Old Friends: Leffe Blonde

Dipping into some of the dimmest and most distant of crevices in my drinking memories today for this resurrection of my Old Friends series. Back in the days when I was a college student in Birmingham, I got the train from New Street early one Saturday morning to go to Esher in Surrey. The main purpose for the trip was to spend the day at the Sandown races with my eldest brother, who lived down that way back then. Having spent the day frittering money away on thoroughbreds of varying uselessness, we headed into central London for dinner at a non-descript curry house, non-descript in the sense that I don't have the foggiest as to what I ate, but weirdly 2 beers are lodged in my memory, the Żywiec I was drinking and the Leffe Blonde that was my brother's choice that night.

Being a good younger brother, by 8 years, I was suitably in awe of his sophistication and worldly wiseness, and so at some point back in Brum I made a point of trying Leffe, in the comfort of the All Bar One. Given that I studied theology at Bible college, I was definitely not supposed to be there as we were supposed to not partake in the demon drink and all that jazz - I wonder if the college authorities knew that plenty of the married students kept a stash of booze in their flats that the singles among us would take advantage of from time to time, or that I would disappear for a few pints of Caffrey's at a pub called The Trees most afternoons?

Anyway, I developed a liking for Leffe Blonde, and so in the shop the other week, seeing it available as a single bottle in a build your own six pack, I thought, what the heck, and on one of the rare occasions the house was empty, I cracked it open to head down memory lane...

Wracking the old grey matter for hints of what lay ahead of me, I had a notion that what I was going to find would be distinctly sweet, even slick and syrupy, with a nose full of sugar. Still, it looked grand going into my one and only vaguely appropriate glass for a Belgian abbey ale.

It certainly poured the colour I vaguely recalled, a beautifully rich, deep, golden with superb clarity - I assume it is filtered. The head was a half inch of white foam, with some large bubbles that soon popped as it dissipated to a thin schmeer. I don't recall if my urbane brother sniffed his beer that night in London, but I certainly did here in Central Virginia, and prominent was a spicy character that made me think of ginger and cloves, not quite Christmas gingerbread from a European Yuletide market, but subtly lingering there, along with traces of golden syrup and marmelade.

Ok, just drink the damned beer already...cloves again - the thing with that clove thing is that it really is like the dark side of the Force, once you head down that way "forever will it dominate your destiny", there is no escaping it, even if it is a yeast derived ester. In the mix though was also dark honey, a trace of oakiness, and dried fruits, almost a rich spiced fruit cake, but with a light pithy bitterness in the background to keep it interesting.

So that sweet attack that my memory had me expecting didn't happen, don't get me wrong, it is sweet, just not syrupy and overwhelmingly cloying. I was actually pleasantly surprised and while it is hardly the most characterful abbey ale in the world, he says as if he drinks them regularly, it was decidedly drinkable and might have to make more regular appearances in the beer fridge, especially for soaking the currants, raisins, and co for my annual Yule cake.

Freezing Wipers

We got off the Channel Tunnel and headed north east, toward Belgium. Having spent 4 days in the UK (yes I will get to those beers soon), seeing the whole family together for Christmas for the first time since the days of Liverpool winning all and sundry, it was nice to get back to the continent.

We were heading towards Belgium for a very specific reason, to reach the Menin Gate in time for the sounding of the Last Post at 8 o'clock. The Menin Gate is in the little town of Ieper, a town which during the Great War was right on the front line and was practically destroyed. The town is probably better known by its French name, Ypres, and by people who loved history at school as Wipers. This part of Belgium has for my family quite some resonance because we are a military family, and it was in this area that my great-grandfather, an Old Contemptible, fought between 1914 and 1916 until he had his heel blown off and was invalided out of the army.

The gate is inscribed with the names of 34,984 soldiers from the various countries of the then British Empire who died in one of the battles for Ieper but have no known grave, and marks the starting point of the journey to the front line. It is a very sobering place. The Last Post has sounded here almost every night since 1927, and with our two minutes silence done we headed south to Lille for the night, despite the fact that we were returning to Ieper the following morning, to see more Great War sites and visit the excellent In Flanders Fields exhibition in the Cloth Hall.

There is nothing more likely to give you a craving for a drink than seeing how carelessly lives were thrown away trying to re-create the battle tactics of the medieval era without taking into account machine guns, grenades and mustard gas. So we went to find a bar that was open, needing not only a drink but also to get warm - it was freezing in Flanders.

The cafe we went to had an almost dizzying array of beer, all on tap, and just wanting to get something down I ordered a Primus Pils, from the Brouwerij Haacht. I wasn't expecting anything special, but it was certainly a very nice and easily drinkable lager, and a rather natty glass. Golden with a fluffy head, a medium body and just a touch of bitterness made this a drink which barely touched the back of my throat but did the job.

As I tend to drink quicker than most people I know, I had time for a second while Mrs Velkyal and my parents finished off their drinks. Not recognising a single name on the menu, I plumped for another Haacht product, Tongerlo Christmas, an abbey ale which is very similar to Leffe but slightly more drinkable. Only one thing suprised me with the Tongerlo and that was that it was served with a small piece of Tongerlo cheese, as you can see in the picture.

I didn't take extensive notes of the beers I had in Ieper, just a few jotted words on my mobile. One thing that I did notice in the town was the range of beers available, most prominently was SAS Pils, which I found an ironic name given the town's history. It may have been the most fleeting of trips to Belgium and certainly not one which exposed me to the great names of the beer scene there - but it whetted my appetite to visit again and find out what else is available. And if it is not considered crass, to raise a glass to those fallen "lions led by donkeys".

Not A Big Dog

Until recently Belgian Trappist ales were the kind of beer which either cost an arm and a leg at Pivovarský klub, or necessitated a trip to the cheese shop and spending reasonably equal amounts of money on beer and cheese – my other major food weakness is extra mature Cheddar cheese. However, while I was away on holiday, I got an sms from Evan to tell that the world had gone crazy and our local Billa now stocked the likes of Orval, Rochefort and Westmalle.

One beer which they don’t stock at any of the above is St Bernardus Prior 8, an Abbey Ale which was another new beer to me, and part of the culture shock of being in L’Eclerc in La Souterraine wanting to meet their beer buyer – he is doing a good job!

In many ways this beer was pretty much as I expected, being a Belgian Abbey Ale and having an “8” in the title, immediately made me think of the Rochefort 8, and indeed it pours a similar cloudy brown although with a more frothy head, tinged with beige. The nose was malty, with touches of cocoa. The maltiness of the nose came through again in the sweetness of the beer, although the body was on the thinner side of the Rochefort, which while not reaching the heights of those august ales is no bad thing.

The world of Abbey Ale is becoming one I will be trying to explore as much as possible in the next few months and, given my soft spot for Gottschalk from Želiv, hopefully not just brews from Belgium.