This is the second of three Trappistes Rochefort beers in The Book. We saw the Rochefort 6 recently, and this is a similar brew with similar ingredients, but one which ratchets up the strength a little to a very respectable 9.2% ABV.

Once again, there’s a gigantic foamy head, perhaps even larger than that of the 6. The 8 pours slightly darker, and is more of a burnished bronze colour.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there isn’t a great deal of difference between the 6 and the 8. There’s that same toasty caramel and christmas pudding fruit, along with a vinous barleywine-like finish.

That said, I notice I did use the word “refreshing” about the 6, whereas with that 9.2% strength, I’m not sure I would describe this one as such. It’s more of a warming drink, and one to take a little more slowly. It’s a fairly thick beer, and gently swilling it, the way the foam holds to the glass is a thing of beauty in itself.

Rochefort 8 is certainly a good, savourable beer. I rather like it, though I slightly resent it for not giving me anything particularly interesting to say in comparison to the previous Rochefort offering. That’s clearly unfair, because I suspect if I tried this one in isolation, I’d be very impressed indeed.

We’ve one more Trappistes Rochefort beer left to try. At a mighty 11.3% ABV, the Rochefort 10 is the strongest beer I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ve sourced a bottle today, and I’m very much looking forward to it.

Facts and Figures

Still more Belgian monk beer for us to try, and yet this is only the first of three Trappistes Rochefort offerings that we have to work our way through.

The Rochefort beers are numbered 6, 8 and 10, with this one being the weakest of the triptych at a mere 7.5% ABV. One starts to wonder whether the cloistered Trappist lifestyle is quite as sober as they make it out to be.

Rochefort 6 pours a rather nice looking, fairish golden ruby colour. There’s an overwhelming amount of froth, which dissipates so slowly that it’s difficult to pour, let alone drink, the beer.

There’s very little on the nose, just a faint beery smell with a tiny hint of the esters for which Belgian beer is known.

To taste, though, it’s fruit, fruit, fruit. In that regard Rochefort 6 is not unlike our previous Trappist beer, the Westmalle Dubbel, though it’s somewhat lighter, with a sweetness that’s a little reminiscent of a barleywine.

For all of its 7.5% ABV payload, Rochefort 6 is surprisingly refreshing, though the strength is not hidden. With its vinous finish, I can picture it working well after dinner, perhaps with strong cheeses. I haven’t actually tried that so don’t quote me on it. (I drank mine stood in the kitchen with a large cat on my shoulder, perhaps not the ideal use case).

All in all, I’m starting to see why “Trappist Beer” warrants its own section in The Book, as a style quite separate from the Belgian blonde beers such as Bosteels Karmeliet Tripel and Achouffe La Chouffe. While the latter exude noxious herbal esters and overbearing, imminent-hangover alcohol, the Trappist beers are all fruit, with a malty depth and comforting, warming booziness. I know which I prefer.

As I mentioned, there are two more Trappistes Rochefort beers to track down, which I’ll try to do in short order.

Facts and Figures

Our latest offering from the many brewing monks of Belgian comes from Westmalle, the second largest of the country’s Trappist breweries after Chimay.

Speaking of whom, I’m vaguely expecting Westmalle Dubbel to be reminiscent of Chimay Rouge, their both being 7.0% ABV Trappist beers with, er, with red labels. But appearances can be deceptive, so it’s time once again to fire up the trusty bottle opener and find out.

Westmalle Dubbel pours a lovely deep ruby colour, not dissimilar to, but darker and less cloudy than the Chimay Rouge, and with a big, fluffy white head that soon condenses to a dark beige lacing.

There’s a lovely, fruity, berry-like nose with inviting, boozy alcohol notes. I’m reminded immediately of Brakspear Triple, and can’t help but remark what an achievement is it for that plucky Oxfordshire brewery to be making beers that compare so well with these revered, ancient Belgian brews.

There are similarities in the flavour too: there’s yet more dark, sinister fruit, toasty malts and butterscotch sweetness. The body is surprisingly light, though far from watery, and I wonder how that would change if one were to age a bottle for a couple of years or more.

There’s a lightish finish too, with more toasty, slightly bitter butterscotch. That’s a result of the brewing process, which sees the wort being boiled over a direct flame, allowing some of the sugars to caramelise.

Finally there’s a pleasant warming afterglow from the alcohol, which I suppose there should be at 7% ABV, though it’s curious how that starts to seem like quite a low number after some other Belgian beers I’ve recently blogged!

All in all, Westmalle Dubbel is really quite a wonderful beer and I’ve no doubt I would buy it again. There’s also a Westmalle Tripel to track down—at a mere 9.5% ABV or so—and I’ll certainly be looking forward to that.

Facts and Figures

Having enjoyed Chimay Bleue quite so much, I was keen to crack on with trying the other two Chimays in The Book, the Rouge and the Blanche.

The latter two seem to be harder to get hold of, but a lunch hour stroll to the City Beverage Company was all it took to get my hands on this, the weakest—well, least strong—of the trio, weighing in at a mere 7% ABV.

Chimay Rouge pours somewhat less dark than the Bleue, which is to say that light may actually penetrate it. It’s still a very dark, very hazy brownish colour, with a smallish off-white head that dissipates to a fine beige lacing quite promptly.

To taste, the Rouge has a noticeably lighter body than the Bleue, with more of a vinous, wine-like finish. There is also more hoppy bitterness, and a warming booziness that reminds you that if you weren’t comparing it to the 9.0% Bleue, this would be considered a very strong beer.

There isn’t the sheer luxury here that the Bleue affords, though, and the Bleue remains my favourite.

I’m aware that I’m making the Rouge sounds like a poor second-best by constantly comparing it to the Bleue, which isn’t really fair, since it’s still a genuinely good beer. It’ll be very interesting to see where the 8% Blanche fits in to the range. I feel a walk up to Old Street coming on…

Facts and Figures

With the two previous Belgian beers I’ve tackled, I’ve wondered aloud what the exact use case for these super-strength blonde bombshells is.

I have no such qualms about this one. Chimay Bleue is pure luxury in a glass. This is a beer just made to be savoured slowly, late at night, in your favourite armchair by the fire.

This is the first of three Chimays that are in The Book. All of them are brewed by Trappist monks at the Notre-Dame de Scourmont Abbey in Hainaut, Belgium.

Chimay Bleue pours almost black, though if you hold it up to the light, you can see it’s actually a lovely dark ruby colour. There’s a small and very velvety beige head, and it tastes like the beer you always wanted to drink.

You absolutely must serve Chimay beers at room temperature, as it’s only then that the sheer quality and depth truly become apparent.

Bleue is rich, dark and chocolatey without being sweet. It has the smoky depth of a good stout, such as last night’s Guinness Foreign Extra, but without any of the bitterness and grit. It’s boozy, decadent, and hopelessly moreish. Still, at a Special Brew matching 9% ABV it might be wise to stick at one, and take your time over it.

Enjoyed that way, Chimay Bleue is just a wonderful beer, and the perfect nightcap.

Facts and Figures