3 Jews, 3 Quadrupels, and a Beer That Tastes Like Dirt

It took several months after I moved into my own Brussels apartment before I successfully organized my first social event.

Partly, this was because it took several months before I extricated myself from an unhappy job situation--and the attached grind of weekly travel to a country resembling a parallel universe from the land of my birth. Partly, this was because of a lack of occasion.

But such an occasion emerged last month when my dear Dutch friend, Gidon--a fellow congregant at the International Jewish Center (indeed, he's what passes for a "macher"--a "big shot"--at our modest temple)--contacted me about a long-deferred evening of beer tasting. We discussed a return visit to Moeder Lambic, a hoary haven for Belgium's beer nerds, but I finally took the initiative. "Let's have it at my place."

Two soon became three, as "D", a student at a certain semi-sectarian Belgian university wangled an invite. (He insists on keeping his identity secret as his doctoral colleagues believe he does nothing in Belgium except to drink beer).

I came well armed--with my main contribution a 750ml bottle of 2008 Cuvee van de Keizer (about which I've waxed rhapsodically in previous bloggings) and a 2004 vintage bottle of trappist-monk-brewed Westvleteren 12, which I had to break at least 3 of the Catholic Ten Commandments to obtain (as the monks of Westvleteren consider grey-market resale of their exalted ales an unoriginal but much-vexing sin).

But Gidon, he of 1500 beer labels collected (versus my mere 165 Ratebeer.com reviews) came prepared with Holland's Bommen en Granaten, which weighed in at 15% alcohol versus the more modest 10% of the Cuvee and 12% of the ill-gotten Westvleteren.

After some idle semitic chit-chat, and, for no particular reason, the donning of yarmulkes (mine was leather an had an Obama '08 log), the heavy business of tasting these exceptionally heavy brews began.

I opened with the Westvleteren. But after pouring the normal-sized 330ml bottle into three vintage beer chalices, I found myself unable to drink the Westvleteren. Why? Because it smelled sooooooo good. It smelled like the brown pumpernickel bread that's baked with raisins here. Deep, savory, and sweet. Finally, when I broke down and started sipping, the combination of treacle/molasses-like richness and raisin-like fruitiness was explosive on the palate. Whether it's worth my mortal soul may be another question.

Gidon replied with the Bommen en Granaten, Dutch for "Bombs and Grenades". Amber, clear and very gently carbonated, Bommen en Granaten unloads a mixture of flavors--fruity, malty, yeasty and just the tiniest bit floral--that can stir a palate that had just been sent heavenward by the Westvleteren. Interestingly, Bommen en Granaten may be more difficult to get than "Ole Westy"--it's produced by an obscure Dutch brewery.

This obscure brewery also produces the aptly named Hemel en Aarde--Heaven and Earth. It's an apt name because the brew is brewed with peat from some Scottish distillery with about 70 letters in its name. And it flippin' tastes like flippin' peat. I've never drank something that literally tasted this much like dirt, except for some of the water I found while digging in sandboxes as a child. If you are a single-malt scotch hound, you may like this...otherwise, accept that beer and peat don't mix.

Capping the evening off with the Keizer was nice--it too joins the Westy and the Bommen as a legit contender for the "Beer Champion Of The World" of the world title, though the evening was declared in the beginning as a non-title bout. This was good, because the early tastes of the Keizer served mainly to exorcise the peat flavor.

Will there be a champion bout at Maison Klein in the future? There's always a possibility--just so long as there's no peat involved, and no yarmulkes are required.