A true brewing legend, who’s treated like a rock star in Belgium where they care about their national beers, Pierre Celis turns 83 today. Celis single-handedly revived the style witbier in the 1960s when he was a brewer at Hoegaarden. He later moved to Texas to start a microbrewery with his daughter Christine, which was sold to Miller in 1995. He now makes three cave-aged beers under the label Grottenbier at St. Bernardus in Belgium. Join me in wishing him a very happy birthday.
 

With Pierre at the Craft Brewers Conference in New Orleans a few years ago.

At last GABF in 2006.

My friend and colleague, Lew Bryson, must have been thrilled when he came up with the title Malt Disneyland for his most recent First Draft column for Portfolio magazine, because in my humble opinion it’s one of the best new names for Belgium anybody has ever come up with. Of course, I love wordplay and the Walt/malt thing cracks me up. I confess I never remember to check out his Portfolio column — sorry about that Lew — but luckily MSNBC reprinted it yesterday and so it showed up in the old, handy dandy RSS Feed Reader. Naturally, it’s a great read, too, but oh that title — now that’s a grabber. Well done.

A day after praising Eric Asimov for leading the way toward detente between beer and wine, his “Ales of the Times” column today is entitled More or Less Pale but All Belgian features a tasting of several lighter Belgian beers suitable for summer. As usual, it’s a reasoned look at several lighter style Belgian ales such as Affligem Blond, Corsendonk, De Koninck and Orval and how they might be every bit as thirst-quenching as an ice-cold industrial light lager but with oodles more flavor and variety. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this is what we need more of in order to win the hearts and minds of all Americans toward enjoying better beer.
 

Brasserie d’Achouffe, located in the small village of Achouffe in the heart of the Belgian Ardennes, is celebrating its 25th anniversary this year. It was August 27, 1982 that Brasserie d’Achouffe brewed the 1st batch of La Chouffe. From August 10-12, they’ll be a big party at the brewery, which they’re calling La Grande Choufferie, and they’ve set up a website just for the occasion, along with slideshow of thirty photographs that shows the brewery then and now, as well as photographs of the local countryside.

Oh, and did I mention their beer is quite excellent. I’ve got a magnum of the La Chouffe I’m holding onto, which I think I’ll open this August for their 25th anniversary.

In his regular column, The Beer Sphere, in the Dallas/Forth Worth Star-Telegram, Barry Shlachter reports that the “long-anticipated collaboration between Belgian brewing legend Pierre Celis and Texas’ Real Ale Brewing Co. has fallen through.”

From Shlachter’s column:

“Just too many obstacles,” said Brad Farbstein, president of the Blanco-based micro-brewery.

Real Ale’s proposed “Brussels” line of ales based on Celis recipes was scuttled because the state interpreted the deal as violating Texas’ contract brewing regulations.

Complicating the arrangement was Celis investing in his daughter’s drinking establishment in the Austin area, Farbstein said. Texas’ three-tiered system — production, wholesaling and retailing — forbids participation in more than one sector.

Well that’s certainly bad news. It would have been nice to see Pierre return triumphantly to the states.

After so many horribly abysmal crimes against beer, I’m very happy to be able say that a San Francisco Chronicle article on Friday, “Cantillon, a brew for wine lovers,” was actually a very good overview of the historic Brussels brewery. It was written by freelancer Derek Schneider, who also writes a food (and wine) blog, An Obsession with Food. He provides a nice introduction to Cantillon’s methods, what makes them unique and even provides some tasting notes.

My only criticism is that the Chronicle sells the piece through its title where they can’t let Cantillon stand on its own two feet. They have to make it a beer that winos will love, too, which I find a little annoying. Cantillon is a beer for beer lovers, too, as well, and can be enjoyed by anyone with a developed palate who likes complex flavors. Always having to compare everything to their revered wine seems to me to distort reality into a world where all grapes are good and barley is bad. I suspect that was the only way Schneider could sell the piece to the Chronicle, if wine was somehow still central in a beer article.

But that criticism aside, it was certainly good to see an otherwise positive beer article in San Francisco. Now if we could only get their management to actually like it, too, now that would be something.

For our second session of Beer Blogging Friday I went a little farther from home and chose an old favorite, Westmalle Dubbel. Dubbel, of course, doesn’t mean the beer is double anything, but merely that it’s stronger than the single and not as strong as the tripel. It’s all relative, meaning the strength of dubbels can vary widely. Nor should the dubbel be based on the single but is more often its own and very separate style, as opposed to an Imperial or Double IPA (which is at least based on an IPA).

Westmalle undoubtedly made the first modern dubbel shortly after World War Two, and based it on a heavier beer they began making in 1926, which itself was based on a darker beer pioneered around 1856. So there’s quite a bit of history in every sip, though I don’t know if the brewer originally had a limp or not. I make that comment in reference to a Publican article by British beer writer Ben McFarland where he essentially excoriates amateur beer snobs, going so far as to call them “condescending clowns” and other rather insulting word portraits of his vision of the classic beer snob. One of these was the beer snobs “patronising dismissal of any beer that isn’t brewed by a 16th century monk with a limp.” In a later rebuttal of sorts on Rate Beer, McFarland indicated he intended the piece to be a “light-hearted article” but also that he was trying to make the point that “beer snobs are damaging beer’s appeal by taking it too seriously.” I frankly thought his article was in fact damaging to beer enthusiasts and enthusiasm, and said so. Though I more often very much enjoy McFarland’s writing style — his piece in the new issue of the Celebrator, for example, is priceless — this one seemed more vindictive and spiteful than it did tongue-in-cheek or funny. But Westmalle Dubbel is without question, if not a beer snob’s beer, certainly a beer for the enthusiast or aficionado rather than McFarland’s “everyday chap.” That’s too bad, really, as it should be more of an everyday beer. The monks assuredly don’t view it as anything too special, just another beer in the mix, though perhaps reserved for a particular day, Good Friday for example. But compared with so much of what passes for beer, it really is quite extraordinary.

Some form of this beer was indeed more than likely brewed in the 16th century by a Trappist monk — though the limp remains purely speculative. It was revived again during the 19th century’s industrial revolution when many Abbey breweries began to modernize and then revived yet again in its present form some sixty years ago.

Happily, I’ve got the right glass for this beer and it’s finally warmed up enough to open it. It’s quiet in my office, and I can hear the bubbles crackle as I pour it down the center to release the CO2. The tan head recedes after a couple of minutes, revealing a deep mahogany color. I grandiosely swirl the glass to enhance the aroma and inhale ostentatiously (note: in case you missed it, this last bit is sarcasm, it was a regular swirl and I used my everyday nose). The nose is sweet and malty with some underlying fruitiness — raisins? — with a hint of characteristic nuttiness. The first sip is a jolt of sweetness with a raisiny, prune-like character. In subsequent tastes, the beer dances on my tongue with a pleasant effervescence. The malt character continues to change with time and chocolate notes become more common, as do tiny hints of banana and some kind of berry or fig that I can’t quite put my finger on. The finish is clean and dry. Westmalle’s Tripel deservedly gets a lot of attention, in the manner of a favorite son or daughter. But the dubbel is no Jan Brady, and has plenty of secret and not-so-secret admirers, of which I am unabashedly one. I’m sure I’m not the only person who will write about this beer today, as it is one of the truly great dubbels around. But back to this question of beer snobs and how taking themselves too seriously might be “damaging beer’s appeal.” Westmalle’s Dubbel is, I think, a perfect example of a beer worthy to be taken seriously. Should that fact be off-putting to the novice or uninitiated? Must I tone down my enthusiasm for this beer so as not to scare off “potential drinkers?” Frankly, if anyone won’t try a Westmalle Dubbel because I waxed too lyrically about it or used “absurd verbal acrobatics” to describe it, then that person wasn’t ready yet anyway. I want to bring people over to the cause of better beer at least as much as McFarland does, possibly even more so, but I don’t think discouraging or disparaging a beer geek who’s stepped over the line into snobbery is a very helpful or effective tactic.

Like it or not, the people McFarland so disdains are the very people who can and will carry the message of good beer in their own personal missions. Will they always carry out their missionary work in a way we’d like, in the way we might do it, or even in a way that brings honor to the cause? Probably not, and at least not all the time.

But maybe, just maybe, those of us in the public eye as brewers or beer writers didn’t always know as much as we do today. Perhaps we once were empty vessels waiting to be filled, too. As I learned about better beer and began homebrewing, I tried to talk to anyone and everyone I knew about how good this stuff was, especially compared to the popular bile of the day. Did I make mistakes, overstep myself beyond what I really knew or make a fool of myself. Why yes, yes, I did. Was I a beer snob? Yes, from time to time I was insufferably so. Thank goodness nobody gave me the advice to just “shut up and drink it.” Because over time I learned more and more and made a fool of myself less and less. And I have personally introduced better beer to scores of people, who are today telling two friends, who in turn will tell two more, and so on and so on, dubbeling our pleasure at every turn.

The European Court of Justice upheld a 2005 price fixing verdict against the French company Danone. A fine of €42.4 million ($54.2 million U.S.) was imposed after being found guilty of participating in a Belgian beer cartel in which one of their subsidiaries — Alken-Maes — colluded with InBev (then still Interbrew) to control pricing in the Belgian beer market. According to the EU’s prosecution, the two companies “struck a general non-aggression pact to fix retail prices, to share information on sales volumes and to limit investments and advertising in hotels, restaurants and cafes from 1993 to 1998.”

This was Danone’s second such fine, the first being in 2004 when the EU fined them €1.5 million ($1.95 million U.S.) for a similar scheme in France with Heineken (who owned 30% of the French market). At that time, Danone also owned Kronenbourg, which had 40% of the French beer market.

In 2000, Danone sold off all of it’s breweries, French and Belgian, to the British Scottish & Newcastle.

In case you missed it, I went to London and Brussels last week with a couple of Bay Area brewers, Shaun O’Sullivam from 21st Amendment and Christian Kazakoff from Triple Rock. Photos from the trip were posted back to the date when we were there so, unless you were looking for them, you probably missed them. Here are the photo gallery links from the trip.

1.24 London Pub Tour
1.25 Fuller’s Griffin Brewery Tour
1.26 Brussels in January
1.26 Cantillon Brewery Tour
1.27 The Old Ale Festival at the White Horse
 

On Friday, we left England and took the Chunnel train under the English Channel to Brussels for a quick day trip.

The Eurostar train in Brussels.

Where you can get a Duvel to enjoy on board.

Downtown Brussels near the Midi train station.

Where even their beer trash is better.

That’s a discarded bottle of Westmalle Tripel.

First stop was a tour of Brasserie Cantillon, the last remaining brewery in Brussels.

For the full brewery tour, visit the photo gallery.

Cantillon owner Jean-Pierre Van Roy and me after our tour.

After our tour, we did some quick sightseeing. This, of course, is the famous Manneken-Pis.

Across the street from which was the Poechenellekelder, a bit touristy but with a decent beer selection.

The nearby Grand Place.

Including the Brewers Union building.

And, of course, the Delirium Cafe, also packed with tourists.

With a spiral staircase lined with Delirium Tremens bottles.

The Floris Absinthe bar across the alley was closed until eight, by the Delirium Cafe had one type of absinthe so I could try some with my beer.

Afterwards, we had a quick dinner at Bier Circus. Here Shaun shows off his steak and the ubiquitous plate of frittes.

And our beer selection with dinner.

Back at the train station to return to London there was an interesting selection of canned beer in the vending machines. All in all, the trip was too quick to do anything but scratch the surface of the city, but at least we had a chance to do that. I’m certainly looking forward to returning and spending a little more time there.

Jon Bonné, the new big cheese at the San Francisco Chronicle’s wine section, had a little blurb in the Sipping News about a wonderful beer, the Duchesse de Bourgogne, imported by D&V International.

Bonné claims it’s a beer for wine lovers, though I assume he means others might enjoy it, too. His pairing suggestiions are intriguing, matching it with “rich cream dishes (with mussels, for instance) or a firm, bold-flavored cheese like an aged Gouda.” He also mentions the Citty Beer store — 1168 Folsom (at 7th), 415.503.1033 — as a place to buy it, and it’s good to see them get some love. I could make a big deal out of Bonné’s selling as a beer for cork dorks, but I’m hoping what he’s trying to do is get people who might not otherwise try a sophisticated beer to try one, and because I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt after his gracious response to my earlier criticism about one of the first beer pieces he green-lighted after coming to the Chronicle.

Duchesse de Bourgogne is a favorite of mine, as I love the style — Flanders Red Ale — and I usually order one if I find it on a beer list. I was thrilled to see it in California beginning last year. It’s brewed at the Brouwerij Verhaeghe, located in Vichte, which is a ancient castle and farm in West Flanders, Belgium. By the way, it’s pronounced “Doo-shay.”

Beer aside, the history of the Duchesse is fascinating. Her anglicized name was Mary of Burgundy, though she was born in Brussels on February 13, 1457, the only child of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, and his wife Isabella of Bourbon. Needless to say she was quite a catch, especially after her father died in battle (at the siege of Nancy, not a particularly awful sounding name) in 1477, when she was nineteen. Louis XI of France tried to take Burgundy and the Low Conutries for himself but was frustrated when Mary signed the “Great Privilege,” by which she gave Flanders, Brabant, Hainaut, and all of Holland autonomous rule (leaving for herself the remainder of the Low Countries, Artois, Luxembourg, and Franche-Comté). She then married Archduke Maximilian of Austria, who was later the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I, and part of the Hapsburg Austrian dynasty. This sparked a long-standing dispute over the Low Countries between France and the Hapsburg family.

Two portraits of Mary of Burgundy, the Duchesse de Bourgogne.

One of Mary’s favorite hobbies was falconing, which was popular among royals in the day. Falconry is basically training and hunting using a falcon. While engaged in this pursuit, in 1482, Mary’s horse tripped, tossing her onto the ground where the horse then landed on top of her, breaking her back. A few days later she died. Mary was only 25. The beer label’s portrait pays homage to her love of falconry and her ultimate death because of it.

Her young son Philip became heir after her death, though Maximilian was in charge until he reached adulthood. King Louis forced Maximilian to sign the Treaty of Arras the same year, and it gave Franche Comté and Artois to France. But Philip was a virtual prisoner until 1485, and then it took Max another eight years to take back control of their lands in the Low Countries. The Treaty of Senlis, in 1493, finally established peace in the area, but Burgundy and Picardy remained French.

So during her short life, Mary had such great impact on European politics that they can be felt even now in the present. So it’s quite appropriate that she have so wonderful a beer that bears her name and her portrait. It’s a fitting legacy.

The description of the beer from the importer:

The Duchesse de Bourgogne from Brouwerij Verhaeghe is the traditional Flemish red ale. This refreshing ale is matured in oak casks; smooth with a rich texture and interplay of passion fruit, and chocolate, and a long, dry and acidic finish. After the first and secondary fermentation, the beer goes for maturation into the oak barrels for 18 months. The final product is a blend of younger 8 months old beer with 18 months old beer. The average age of the Duchesse de Bourgogne before being bottled is 12 months.

Monday evening the beer chef, Bruce Paton, hosted a “Dinner with the Brewmaster” with Urthel’s Hildegard and Bas van Ostaden. It was a small, more intimate dinner than usual, and I had a very good time.

We began the evening with Hop-It, the first Imperial IPA brewed in Belgium. The tap handle featured one of Bas’ gnomes, which appear on all the Urthel labels.

Hildegard van Ostaden, Urthel’s brewster, one of only two female brewers working in Belgium, and Brian Hunt of Moonlight Brewing.

Hildegard spoke to the audience before each course and described the beer we were about to enjoy.

Then her husband and business partner, Bas, entertained the crowd with stories of the Urthels, the bald little gnomes on the beer labels that he created.

Our beautifully presented dessert, a tartare of figs and Buddha’s hand with chocolate sabayon, vanilla mascarpone and cocoa nib cookie.

Jen Garris and Brian Hunt.

Bas van Ostaden, Bruce Paton and Hildegard van Ostaden after the dinner.