There are also Trappist ales. Almost all arrive from distributors in cases of 12, and some brands, like Westmalle and Rochefort, the retailer has to order once a week to slake the demand of customers, balancing that against the freshness integral to the Trappists’ charm.

“We have 24 bottles, tops, of any of them in the shop at any time,” said Matt Barclay, who handles purchasing for Bierkraft. “We do have a reasonable amount of business for Chimay when tourists are in, but our hardcore neighborhood customers, they mostly drink Orval and Westmalle; and Rochefort’s always very popular.”

And this insatiability, even with some bottles retailing for over $10 a 12-ounce pop.

Trappist ales are some of the most difficult to find and highly priced in the U.S., though it’s not as simple as supply and demand. The journey from recipe to chalice starts on one end with humble monks in remote villages 3,500 miles away and ends only after different people, as well as history, have their says.

First, the monks.

They are of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance, and it’s exactly what it sounds like: strict adherence to the rules of their sixth-century founder, St. Benedict, that revolve around the ethos of “prayer and work.”

Trappists meet formally for prayer at least eight times daily, and consume largely only what they make, including beer (to carry the appellation “Trappist,” beers have to be brewed within a monastery, though not necessarily by monks; all of the seven breweries that carry the appellation are run by laypeople, though controlled by monks). This aesthetic lifestyle leaves little room for chasing profits by, say, maximizing the production of their breweries.

So the Trappist breweries—Westvleteren, Westmalle, Achel, Chimay, Rochefort, Achel and Koenigshoven—have deliberately limited their production goals to what works for sustaining the monastic community and its efforts.

Still, some are more limited than others: Chimay is the largest at about 170,000 hectoliters produced annually, with Koningshoeven (commonly called La Trappe) second with around 145,000; and Westmalle third with 120,000 hectoliters. Orval is fourth at about 60,000 hectoliters annually, and then there’s a huge drop-off: Westvleteren produces about 4,750 and Achel 3,500.

Second, the importers and distributors.

Joe Lipa was present at the creation. Now the national sales manager for importer Merchant du Vin, he recalled that the firm’s relationship with Trappist ales—and with European craft beer in general—began in the mid-1970s the way a lot of American relationships with the stuff began then: through Michael Jackson.

The redoubtable British beer critic, who died in 2007, made introductions between the European breweries and the American importer that wanted to get to know them. “He didn’t get the contracts for us but he gave us the references for some of those breweries,” Lipa said.

Merchant du Vin now imports, among other top brands, Orval, Westmalle and Rochefort exclusively to the U.S. Its relationship with Orval, in fact, stretches back over 30 years; with Westmalle and Rochefort, about 10 years. Lipa declined to discuss the specific numbers of his clients, citing their privacy concerns. But another source told All About Beer Magazine that about 2 percent each of Westmalle, Rochefort, Achel and Orval’s production makes its way to the U.S. (yes, 2 percent). Robert Hodson, the sales and marketing manager at Union Beer Distributors, which covers 14 counties in and around New York City, said, for example, his firm might get 100 cases of Achel in an entire year—that’s 1,200 bottles for tens of millions of potential consumers.

For Chimay, the largest Trappist producer and most active exporter of the seven, that U.S. percentage, according to sources, might approach 35 percent in a given year. For La Trappe, much less but in the double-digits nonetheless. (The importers for both, and for Achel, did not respond to requests for comment.) Westvleteren exports zero, to here or anywhere, preferring to sell its three beers at one location only—across the street from the brewery.

Once imported, usually by ships that start from the Belgian port of Antwerp, distributors take over. It’s a thankless science—retailers, especially in larger markets, always ask for more Trappist beer than distributors can provide.

“We try to give it to accounts who have been pretty loyal to the category,” Hodson of Union Beer Distributors said. “To try and dictate where it’s going to go and when it’s going to go, inevitably, you’re going to leave an account out to dry. Probably a couple of accounts are going to say, ‘Why can’t I get any?’ So you try to spread it to as many accounts as possible, at the same time, trying to make sure that those accounts who are loyal to the category are given somewhat of a preferential treatment.”
To be clear: none of the Trappist breweries needs the American market. “We have to allocate from each brewery,” Lipa said of Merchant du Vin’s strategy for its three Trappists. “We don’t discriminate—we try to be in all 50 states, and that’s a challenge because we only have so much. Saying that, the consumer knows this; the retailer knows this; the distributor knows this; they’re all just thankful they can get Rochefort, Orval and Westmalle—because, you see, those breweries don’t need the United States market; none of them do.”

Third, the retailers.

So where does that leave retailers like Brooklyn’s Bierkraft? Waiting on distributors, who are waiting on importers, who are waiting on the monks. The only thing that a retailer can really do to get a leg up on the competition for Trappist beers is to treat them with the reverence their scarcity here demands—what Hodson at Union Beer calls “loyalty.”

“They’re the accounts that always carry the beer,” he said. “You don’t have to ask them if they know what beer you’re talking about. They’re savvy; they have a good consumer base of customers who are looking for a great selection of product. They understand how to keep the beer, how to treat the beer, how to store the beer.”

When they get the beer. For now, Chimay and La Trappe (Chimay in particular) will continue to be relatively ubiquitous in the U.S., especially in bigger urban markets and on either coast, while the other four available for export will remain rare and often fleeting presences on your local shelves. “We might have someone drive halfway across the state to buy everything we have,” said Kyle Hefley, a clerk at Sam’s Quik Shop, a Durham, N.C., food and drink emporium envied for its wide beer selection. He was referring to Rochefort 10, probably the store’s briskest Trappist seller.

As All About Beer Magazine learned earlier this year, Rochefort is in the midst of an expansion in its production. In typical Trappist fashion, though, it will be glacial—over 10 years—and will not up production by much more than 30 percent.

Get `em while—and when—you can.

But, stop the world, I want to get off. There are still monks firing their mash tuns and kettles, continuing a tradition that was once the norm throughout the Christian world. Today, in Belgium, Trappist monks take time from their prayers to make small batches of ale of the highest quality, ales that are promoted by word-of-mouth, not advertising. To visit a Trappist brewery there is to take that journey back in time, when the pace of life was slower and more thoughtful, and the driving force was the pursuit of communal work, not commerce.

Brewing in the Dark Ages

In an age of global brands and mass advertising, it’s easy to forget that for centuries brewing was confined to the home and the church. The spread of Christianity dampened some of the wilder excesses of the Anglo-Saxon period as the church attempted to regulate drinking and to control the production of ale. Monasteries offered accommodation to travelers while the monks built their own brew houses to supply both pilgrims and priests. At a time when was water was unsanitary, vitamin-rich ale was an important part of the monks’ frugal diet. The usual ration in a monastery was eight pints a day of “small beer”—around 3 percent alcohol—for each monk. Production was prodigious. The malt house at Fountains Abbey in Yorkshire, northern England, was 60 square feet in size and the brewery made 60 barrels of ale every 10 days.

And the ale must have been of good quality. In 1158, the priest Thomas Becket, later to become Archbishop of Canterbury and famously murdered in his cathedral, took two chariot loads of ale with him on a diplomatic mission to France, “decocted from choice fat grain as a gift to the French who wondered at such an invention—a drink most wholesome, clear of all dregs, rivaling wine in color and surpassing it in savor.”

The power of the church in society and its near stranglehold on brewing was broken in the 16th century by two key figures in European history. King Henry VIII of England and Martin Luther in Germany were contemporaries, living from 1491 to 1547 and 1483 to 1546 respectively. Henry dissolved the monasteries because he needed the monks’ wealth to fill his depleted coffers while Luther set in motion the Reformation that led to the rise of Protestantism. In both countries, trade replaced feudal land ownership as the way of life. As a result, commercial brewing developed rapidly and the monks shuffled off the pages of history.

Sticking to Tradition

But in the countries that remained faithful to the old religion, change was far slower. In Bavaria, for example, now the southernmost region of Germany, the world’s oldest brewery is in the former monastery of Weihenstephan (Holy Stephen), which was not secularized until 1842. In Munich the Paulaner brewery, acclaimed for its bock beer, also remained in church hands until the 19th century. Monks at the Benedictine monasteries of Andechs and Weltenburg still brew, though they have adopted modern lagering techniques.

It’s in Belgium that the ancient tradition of ale brewing by monks still survives. The abbey of Westmalle, a few miles north of Antwerp, is one of six Trappist monasteries in the country that still make beer. The monks find that their exquisite ales are talked about and sought after by a growing number of discriminating drinkers throughout the world. Westmalle is especially highly regarded, as the abbey has given names to its main products—Dubbel and Tripel—that have become recognized styles. The abbey’s double and triple are frequently copied but rarely if ever surpassed.

The abbey’s full name is Our Beloved Lady of the Sacred Heart. An arrow-straight, narrow road from the village of Westmalle leads to the buildings half-hidden by tall elm trees that act as sentinels against the outside world. Away from the roar of traffic on the Antwerp-Turnhout road, you are struck by the silence and solemnity of the majestic abbey and its grounds. The only sound is birdsong. The word “stilte” (silence) appears on many doors—visitors are greeted by the monks with warm smiles and a finger to the lips.

Westmalle is, fundamentally, a place of worship and contemplation. The monks follow the simple edict of St. Benedict: ora et labora—pray and work. A few words are spoken to visitors but silence is the rule. It was a strange experience to eat both supper and breakfast without exchanging a word with my fellow diners. The atmosphere is quickly absorbed and I found myself tiptoeing down corridors and closing doors as though they were made of fragile glass.

One aspect of the abbey was familiar to me: the delicious aroma of toasted grain and yeast that told me beer was being made. At the rear of the abbey, the brewery stands in sharp contrast to the rest of the buildings. The characteristic symmetry and curves indicate that the brewery was designed and built in the 1930s in the Art Deco style of the time.

Beer was a staple beverage in the Middle Ages. Since the brewing process kills most of the microbes that might harm people, beer was much safer than water. The everyday beers were likely relatively low in alcohol, similar to the “session” beers of modern times. Just as well, since the quantities consumed were ample for clergy and laity alike. At the Council of Aix Chapelle in the year 813, the canons were allotted 4 liters of ale per day, while some nunneries allowed their sisters up to 7 liters per day. Almost every Benedictine abbey or monastery had its own brewery.

Monks brewed beer for the table and to sustain themselves during the Lenten fast. They needed a fortifying drink to keep their strength up during the 40 days before Easter. Beer, always unfiltered and unpasteurized, was full of nutrients: it was liquid bread.

Monastic brewing also provided a service. Travelers often stayed at inns run by the religious orders, which usually offered amenities like cheese, bread and beer. These guests, in turn, made donations to the order.

First, the Cistercians, Then, the Trappists

In 1098 Father Robertus founded a new abbey at Citeaux in France. The Latin name for Citeaux is Cistercium; thus, these brothers were referred to as “Cistercians.” Reacting against the corruption of the day, the Cistercians adopted an austere lifestyle, taking vows of poverty and obedience. In 1677, Abbot Armand-Jean De Rance of the La Grande Trappe Monastery in Normandy, France, added the vow of silence, which the monks believe brings them closer to God.

The monks at La Grande Trappe fled the French Revolution in the early 1790s but the monastery survived. The term “Trappist” was coined from the abbey name and has remained in usage for members of the religious order adhering to the stern rules first instituted by Abbot Rance.

A Strict Tradition

To be certified as an official Trappist brewery, strict rules must be met: 1) the brewery must be located on the grounds of the abbey, within its walls; 2) the production of beer must be overseen by a monk or abbot; 3) all the profits from beer sales must go to charitable work. When these conditions are met, the brewery can use the Authentic Trappist Product logo. First instituted on December 1, 1997, this “Appellation Controlee” distinguishes the breweries from those that imply their beers are monastic in origin, but in reality are not. It also is used on other Trappist products, such as cheese.

Today, there are six Trappist abbeys with breweries. In Flemish-speaking Flanders, there are Achel (St. Benedictusabdij de Achelse Kluis, the newest addition to the group); Westmalle (Abdij der Trappisten van Westmalle); and Westvleteren (Sint-Sixtus Trappistenabdij). In French-speaking Wallonia are Chimay (Abbaye Notre Dame de Scourmont); Orval (Abbaye Notre Dame d’ Orval); and Rochefort (Abbaye Notre Dame de St.-Remy).

The Konigshoeven monastery near Tilburg in the Netherlands, commonly called La Trappe after the original monastery in Normandy, brewed authentic Trappist beer until recently. Unfortunately, the beers are no longer brewed under the control of the monks and have lost their certification.

I recently visited Orval, Rochefort, and Westmalle, for a glimpse into this rich cultural and brewing tradition.