100 Beers, 100 Days: Day #14
It can be easy to forget, as an American living in one of the few states which still won’t sell beer on Sundays, that a widespread condemnation of alcohol among Christian sects is a relatively recent phenomenon, and one mostly confined the US. It was medieval French monks that kept oenology alive through a time when so much knowledge was lost to violent kingdom-building. Legend says that Irish (or Scottish, depending on who’s telling the story) monks on a mission to Arabia saw how stills were used to extract the essences of plants and flowers for perfume, and after a flash of inspiration and a shift in application, whiskey was born, opening the door to an entire new world of beverages. In Belgium, a land of grain and strange yeasts, the specialty is beer, brewing being encouraged by St. Benedict, the inventor of monks, for the sanitation of boiling the wort, the meditative toil of the process and the nourishment that beer provides to monks fasting. After lifetimes of devotion to the creation of drinks in the service of God, some Belgians monks have gotten pretty good at it. In particular they got good at making unique styles of strong ales, the tripel being the strongest of these.
The Abbaye de Maredsous was founded by Benedctines in the late 19th century, just a baby compared to some of the Cistercian abbeys that produce the famous Trappist ales. Hopefully they were allowed to copy someone else’s notes to get started. Maredsous 10 came in a stubby 33cL bottle. The design of the label has a more modern look than the stark coat-of-arms on their website—more rounded edges, lighter colors—but it’s still fairly sparse. It tells what it is, how much of it there is, notes that it’s 10% ABV and includes a little logo that reminds me of the mark included on Trappist beers. Unfortunately the French side of the text encircling it is illegible, and I woudn’t even know where to begin with translating Flemish. As with Welsh, I’m not convinced that it’s a real language rather than an elaborate joke. There’s also a brief paragraph about the beer that includes advice to serve it colder than I expected, around 42° Fahrenheit. I already had it in the fridge and I’m impatient, so that worked out well, and, oddly enough, the somewhat colder-than-cellar temperature did something really amazing with the taste, which I’ll get to in a few more sentences.
I got out the goblet for this one. It poured a cloudy, brownish orange, with a fluffy, white, sturdy head. The smell was quite pleasant, and it was fun to stick my nose in the glass and just breathe it in for a while. The sweet, Belgian yeasty scent was dominant, and beneath that there were sweet malts, a lemony citrus and some other fruitiness that didn’t remind me of any particular fruit. As I mentioned I drank it a little colder than I’d expect a beer this strong and fancy to be served, and this caused the beer to dramatically transform as it warmed in my mouth. It seemed to unfold in four distinct phases: it hit my tongue with a silky smooth feel, thick and Christmasy with a taste of nuts and candied dates, and this quickly gave way to a sharp, hot bite of carbonation and alcohol. As that faded it became crisper and more orangey while a malty sweetness came back into view, and it finished dry with some hoppy bitterness and musky taste of yeast. It’s not spicey like some Belgian ales, but I thought the rush of different flavors was really interesting. This beer is definitely worth a try if you come across it.
And that’s week two. I guess I should do one of those summary dealies.
Styles:
- Saison: 1
- Lager: 2
- Hefeweizen: 2
- Dark ale: 3
- Bière de garde: 1
- Cream ale: 1
- IPA: 1
- Barleywine: 1
- Stout: 1
- Belgian Tripel: 1
Countries:
- Kingdom of Belgium: 2
- United Kingdom of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland: 3
- United States of America: 5
- Republique francaise: 1
- Canada: 1
- Eire: 1
- Lietuvos Respublika: 1
So there’s something.