It’s also the third Westvleteren beer to be featured here, after the Blond from 2014, and the much more recent Extra from last month.

This is kind of the big one: a double-figures Belgian quad weighing in at 10.2% ABV, and one many consider to be the finest beer in the world. I was saving it for number 300, but practicality won out. Really, there’s no guarantee we’ll even make it that far, and it needed using.

I won’t bore you with the mythology, and the hoops that you—in theory—have to jump through to0 find this beer, because I just bought it at De Biertempel in Brussels back in 2014. I did try a relatively fresh one at the time, so I guess I do have something to compare this veteran one with, if only I can remember it.

Even a decade beyond its best before data, there’s a healthy, controlled “pssst” on opening, which is reassuring. I’ll pour this one a bit more carefully than the Extra, not least because the hefty puddle of dark yeast sediment is again present. It’s darker and less fizzy than that one, with perhaps a tiny bit more head retention. Well, perhaps not a head, but a ring of foam, at least.

It’s chocolatey on the nose, and there’s definitely booze in there. Of course, any real hop character has long gone, leaving this one perhaps a little too sweet for my tastes. In fact the body is a little syrupy, and it’s sticky on the lips too, which I don’t remember from the fresher one.

There’s more body than the Extra and toffee or caramel notes, rather than dried fruit. It’s nice enough, but is it the best beer in the world? When I had the fresh one I asked myself that question and I kind of concluded that if it wasn’t, then I don’t know what you’d have to do to make it better.

In this case, drinking it sooner would probably have helped. People do age these for decades, but at that point you just have to admit you’re more interested in owning it and pointing at it occasionally than actually drinking it.

Still, I wouldn’t call this a disappointment: it was still a nice bottle of beer to have as a break from the chaos of the last couple of days before a big move.

Facts and Figures

But reality got in the way and this was the second of three beers left in the cupboard before a long-distance move. Also there’s a Belgium World Cup game on at the moment. Any excuse, right?

This was another one sourced from De Biertempel in Brussels, seemingly in February 2014. I make that over 12 years it has been sat around “maturing” so it’ll be interesting to see how it has fared. Sadly I don’t have a fresher one to compare it to.

In fact I’ve talked about the scarcity of Westvleteren beers before, and you can read all about it on the internet, so I won’t labour it again here. Suffice to say, this is the first chance I’ve had to try the 8% Westvleteren Extra, often know as the “8”.

In the book this is listed as a Trappist Ale, which seems to be a bit of a catch-all term, style-wise. I believe this is pretty close to a Dubbel, which is a much darker, maltier syle than the Blond, or something like the Westmalle Tripel.

It pours an almost copper colour, with a surprising amount of fizz. There’s no head retention and not a great deal of body after so long. There’s a hefty amount of very dark, almost black, yeasty sediment, and of course I’ve poured it like an idiot so quite a bit of that makes it into the glass.

There isn’t much in the way of aroma, and certainly no hop character has survived the passage of time. To taste though, it’s full of black treacle, dates, raisins and toffee. It’s really quite sticky on the lips, which perhaps surprised me.

Hopefully one day I’ll get a chance to try a fresher one, as I suspected it would be quite different. This one was in no way unpleasant, but I wouldn’t say the lengthy period of ageing has worked magic.

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Slightly too much of an effort in fact, as I pitched up outside the Star & Garter on opening night to find the place still to be something of a building site. Never mind, a couple of days later with the paint still drying, I was able to spend a very pleasant Sunday afternoon working through the impressive tap lineup.

And the fridge of course, because quietly minding its own business in there was a beer from the list which has not been at all easy to track down. In fact I’m not sure I recall even seeing it in Brussels. Anyway, here’s the Girardin Gueuze 1882, or “Black Label” as it’s known, for fairly self-evident reasons.

Girardin are a family-run brewery based in the tiny Belgian village of Sint-Ulriks-Kapelle, and they produce two editions of their Gueuze: the White Label and this, the Black. This is the one the proper beer nerds tend to seek out, as it’s the unfiltered, unpasteurised version, bursting with delicious Lambic flavours.

It’s a complex beer, blended from 12, 18 and 24 month aged Lambics. It’s sour as befits the style, but not as brow-moisteningly so as some examples. Instead it’s zesty and citrussy yet full of soft vanilla and peach flavours and the unmistakable musty notes provided by the Brettanomyces yeast.

There are constantly extra depths to discover as you take your time over it and wish you had one of the larger bottles instead.

I shall certainly return to the Star & Garter before long and see what else we can find there. Bromley has certainly hit the jackpot now beer-wise, and I wish everyone involved in the new pub all the best.

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I’ve heard a lot of good things about six°north. Indeed, any bar that gets to hold a Cantillon Zwanze Day is going to be worth a little of our time. Plus it’s about 20 yards from my Premier Inn, so let’s pop in and have a look.

We’re officially in Scotland to look for Scottish beers, of course, but among six°north’s extensive menu of 313 bottles (yes, I counted them), Belgium is particularly well-represented. Here’s one I haven’t spotted on any of my trips to Brussels: a hefty 9.0% Abbey Beer from Montignies-sur-Roc, a tiny village close to the border with France.

We’ve already tried Abbaye dec Rocs’ Blanche des Honnelles wheat beer, but this is a very different proposition: stronger, darker and heavier, I can see the good people of Aberdeen welcoming a glass of this on a near-Arctic winter evening.

Abbaye des Rocs is a deep, rich chestnut colour, though by no means opaque. There’s very little in the way of froth, in part due to the well-trained barman’s careful pour.

The aroma is as Belgian as it gets, with those distinctive esters front and centre. Goodness me it’s rich too, and full of that roasty, bonfire toffee caramel sweetness. In fact this one probably has more in common with a Barley Wine than a typical Belgian brown.

It’s pretty easy to forget the strength, and glug away happily as the beer gets to work and keeps you warm, despite the proximity to the Arctic circle, which I haven’t actually checked on a map. But this is the furthest north that we’ve sampled any of the list so far, and it seems a fitting choice.

Good stuff then, and I can definitely recommend a visit to six°north any time you’re in town.

Facts and Figures

Here’s a beer that’s been sat in the Official Threehundredbeers Cellar (my spare room) for a while now. A lazy summer Sunday afternoon seems an appropriate time to crack open a chilled Belgian-style Wheat Beer

I always expect this style of beer to pour a cloudy white, but Blanche des Honnelles is another that comes out a vibrant golden colour. As always with a wheat beer, there’s that moment of indecision where you try to remember whether you’re supposed to pour the yeast into the glass too. A dilemma which resolves itself when you realise you’ve already plopped half of it in there while you were making up your mind.

The body is full and smooth, perhaps as a result of oats being used alongside wheat and presumably barley. There’s a pleasant, subtle citrus aroma which reminds you that some folks like to add a slice of lemon to this style of beer. You wouldn’t do that in public, of course, but I think it would work.

Beyond that, in terms of flavour, there isn’t a great deal going on. Instead it’s just a drinkable, refreshing tipple.

Indeed, this is quite an inoffensive beer, and you can see why it’s popular in Belgium with the sort of drinker for whom a stonking great double-figures behemoth like Bush Ambrée or a rich, dark Quad such as Rochefort 10 might not hit the spot. The respectable 6% ABV strength is well hidden too. Blindfolded, I’d probably guess that Blanche des Honnelles weighed in closer to about 4%.

It’s nice enough, all in all. A pefectly fine example of its style, but it’s a beer that doesn’t leave a great deal to say here.

Facts and Figures

Since we’re quite so comfortable sat at the bar here at La Capsule, let’s pick something more from the impressive tap list to follow the local speciality L’Angelus Bière de Garde.

I’m a big fan of Cantillon as is no doubt fairly clear by now. I toured the brewery in Brussels last year, and enjoyed the Kriek, then returned last month for the perhaps even better Rosé de Gambrinus. The Gueuze-Lambic is the core of the range, being the straight Geuze upon which the fruit-infused beers are based.

To my very great surprise, it’s served here at La Capsule in cask-conditioned form. I really had not expected to see handpumps in France, let alone one with Cantillon in it, so let’s not miss out.

The smell is amazing, eye-watering even. To be frank, cask Cantillon Gueuze-Lambic stinks to high heaven, but in a good way. The sourness is fully apparent but there’s a great yeasty funk to the aroma too, with mushroomy, musty, horse-inflected Brettonomyces-like yeast notes reminiscent of an aged Orval.

It smells nicer than it sounds, and obviously the flavour is stunning. Brow-moisteningly sour, it’s crammed with tangy, face-contorting citrus. Quality Geuzes such as the Cantillon always have so much depth and complexity behind that sourness though, from the expert blending of years-old barrel-aged Lambics.

That’s very much the case here, and the cask conditioning really works. Compared to the bottled or only slightly less rare keg beer, the edges are rounder and softer bringing a beautiful balance to proceedings. The finish is so long and dry I’ll still be tasting it back in London. This is a stunning beer in immaculate form.

I’m having a good day, all in all. With a few more moments to kill before running for the Eurostar, I followed the Cantillon with something called Capsoul. This is the La Capsule house beer, brewed by the renowned Belgian brewery De Struise. It was dark and rich and far easier to drink than its 10% strength might lead you to expect. So I had two.

It was starting to turn into a Saturday night at La Capsule by this point, and the somewhat compact bar was quite bustling, though the atmosphere remained as relaxed and convivial as I’m sure it always is. I was sad to leave, and I’ll make a point of returning before long.

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While France in general doesn’t have a great reputation as a destination for the beer lover, Lille itself is very much worth a visit, as we’ll hopefully see in the next couple of posts.

As capital of the Nord-Pas-de-Calais region, Lille is the heart of Bière de Garde country. The proximity to the Belgian border means we won’t go short of a Belgian tipple or two either. Like this one.

While it may seem a little odd to come to France to try something Belgian, where better to lay our hands on one of the less commonplace of the Leffe beers than at Café Leffe, just off the Grand Place. I used my very best French—a combination of pointing and hoping for the best—to commandeer a welcome cup of black coffee, followed by the house tartine and this, the 8.5% Leffe Triple.

Stronger and hoppier than the Blonde, which is very easy to find in the UK, the Triple is nevertheless an appealing golden honey colour. It’s a sight for sore eyes after an early start, that’s for sure.

It’s lovely stuff too. I’ve had this one in London and not been blown away, yet here, served with the correct glass at a table outside a very pleasant café, I’m convinced it tastes many times better.

Leffe Triple is in many ways a typical Belgian Tripel, the likes of which we’ve seen before. It’s sweeter perhaps, though roundedly and never cloyingly so, with those dried banana notes so characteristic of the style very much in attendance. It’s big and bitter too, but far from harsh.

That may be helped by the oranges added to the brew, while milled coriander seed adds a subtle heat, at first barely detectable yet building steadily as you work your way towards the bottom of the glass.

Which seems to happen surprisingly quickly, given the strength of the stuff, but never mind. It’s now chucking it down on the Grand Place, so since I’m a very happy camper sat here on the covered and heated terrace with my beer and my crossword, I think we’ll stay a little longer.

Thus, I followed this with the dark, rich Leffe Radieuse before wandering the rapidly drying streets to see what other beery delights this town might hold for us. I wasn’t disappointed.

Facts and Figures

It’ll be a good opportunity to fortify ourself for the trek home with one last croque monsieur, and to pick off a final beer from the list, Anker Gouden Carolus Classic.

Brouwerij Het Anker are based in Mechelen, Belgium and the Classic is one of several beers in their Gouden Carolus range, named after the golden coins of Belgian-born Roman emperor Charles V.

It’s certainly a change from the usual Belgian blonde beers. Dark and sinister with a small tan froth, it’s more reminiscent of a porter. It smells that way too, with smoky tobacco aromas alongside generous helpings of dates and other rich dried fruits.

Gouden Carolus Classic is remarkably easy drinking, and certainly doesn’t taste its full 8.5% strength. Instead it’s smooth and creamy with a tiny bit of sweetness that’s almost reminiscent of a milk stout. That smokiness is evident in the flavour, as are lashings of singed bonfire toffee and liquorice notes.

I like this one. It’s the perfect beer to soothe your system after a hard couple of days of Belgian research, but it would also go very well with rich stews or game.

And with that, we bid farewell to Poechenellekelder and to Brussels for the time being. I don’t think there’s any doubt that we shall return.

Facts and Figures

It’s day three in Brussels, and you certainly didn’t think I would come all this way without a return visit to Cantillon. I toured Cantillon last year, and very much enjoyed the Kriek, a sour, cherry-infused version of their world famous Geuze.

There sadly wasn’t time to repeat the tour this time, so you’ll have to make do with my words and pictures from last year, a morning when I practically had this venerable beery mecca to myself.

In a pleasing turn of events, there are still three Cantillon beers to be covered, and the thirsty beer pilgrim can sample this one, the Rosé de Gambrinus in the tasting rooms for a couple of euros. Let’s order a glass, steer clear of the deathtrap furnace in the middle of the room, and pull up a barrel.

The Rosé de Gambrinus is a very similar style of beer to the Kriek. Like that one, this is a Geuze, a bottle fermented blend of barrel-aged sour Lambic beers—a style in which Cantillon lead the world—infused with fruit, in this case raspberries.

And oh my, it’s good. It’s a shame the glass used here isn’t big enough to get your face right in there and fully enjoy the aroma, because it is fantastic. Face-puckering sourness laden with gorgeous raspberry fruit and the smell of generations of the same family perfecting their signature brewing style and technique.

To taste, it’s just a lovely beer. The sourness is pretty full on, but unlike the Kriek, which is made with sour cherries, the sweetness of the raspberries hits a perfect balance, without ever straying into Robinson’s cordial territory. Indeed the finish is long, tart and moreishly dry.

Initially light, zesty and refreshing, you imagine you could drink this all day, and yet it’s so complex that you’d still be discovering new depths to it at bedtime. Given that it’s not quite 11am yet and there is other business to attend to before we run for the Eurostar, we had probably better not try anyway.

We will, however, take advantage of the unnecessarily reasonable prices at the brewery shop—£6 for a 75cl bottle of Vigneronne would tempt you to leave London for good—and load up the rucksack with some treats to take home.

Facts and Figures

Since we’re at Café Bebo already, it seems like it would be rude not to see whether there’s anything else on the menu that may be of interest to us.

There is, of course, and it’s a strong, dark Abbey Beer brewed under the supervision of the Benedictine monks of the Abbaye de Maredsous, deep within the Walloon region, some distance south of Brussels.

We enjoyed the even stronger Maredsous Tripel at Lowlander back in London, but there’s something nice about finding a beer in its home country.

This is quite a different beer. The deep ruby brown colour is a giveaway, of course, as is a huge peppery aroma full of caramel and sinister dark fruits.

It’s lovely stuff too: rich, warming and packed with fruity date and raisin notes. The caramel is there in the flavour, but the beer isn’t oversweet. Instead there’s a satisfying, roasty coffee-like bitterness in the finish.

Maredsous Bruin is broadly similar to a Trappist Dubbel, such as the La Trappe Dubbel, though it’s darker, fuller bodied and a little stronger. Indeed, the respectable 8% ABV strength isn’t hidden, but really doesn’t need to be. This was always going to be a beer to take your time over and savour slowly. It would make a great winter or after-dinner beer, though sat in a Brussels café on a spring afternoon was just fine too.

I think that’s all of the beers we need from Café Bebo, but that won’t stop me dropping by any time I’m in Brussels. I’m rather fond of the place, and it’s been pleasing to finally work it into the blog.

A special word of thanks must go to The Beer Boutique, a cracking beer shop in Putney, London. My minimal tasting notes from the afternoon at Café Bebo reflect the fact that 24 hours researching beer in Brussels will take its toll on a chap. The Beer Boutique kindly got this one in stock at short notice, allowing me to cobble together something resembling a blog post. My thanks to them for that.

Facts and Figures