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Nicole Simeone & CJ Coyne
Pride and Prejudice: Belgian Edition
It's a story of two nerd girls divided by a little bit of pride and a little bit of prejudice. How will it end?
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good beer, must be in want of a glass.” Jane Austen wrote this famous opening line of Pride and Prejudice to purvey the beer drinkers’ struggle of marrying the perfect beer to the perfect glass. Ok, not really, but Jane, better than anybody in literature (fight me), understood the importance of suitability in matchmaking, both for personal contentment and societal expectation. While Jane and her Regency ladies kicked back after a hard day of chasing husbands while pretending not to chase husbands with a glass of claret or maybe a brandy snifter instead of a chocolate milk stout, the sentiment is the same.
Where could she possibly be going with this, you wonder? The glass is the thing. Have you ever heard of a Belgian glass? No? Sure, you’ve heard of tulip and snifter styles, but not Belgian. Why, you ask? Because Belgian beers are fucking gross. Thank Christ it’s not common to see Belgians on tap! Who in this (Barely) green (anymore) Earth would be calling for such swill! Leave them in bottles, buried in sad, unwanted cases beneath the far more delectable Miller Light where they belong. No one and I mean no one is calling for these malt-forward fake fruity beers. If you want something with enough sugar to kill even Wilford Brimley and his diabeetus, drink damn Pepsi (the only acceptable cola – fight me.)
Quads, Dubbels, and Strong Ales, which Nerdy wants to sip by the fire, are gross. They taste like old bathwater, someone dumped some rotting fruit and old peppercorns into vats of this vile liquid, then drank and puked up. Sure, someone may feel like they are enjoying a rich holiday treat while they relax underneath their blanket in a cozy winter evening, but I am poorer for having remembered that this beer even exists. Watch out, Nerdy will try to fool you with her talk of how light Tripels will taste of honey, banana, and clove. If you want those flavors, imbibe a beautiful cloudy Hefeweizen or get drunkel on a toasted Dunkel.
The Germans know what’s up when it comes to boozin’. The toasted biscuit notes of a perfectly balanced Oktoberfest is a thing of delight – a beer that showcases both malt and hop notes, the way a beer SHOULD beer be, and everything a Belgian is not. Reisling wines and their delicious Auschlese and Spatlese varietals are lush demi-sec potent potables. Their cars run forever, and their knives never dull. And have you ever tried sauerkraut and bratwurst with a side of German potato salad, it’s so delicious!
All this to say that Nerdy can have her fantasy of running around a maypole dressed like fae folk while she sips her nasty ass cloying diaper filled spice brewers have the audacity to call beer. I’ll be over in the corner drinking ANYTHING but a Belgian. Maybe a nice sour just to piss her off.
CJ’s fun jab at Belgians using the eternal classic Pride and Prejudice for this debate was perfect. Elizabeth Bennet, arguably her best heroine, nearly missed out having a Colin Firth wet t-shirt contest in her backyard whenever she desired. All because of a series of misunderstandings. The world would have been short a great love story if all hadn’t come right in the end.
We have a similar story with CJ and Belgian beer. You see, one evening at a lively bar, she was in want of a partner. To her chagrin, Belgians would not stand up with her. Capital offense! I jest, of course. How often can I talk about Austen in such an unusual way? Fictitious slight aside, CJ is dead set against Belgian brews.
Not to mix literary references, but I’m going to mix literary references. Hercule Poirot would be painfully agitated, adjusting his perfect mustaches and turning red in the face at the barrage of insults thrown at Belgian beers. A hot chocolate drinker at heart, he still wouldn’t have stood for such libel. The tutting and, often, exacerbated admonishment “Employ the little grey sails” he used so frequently on his compatriot Hastings is more than appropriate here. And that, mes enfants, is precisely what we are going to do.
Belgians are the season-less style, ready to delight the senses year-round. Who needs to chase the spring releases in February and the fall releases in July? This style has you covered right on time and when you need it. The colder months pair well with the Dubbels, Quadrupels, and Strong Ales with their dark fruity bent. Their richness makes them ideal for sipping by the fire. The warmer months are well suited for Tripels, Patsbiers, and Saisons. The hints of citrus, banana, and honey echo the bright warmth of the spring and summer.
Likening Belgians to the Buds and Millers of the world is cute, but it’s also the lowest-hanging insult a beer snob can huck at a beverage. Granted, a lot of Belgian recipes use pilsner malts; however, that hardly makes them identical twins. Occasionally sharing a color palette doesn’t either. Belgians are varied and complex beverages offering drinkers a wide array of sensory titillation without the need of shoehorning in pounds of additives or sitting in wine barrels for months.
Contrary to CJ’s vehement assertion, the style is comprised of egregiously unbalanced malt bombs, Belgian beers are, what I like to call, ensemble cast recipes. All of the ingredients being showcased rather than a single component stepping out a head above the rest. Hazy New England IPAs, sorry, I am looking at you. Sure, malts have a significant presence, especially in the higher ABV bevies. But that’s where the hops come in to bring down the inherent sweetness. The way CJ goes on, you’d think they were bottling wort and calling it beer.
To be honest, I never thought I would have to defend a beer against CJ, with one of the criticisms being that it’s not hoppy enough. This is a woman who, on more than one occasion, turned down a beer because it was too hoppy. I’d say something about Goldilocks here, but far too many literary references. Where she finds the hops in her sours, I’ll never know.
What I do know is that there is nothing better than bringing a glass up to take a sip and get wafts of subtle banana and spicy pepper and clove. It makes you pause and take an extra inhale or two before finally taking a sip of the bubbly, hazy yellow liquid. The fruit and spice aroma makes their way on to the palette mingled with malty sweetness with just the slightest hint of bitterness. The beverage is light and crisp with each and every sip. Never hanging too heavy or too long on the tongue.
Perfection.
Eh, bien. C’est tout. I will rest my case here for you to judge. I know I have not changed CJ’s mind. She will remain extremely indignant on the point, and I will continue to needle her about sours. But, perhaps, the next time you see a Belgian beer at hand, you’ll give it a try.
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