovementioned caramelized malt. The flavor is similar, but is also distinct in its own right. There is no mistaking a beer that has had this sugar added.

Hops are asked to take a supporting role in the brewing of a dubbel: the beer would be incomplete without them, but distracted by a strong dose.

Like many Belgian house yeasts, those that have been selected over the years have a noticeable spicy and earthy footprint. Clove, cinnamon, pepper, nutmeg and even rosemary or thyme and the like have been used to describe the remnants of the fermentation. This adds to the diverse culinary attributes of dubbel, as it would be suitable for both savory and sweet, entrée and dessert, a flexible synergy of the malt, candi sugar and yeast. As most dubbels fall between 6.0 and 8.0% ABV, they are substantial and warming enough, thanks to the candi sugar, to be savored far into the evening during the cooler months. A more well-rounded, soothing and complex beer style would be difficult to find. Usually bottle-conditioned to add even further texture, they are best enjoyed only slightly chilled.

One would expect that a beer of such profundity would only be found among the strongest and most ingredient-rich offerings. Dubbel demonstrates that a simple medium in the right hands with unencumbered resolve is the best approach. Of course, it doesn’t hurt to have divine guidance.

Today, two loose beer styles are considered “farmhouse ales”: bière de garde (beer to store or keep) of France and saison (season) of Belgium. They are historic siblings that have separated themselves in profile, but not in philosophy. Saisons are quite well-known, but the focus of this column, bière de garde, is gaining interest from consumers and brewers alike. Reformulated quite recently by a few savvy French brewers, bière de garde is truly a product of artisanal whim. Paradoxically rich, but sinewy; clean, but musty; muscular, but refreshing: bière de garde is a complex brew that clings to its rural past.

France’s rural landscape was once extensively dotted with tiny breweries that served to refresh and restore its workers. These were simple farmhouse brewers, who brewed for themselves and a few others. Their farmhouse ales, brewed and consumed as dictated by the season, were things of sustenance. They were made during the cool months, usually late fall and winter, when conditions were perfect for a slow, steady fermentation. This ensured that the brew would have a soft, clean character, and also that the nefarious microscopic organisms notorious for spoiling beer would be inactive or absent.

Brewing beer at that time of year also meant that the hops and malt used were freshly harvested. The combination of fresh medium and deliberate, cool fermentation resulted in a clean and stable product that would mature wonderfully. That is the literal essence of bière de garde, for it was meant to keep until brewing was impossible due to unfriendly temperatures and rogue microbes.

Modern Revival

Though historical bière de garde brewers laid the foundation for what would be a passionate, if not extensive, brewing legacy in France, modern interpretations differ often from their forbears. Records show that more than one variety was often brewed. One version, of lower strength, was designed primarily to consume during the hot summer months. Another more formidable brew, was made to garde even longer, to be savored the following harvest season.

This romantic notion of farmhouse brewing would succumb to modernity. Refrigeration was largely the culprit. Seasonal brewing became unnecessary, cities and breweries grew, industry replaced farming and beer drinkers came to favor the new light lager beers. France followed suit by brewing lower-alcohol, lighter beers for the masses. But thanks to the foresight and stubbornness of a few French brewers, the craft brewing scene in France was about change. It was a both a step toward the future and an eye to the past that resurrected a stale craft in France.

The family-run Brasserie Duyck in Jenlain, France has been in business since 1922. They were known for their somewhat pedestrian Duyck Bière rather than the quirky, anachronistic Jenlain Bière de Garde. It was steadfastly promoted in the 1950s and finally caught on as a hipster brew in the 1970s, its elegant presentation in corked bottles and full flavor a welcome respite from the contemporary bland beer offerings.

This coincided with a seemingly ubiquitous movement towards rustic, local and flavorful specialties. That it happened elsewhere at about the same time may be a mere coincidence, but the more romantic view would be that people were fed up with their limited choices. Jenlain, as the popular prototype, would be the impetus needed for other brewers in France to formulate recipes that paid tribute to tradition, followed the “local is better” mantra and ultimately allowed them to stay vital. Today, there are many artisanal brewers producing bières de garde in its homeland and, with a “keeping” quality to them, they are excellent as exports.

Individualistic Interpretations

When searching for a “typical” bière de garde, look to Jenlain, with its burnished amber hue, spicy, toasted malt and crisp finish. But, bière de gardes are bound more by philosophy rather than a narrow set of perceptible parameters. Some are blond, others, brown. Either ale or lager yeast may be used. Adjunct or sugar is added to some, others are all-malt. Hops can be from France, Germany, the Czech Republic, or even Belgium. What they all share, regardless of color, is a soft maltiness, crisp finish, subdued hop profile, spicy background and a hint of mustiness. Essentially, bière de garde may be a style full of idiosyncratic sub-styles to the point of being absolutely individualistic. Maddening for stylistic evaluation, but artistic to the end.

Of course, the soul of any beer is the malt. In bières de garde, the use of continental malt is the norm, usually a Pilsner type. Much of it is grown in the Champagne and Nord regions and possesses a slightly rougher character than the round, soft varieties of Germany and Bohemia. This may in fact contribute to some of the signature spiciness of bière de garde. Darker interpretations would include the Vienna or Munich malt, to add some body, maltiness and depth. Wheat, caramel and aromatic malts may also find their way into the grist.

Bière de garde brewers have no reservations about using adjuncts. Flaked maize or grits are used by some to add a little more fermentability, while others may “chaptalize” the kettle wort with a dose of sugar. A long boil could be employed to aid in caramelization for additional flavor and color. The grist is mashed to get high fermentability or attenuation. The combination of high-quality malt and full attenuation gives a full-flavored, malty brew, with a snappy finish. Most finish in the 6 to 8% range.

Hop rates are rather subdued, showcasing the nuances of the malt. Locally, there are hop farms in the Alsace region near Strasbourg, across the border from the famous Hallertau hop region of Germany. The French variety is named Strisselspalt. The French may eschew the local hops and opt for other European noble hops grown. Hop aroma is virtually non-existent.

Yeast selection is still another personalized ingredient. Some use lager yeast and ferment well above the temperature range that is optimal. Most use ale yeast and ferment at the lower end of its temperature range, a condition that would eliminate any strong fruity character because of the slow, extended fermentation.

A cold-conditioning period, originally in bottle, now in tanks, follows the fermentation and is shorter than would be employed for a regular lagerbier. Usually several weeks is sufficient to smooth out the brew. Bière de garde is then bottled and corked.

It can be cellared for some time, and develops some earthy character because of the cork, hops and maturation period. Part of this unusual profile may be the utilization of unfamiliar combinations of ingredients or by using them outside of their standard comfort level. Either way, there is no denying that the bière de garde brewers of France have a way with their medium, and as such contribute uniquely to beerdom with their art.

Bières de garde may be one of the most underappreciated genres of beer. Though overshadowed by their Belgian counterparts, they are as complex and finely-crafted. If you can’t make it to France and have to settle for imports, they should be easy to find. Though rare, there are some North American versions about. Let down your garde.

King Harvest

Hops found their way to Poperinge in 1332, because of a quarrel with the neighboring cloth-weaving town of Ypres, and originally, the hops came from the abbey of St. Bertins, St. Omer (France). The hops turned out to be a valuable alternative to the disappearing cloth trade. Presently, the following hop varieties are grown in Poperinge and the surrounding area: Challenger, Target, Admiral, Fuggles and Magnum.

One of the world’s only hop museums, situated a few blocks off of Poperinge’s main square, was put together by local historian Stijn Beoraeve, and it’s an interesting peek into the life and history of the hard-working harvesters of this precious fruit, the hop cone. The museum covers the life of this amazing climbing vine (or bine, as a hop vine is also called) and those who farm it. A guided tour of Poperinge’s National Hop Museum walks you through four seasons of cultivating this remarkable bud.

Until 1965, the hop harvest was accomplished by hand and every man, woman and child that lived in Hoppeland was involved in this annual endeavor. Traditionally, the harvest took place in September, so the school year started in October in Hoppeland. The town was assisted by as many as 10,000 migrant workers, as well. During Poperinge’s Hop Festival we visited a hop farm. Our guide described working in the hop fields as one of the best jobs of his youth and stated that it wasn’t uncommon for whole families to use the harvest as a working vacation.

One thing the museum didn’t explain was exactly how hard the hop farmer’s life is. We stayed at a working hop farm run by Rita Lobeau, which doubles as a bed-and-breakfast (d Hommelbelle). She has developed skin cancer from her extensive time in the sun. She has had a number of cancerous melanomas removed and can no longer tolerate long exposure to direct sunlight.

In the fifth edition of his Good Beer Guide Belgium, Tim Webb spotlights 800 Belgium beers to try and 600 bars to explore. Along the way, he discusses all 120 of the country’s active breweries. A series of essays at the front of the book sketches a flavorful portrait of a quirky and creative land. (Perhaps the best comment on the country’s trademark idiosyncrasy comes from French president Charles de Gaulle, who observed that, “Belgium is a country invented by the British to annoy the French.”)

The Good Beer Guide Belgium then delves into profiling each of the 14 major styles associated with the country, everything from lambics to oak-aged ales to seasonal varieties. Another section of considerable utility for the casual tourist will be that devoted to major Belgian cities. With it, thirsty vacationers can identify the best brewery cafes, whether their travels take them to Antwerp, Brussels, Bruge or any of seven other Belgian cities.

Webb’s zeal for the subject matter is clearly evident in the Good Beer Guide Belgium, although it’s difficult for anyone to match the passion for Belgian brewing shown by the dean of beer critics in his latest work.

Michael Jackson’s Great Beers of Belgium celebrates one beer writer’s obsession with an entire school of brewing. Jackson’s affinity for Belgian beer is well documented, as has been the writer’s own role in popularizing Belgian beer styles. (In 1994, Crown Prince Philippe bestowed upon Jackson the nation’s Belgian Mercurius Award, for meritorious service to Belgium’s breweries.) He has made it a key part of his critical mission to help bring attention to this once-forgotten family of beer, and it is generally conceded that the beer writer from London has done more to promote Belgian brewing than any other major beer critic. By this point, Jackson seems as much a part of the place as the oaken barrels and sweet-sour flavors that permeate the country’s oddly wine-like brews.

His new book is divided into 22 chapters, each tackling a different part of the essential mystery: how and why did this particular European locale develop such a peculiar zest and art for making fermented alcoholic beverages, to the extent that the country’s representative beers are packaged in Champagne bottles, swaddled in elaborate tissue-paper wrapping?

Like Webb’s book, this is the fifth edition of Jackson’s study of Belgian brewing. Unlike the CAMRA volume, Michael Jackson’s Great Beers of Belgium opts for a more personal and reflective approach to the subject, with less attempt at being a comprehensive reference work. In terms of its production values, the Jackson book is the slicker of the two, resembling a textbook glossy enough to be kept on a coffee table.

Sometimes a nation’s best art is better understood by an outsider. Like a Frenchman whose instinctive understanding of Jazz surpasses that of even American critics, Michael Jackson’s command of this subject exceeds even many Belgian sources. In some ways, that’s the highest compliment that could ever be paid to a book such as this.

A division in the ranks of the Trappist breweries in the late 1990s caused considerable damage to the good name of an iconic and singular family of beers. That split has now been healed and all lovers of traditional beer styles can raise a glass in benediction.

There are six Trappist breweries in Belgium, with a seventh (La Trappe) at the abbey of Koningshoeven, near Tilburg in the Netherlands. In 1997, the monks met to discuss how they could protect their brewing tradition against the tide of “abbey beers” made by commercial brewers.

Such brands as Leffe and Grimbergen (owned respectively by InBev and Scottish & Newcastle) are the best-known abbey beers, but there are many more. They often carry images of abbeys and other religious artifacts on their labels; that confuses drinkers, many of whom may think they are enjoying genuine monastic beers.

Brand Protection

At their meeting in 1997, the monks agreed to create the International Trappist Association (ITA), which would give an authorized logo declaring “Authentic Trappist Product” to beers and other products. Two years later, the logo was summarily withdrawn from the La Trappe beers when the Dutch brewing group, Bavaria, took a stake in the brewery at Koningshoeven and made commercial beers alongside the monks’ brews.

The loss of the logo was felt keenly by the monks and it caused enormous distress to those who love the Trappist tradition and want it to survive in a harsh commercial world. I was delighted to hear last year that the Trappist logo had been restored to La Trappe. In January, I traveled to the abbey to discover how the monks’ brewery had been allowed back into the Trappist brotherhood.

I met the new abbot, Dom Bernardus, aged just 37 and chosen as the abbot by his fellow monks. He explained that La Trappe had never been expelled from the ITA and he had continued to attend its executive meetings. It was only the logo that had been withdrawn.

He went on to say that in 1996 the monks at Koningshoeven had made the decision to seek a partnership with a local brewery, in order to help them develop sales. They could make beer but―understandably, given the reclusive nature of their calling―they were not skilled in distribution and marketing.

Bavaria is based in the same area of Dutch Brabant as Koningshoeven. It is a large company―it claims to be bigger than Grolsch and second only to Heineken in the Netherlands―but is family owned. It was the family ownership and Bavaria’s determination to stay in private hands (and not to sell shares on the stock market) that appealed to the monks.

Strict Arrangement

Dom Bernardus went to pains to stress that a new contract between the abbey and Bavaria stipulates that the relationship will be terminated if Bavaria goes public. Under the terms of the contract, the monks control the buildings and the brewing vessels. They help in labeling and packaging the beers, while Bavaria supplies brewery workers and is in charge of distribution.

Bernardus is one of two directors of the brewery, with a second director drawn from Bavaria. Only La Trappe beers are now brewed at the abbey.

The abbot said the meeting of the ITA at which La Trappe was returned its logo was a “very emotional one.” The organization had appointed three independent assessors to report to the ITA executive on the relationship between the monks and Bavaria. Their report satisfied the ITA and a damaging breach has been healed.

La Trappe beers are exported to the US, Britain, France, Spain, Italy and Greece. In the US, they are sold under the brand name of Koningshoeven (King’s Meadows), as American monks have registered La Trappe as their trademark.

The beers are Blond, Dubbel, Tripel, Quadrupel, White (wheat beer) and a winter Bock. They are rich, fruity and hoppy, made by warm fermentation. They also contain live yeast in the bottle to prompt continued fermentation and conditioning.

And once again the labels proclaim the authentic Trappist logo. That is an emotional event―not just for Dom Bernardus and his brothers, but also for all lovers of fine beer.

No beers personify the attributes of territory and anachronism more than the untamed, sour brews of Flanders known as red and brown ales. Like their close relative and revered neighbor, lambic, Flanders red and brown ales offer a technological glimpse of centuries-old brewing practices. Multi-organism fermentation, shrewd blending, and extensive, patient aging all contribute to the character of these brews.

Honoring History

Belgium is geographically divided into two sections. The northern half, Flanders, is Dutch-speaking; the southern half, Wallonia, is French. Because of its close proximity to Germany, The Netherlands, and England, Flanders historically developed a multicultural character that is very much in evidence today and is manifested in its approach to brewing. The willingness to adapt and adopt from other countries would also help shape the character of the red and brown ales.
To say that the red and brown ales of Flanders are archaic would be an understatement. It is commonly accepted that centuries ago, all beers were dark and spontaneously fermented. That is to say that the fermentable liquid was at the mercy of the organisms that inhabited the fermenting vessel or were swept into the mixture via the air. Naturally, this muddled blend of wild yeast and bacteria exerted some influence on the flavor of the beer. It is hard to imagine what this might have tasted like, though the predominant characteristic was a powerful sour disposition, though to say it was simply “sour” would be an over-simplification.
During storage, wooden casks added yet more flavors to the brew. Porous casks were the perfect medium for housing any of the organisms that have been identified as contributing to the character of beer, wine and spirits. Additional contributions from Pediococcus and Brettanomyces made the beer complex.