Now, I have to confess, when I first secured the limited release, monastery roof-funding six-pack of Westvleteren XII back in 2012, I tried it right away.
I cracked a single, slightly chilled bottle and was dismayed to find it breathtakingly boozy and cloyingly malty, like a Tootsie Pop dissolved in stout and fortified with brandy. I was not a fan.
Following that impetuous tasting, I read a number of articles that suggested the beer could benefit from a prolonged period of aging and promptly stowed the remaining five bottles and their custom glasses in a dark corner of my closet.
A recent foray into Belgium-influenced The District in Lower Lonsdale, where the beer is sold for $75 per 375-millilitre bottle with at least 48 hours’ notice, reminded me of my personal stash at home. I thought it was high time to revisit the monster brew.
I had a feeling that B.C.’s craft beer explosion, in which I have been an enthusiastic participant and witness to the rebirth of many near-forgotten styles, may have evolved my palate sufficiently to finally appreciate this critical darling.
But I needed to ensure that this revered brew could be coherently described. And who better to help shoulder the heavy burden of tasting this famed elixir than the North Shore News’ own accomplished Beer Guy, Andy Prest?
Andy Prest:
Best beer in the world? We’ll see about that.
But it certainly was the best beer email message I’ve ever received, the kind of message that makes you jump up in the middle of a crowded office and do a double fist pump. The message came from our wonderful restaurant reviewer Chris Dagenais: “I happen to have a six-pack of Westvleteren XII,” he wrote, “ranked Best Beer in the World many, many times by a number of influential sources.”
Would you like to try it? He asked. “Uhhhhh … Yes!” Fist pump, fist pump!
Now all I needed to do was find out what the heck Westvleteren XII was. I must admit that even as this newspaper’s esteemed beer columnist, I don’t spend my time pouring over Beers You’ll Never Drink magazine. I’m usually content instead to head down to the local craft brewery and pour whatever they’re serving down my throat. But this sounded incredible.
According to ancient lore and Google, Westvleteren XII is brewed by, who else, Belgian monks. A huge part of the appeal of Westvleteren XII is that it’s almost impossible to get, the monks brewing only enough to raise the exact amount of money to keep their monastery running. But in 2012 they needed a new roof, so they upped production and allowed a little more of their holy spirit to flood out into the world. Somehow, amazingly, Chris Dagenais had some. Even more amazingly, he wanted to share it with me.
How did you conjure this miracle, Chris? And why would you share the best beer in the world instead of hoarding it all, getting drunk on power and declaring yourself King of the Beer World? Also, God bless you.
Chris Dagenais:
Would that I had a skill so prized and valued by the world that it could be called upon whenever my home next needed renovation.
“Dad, I would sure love a solarium in which to complete my algebra homework,” my son in an alternate universe would say, probably.
“Sounds like a plan, son. Let me just whip up a batch of my special barbecue sauce and we’ll have that sucker paid for in no time.”
Alas, I have no such skill and must instead bask in the glory of the accomplishments of others. Like these monks from Vieteren, Belgium, for instance, whose beers are among the most awarded on the planet.
And I suspect that after three consecutive bottles of Westvleteren XII, a Trappist ale that tips the scales (not to mention the steeliest of constitutions) at a whopping 10.2 per cent alcohol by volume, I would declare myself King of the Known Universe, let alone of the beer world.
After a quick note to Andy, a tasting was arranged. Here is what we discovered.
Andy Prest:
Yes, for the love of God, we’re 750 words in and haven’t even opened a bottle. Let’s taste this thing.
A boozy, yeasty smell sprung from the simple, elegant, dark brown bottle as soon as Chris popped the top and poured the prize into the charming little goblets that came with the commemorative six-pack. It poured a deep brown, thick and opaque (very much like a good root beer, Chris noted).
Finally, the first sip, and we’re definitely not at the A&W. The aging process must have worked wonders on these bottles because for me the drunken Tootsie Pop that Chris warned about was nowhere to be found. Both of us confessed that the Trappist style was not a favourite, but this was certainly a world-class version of the Belgian brew.
It was a powerful blend of flavours – yeast, malt, hops, sweet, spice, fruit, earth, moon, stars – but none of them overwhelming in any way. Even that 10.2 per cent alcohol content blended in without disrupting the neighbours. Perhaps that’s the best way to describe it: the drink managed to tingle the senses in every way a beer can without any one of the flavours getting out of hand and ruining the party. Balanced, you could say, in a very Old World way.
That balance is something a lot of New World beers have trouble pulling off, so often taken over-the-top by crazy hops, fruit add-ons or unmasked alcohol. The Westvleteren XII kept giving after consumption, with a coating aftertaste that crawled up the throat and spun around the back of the mouth to provide a wonderful echo of what just went down. Very complex overall, and yet surprisingly approachable and easy to like.
What did you think, Chris? Did time work its magic on this brew for you, or is it still an overrated bit of boozy Halloween candy?
Chris Dagenais:
The beer was not candy-ish at all anymore, but still Halloween-like in its murky depth and gristly texture. Like an aged wine, this unfiltered beer had thrown a considerable amount of sediment by the time we opened it.
A careful pour was in order not to agitate the lees (dead yeasts, mostly), ensuring the cleanest, least chewy drinking experience possible. I find these potent Belgian Trappists to be light on carbonation at the best of times, but the aged XII was nearly flat, yielding a minimal foamy head and discreet tickle on the palate.
The Westvleteren was miles away from the funky, faintly leathery saisons that I cherish from Belgium, and even further removed from the bracing pucker of the sour beers I have come to love on our local market. It was like a beer from another era, awakened from a long cryogenic slumber to witness the radical shifts in brew culture that had taken place in its absence.
The final verdict?
Chris Dagenais:
My Westvleteren experience was largely academic, in the end, exposing my craft-leaning tastes to some lofty ideas of what beer can be, but ultimately solidifying my orientation towards more contemporary and progressive styles.
Andy Prest:
Best beer I’ve ever had? Nah, I reckon not. Chris and I quickly agreed that neither of us were prepared to make that statement. The skies didn’t part, and God herself did not reach down and dip a finger in the goblet. But the rarity of the brew and its saintly backstory certainly help its cause, and it was undoubtedly a wonderfully executed example of the Old World Trappist style.
Our tastes, however, seem to have fully taken root in the New World. I, too, would take an award-winning sour or IPA over this highly regarded monk’s brew. So maybe it’s not the best beer I’ve had, but it certainly turned into one of the best beer stories I’ll ever get to tell. And for me, that’s worth even more. Amen.
Chris Dagenais served as a manager for several restaurants downtown and on the North Shore. He earned his sommelier diploma in 2001. His regular Dish restaurant review appears weekly in this section. hungryontheshore@gmail.com
Andy Prest’s beer column appears about once a month in the Taste section.
