What did the Belgians ever do for us?

Belgium is a strange country. For some reason it seems just the right size to be the basis for a myriad of comparisons such as the commonly seen “An area of rainforest the size of Belgium has been mowed down in the Amazon”, the perhaps not very accurate “The arctic sea ice has shrunk by an area several times the size of Belgium”, and the somewhat exaggerated “That woman has an arse roughly the size of Belgium”. 

Furthermore, its strategic location between the old arch-enemies France and Germany has resulted in the country repeatedly being used as a convenient shortcut for the Germans when they fancied occupying a bit of France for whatever reason. I'm not sure if the ease of travelling through Belgium by tank is related to the fact that it happens to be the country on Earth with the greatest variety of beer styles and the highest concentration of alcohol in its beers, but it sounds kind of plausible.

I’ve been to Belgium a few times, and I always look forward to going there with the anticipation of a child about to enter Disneyland for the first time. There are about 125 breweries dotted around this tiny country (which, incidentally, is roughly the size of Belgium), brewing at least 20 clearly distinguishable styles, from the standard, boring pilsner copies that you get everywhere in the world to the wonderful Lambic style which is only brewed by a handful of producers around Brussels.

The Lambic ales are the most remarkable I have ever had the pleasure of tasting. It is, in fact, something of a miracle that this ale can still be legally made since its fermentation is based on wild yeasts entering the fermentation vat from the air, very unlike the rest of the brewing world which uses strictly controlled yeast strains. For this reason, the vats are usually found in the attic of the brewery, where the air flowing in through the windows and cracks brings in loads of insects, pollen, spiders, perhaps a fortunate parachutist or two, as well as the magical wild yeasts. Everything goes into the beer, and if the conditions are right – as they happen to be in Senne valley where Brussels lies – the brew wort starts to ferment.

A €25 bottle of Geuze in Antwerp

I first came across Lambic when I visited the Cantillon brewery in Brussels more than a decade ago. This is one of just a few breweries that stick to the old-school way of making Lambic, which involves storing it for about three years and then blending the mature beer with some fresh beer to spark a second fermentation in the bottle. The bottles can then be laid down for several more years to mature and mellow. Such Lambics are called “Geuze”, and are highly regarded among connoisseurs. For the uninitiated the taste will probably come as a shock, because it is deliciously dry and will probably remind you more of a lemon than “normal” beer. Note that a number of blasphemic Lambic producers have started adding sugar or fruity mixtures to sweeten the beer. Such beers should be avoided at all cost. You have been warned.

Belgium has much more to offer, though. There’s the ale called “Duvel”, for example, which translates as “devil” and in this case, one in disguise. It’s a tasty, very drinkable ale which you can easily imagine accidentally drinking a six-pack of on a sunny afternoon whilst watching the cricket or some butterflies or something. However, since the beer clocks in at a respectable 8.5%, you may find yourself asleep well before sunset. I had the pleasure of visiting the brewery during my last trip, which is situated in a sleepy village called Breendonk, half an hour’s drive north of the crazy Brussels traffic. It’s a massive site which has expanded rapidly in the last few years, but they claim that they still stick to their old commitments to quality, and based on my own taste tests I chose to believe them. I can be very gullible went I want to.

Beer is served with style in Belgium

Then there are the famous Trappist beers. These much-copied but seldom-bettered beers are brewed – or at least “supervised” – by monks from the Trappist order. These monks must be very happy indeed, because the beers they brew – and presumably enjoy with their meals at regular intervals – are among the very best in the world. There are only seven Trappist breweries, six of which are in Belgium and one just across the border in the Netherlands. Most of their beers are easy enough to get hold of, but if you fancy a bottle or six from the Sint-Sixtusabdij in Westvleteren you have to phone in your order and turn up in person to pick up your allowed crate. The reward is worth it though, as the Westvleteren 12 is recognized as arguably the world’s greatest beer, with a complexity and richness of flavour that most other breweries can only dream of.

Trappist beer ages well - this one was brewed in 2002

Apart from beer drinking, Belgium also has some quirky things on offer such as a fabulous Tintin museum, a really big atom, a magnificent square, a massive all-European government and a complete lack of national government. It’s a must-visit country for any beer lover worth his or her malt, and since it’s conveniently flat and slightly smaller than Moldova, it should be about right for a week’s cycling holiday too. Perhaps I'll go and pump up my tyres. I also have some souvebeers in my fridge. I'm off. See ya!