Before Rocktober, there is Hoptember.

If there's anything Belgium loves more than beer, it might be random, small-town festivals. To live here is to experience the joy of throwing cats off towers or racing down rivers in bathtubs.

Of course, it's best when beer and random festivals collide, as they often do. Looking ahead, September is loaded with that sort of chicanery. For example, there are not one but two fests dedicated to our dear friend Humulus lupulus, better known as the hop.

From September 12 to 14, the tiny Brootcorens brewery in Erquelinnes is hosting the Fête du Houblon. This is spittin' distance from the French border. Just in case you'd like to spit in France's general direction.

The more famous event is the following weekend: the Poperinge Hop Festival from September 19 to 21. They party so hard at this one that they can only hold it every three years. You know a town is serious about hops when it has a whole museum dedicated to them (yes, the tour includes a free beer).

So I'll have to pass on Erquelinnes this time around. Besides, that's the same weekend as at least two major beer festivals. More about those later.

Anyway, you can't dance at every bathtub regatta. Or so I am told.

Farmhouse Ales, Missouri Style.

Our long home leave in the American hinterlands has offered lots of chances to sample hugely hoppy brews. Sadly, not much time to blog. I did get to homebrew with my brother a bit, partly inspired by my Belgian experiences.

That boiling pot you see there is 10 gallons of Missouri farmhouse experiment. Half became a refreshing American pale ale with reasonably hoppy flavor. The other half is nearing completion as a Belgian-style saison. Same ingredients, including some juicy American hops for aroma, but wildly different yeasts and fermentations. Maybe I'll let you in on the side-by-side results after bottle-conditioning is done. This much I can say: We're pleased to get such flavorful beers weighing in at a highly quaffable 4 percent alcohol. In that sense they're closer to the real farmhouse ales that farmers gave their workers in the old days. Those ales inspired the somewhat stronger, modern versions like the great Saison Dupont.

Also apparently inspired by that classic was a beer I'd long been waiting to try: the Boulevard Saison. This one is easy to like, mildly bitter and spicy with a dry finish. Some subtle citrus aroma adds to the refreshment. It was damn hard to beat in the thick of Missouri summer, with some grilled steaks down at the lake. Or on the farm.

The farm where we brewed, incidentally, was owned by my grandparents until they died last year. Our family still owns it, for now. No ostriches, but there are some chickens. They got to eat the spent brewing grains. Happy chickens.

At the Mercy of Mad Scientists, and Ostriches, in West Flanders.

The Struise brewers are the beer-geek darlings these days. Among those who sniff and swirl and sip from tulips and take notes on aroma and head retention, there's nobody hotter right now in Europe or even the U.S. Now, I hate being a crowd-following sheep. I've got a rebellious gene that begs me to ignore Struise and the hype and go get excited about something else. But I can't. Their beers are just too damned good.

So the other day I hopped into a car with a friend and lucked into an adventure that took us to the Struise farm, tucked into the pastures of West Flanders. There are ostriches there. And a secret laboratory fit for mad scientists. And a brewery in a tent. Plus more than a few bizarre and delicious things to taste. Be wary, I thought. They will brainwash you with beer.

The most impressive was the Dirty Horse. Let's call it a backyard lambic, equal parts patience, talent and insanity. Five years ago, the mad scientists left some wort out for two days, using a clean tarp and plastic tunnel as a coolship. I'm not totally clear on what happens next, but various snapshots from the ale's childhood would portray sherry casks, Rodenbach yeast and lots of cherries, followed by three years of adolescence in oak barrels. The final product takes five years and is intense, tart and funky at a reasonable 7 percent strength. The powerful nose offers cidery must, grapefruit and lemon, and those tart cherries in the backdrop. I sniffed. I swirled. I sipped.

While there we also got to help brew a test batch for a top-secret beer. Sorry, can't tell you a thing about it. I only mention it to annoy you. And if the beer turns out any good, I'll claim full credit after personally stirring the mash for about five minutes. All in my patented figure-eight technique.

Now comes the part where I level with you. For a while I've thought the Struise guys were geniuses at creating buzz among the geeks. The reality is much simpler. They are friendly dudes who make beers--in small batches--that are not only interesting but dangerously easy to like and drink. They also happen to be geeks themselves. They want to share their beer with you and talk about it. There is no secret here. Look them up and visit the farm.

And if you really want to come out on top, bring them some IPAs.

Mad Max: Beyond Lambikodrome.

OK, a bit of news. What a novel idea for a blog.

Lovers of Belgian sour stuff are all atwitter because one of the very best is opening a new tasting café. That would be Armand Debelder, brewer and blendmeister at 3 Fonteinen in Beersel, just south of Brussels. (In my opinion, the free expression of which is why I have a blog, this is not just one of the best lambic breweries in Pajottenland... This is one of the best breweries in Belgium.)

The café's official opening is on June 14. You can show up that day and party. Better yet, wait a week or so for the crowds to thin out, so you can have elbow room with your lambic. Those planning to visit Belgium on their next beery vacation are hereby advised to make this place a priority.

The café, which sits directly in front of the brewery, is said to be named Lambikodrome. The space is less fearsome than the name. It's a fairly simple room with several tables. Armand has promised us a very interesting list with several vintages and brews that have never been available before. But he offers a few warnings:

1. It won't be cheap (nor should it be).
2. Beer is available for tasting on-premises only. No takeaways.
3. No food. For that go to the always excellent 3 Fonteinen restaurant around the corner.

That second rule, if it holds, is sure to disappoint many a nerdly ticker and trader of exotic beers. You know who I mean. Those who lust for, and feel entitled to, every beer they've never had. Especially when it's physically and/or financially out of reach.

There's something that's been on my mind lately. Specifically, the time, money and energy required to always pursue new and interesting beers, versus enjoying whatever is accessible and tasty. Beer hunting is a wicked hobby. But there is always more to explore within your favorite local beer, isn't there? Think global, drink local, and all that.

Easy for me to say. I live near Beersel.

Not a Run of the Molen Place in my IJ.

See Podge, I couldn't wait to steal your phrase. Damn if I didn't go ahead and give you credit for it.

This is all a cheap segue into more of our Amsterdam adventures. I'll cut right to it, for you poor souls who don't think "beer" when you think of Amsterdam. About 20 minutes walk southeast of the central train station is a windmill that looms over a small brewery. The brewery is called IJ, pronounced "eye" and named for the huge puddle that makes Amsterdam what it is and occasionally inspires me to sing like Brel and Bowie.

Inside the brewery is a slightly shabby little pub that opens at 3 o'clock sharp. Reportedly this used to be a bath house for the neighborhood. Now it hosts a healthy mix of locals and tourists bathing their taste buds in fresh, creamy beer.

Six of its beers were available on our visit. One of the most interesting was Struis, a tart and fruity ale at 9 percent strength. I believe the missus' favorite was the IJwit, a Belgian-style white beer with Hefeweizen leanings... bubble-gum and bananas in the nose, yum. My personal favorite was the lightest of the bunch, the Plzen. Grassy and bitter with a citric edge, very refreshing.

We tried everything they had. You can see why I married her. Why she married me, I have no idea.

If you take the family to Amsterdam, here's a scheme for you: Say you're taking them to see a real Dutch windmill. Then you get to drink nice beer and avoid the Red Light District too. Everybody wins.

The Amazing Before and After of the Amazing Japanese Pancake. Amazing!

So, the Missus and I just had some culinary adventures in the port of Amsterdam, a name I can't write without singing loudly to myself in cartoonish imitation of Jacques Brel or David Bowie. Surely everyone does that?

Highlights for us included plenty of falafel and beer. We're simple, hobbit-like folk who think with our bellies. I'm told we went to a concert and even a museum between meals.

The best feeding of the weekend was at the aptly named Japanese Pancake World. The specialty there is okonomiyaki; but you'll find "Japanese pancake" much easier to say I think. The literal translation is "grill what you like." To the Japanese this is ancient street food, often eaten at festivals. To us it's just damn tasty.

And now I imagine that somewhere in Japan there is a gourmet corn dog restaurant. Doesn't matter.

Mine was Hiroshima style. What's in there, anyway? A bit of batter, loads of cabbage, some corn, thin slices of pork... and a bunch of other things. Some little curly fish flakes. Noodles. Seaweed. Other odds and ends. This tall pile of stuff is cooked at medium heat on a griddle, slowly, squishing it down as some of the juices cook out. Finally it's turned upside-down (or right side up, if you prefer) and slathered with Worcestershire sauce and mayonnaise. You are encouraged to slather more and generously. I slathered like a slathering fool and was not disappointed. Every bite was a sweet-and-savory burst of yum.

The only thing this place was missing was some decent beer. Luckily one of Holland's best is a 10-minute walk away. The Arendsnest is atmospheric and very Dutch, showing great taste with its list of local beers. Pictured here is the Pek & Veren, a smoked stout from the Molen brewery.

I wanted more flavor from this one. You know, more contemplative sip-ability, considering its 8% strength. Instead it was dangerously smooth and quaffable. The smoke was almost too subtle.

It was awful purty though.

Beer Hunting in Paris: Not for the Faint of Heart.

It's a well-kept secret that France makes some damn fine beers. Wine gets all the attention. But particularly in the North near the Belgian border, farmhouse traditions and gastronomic culture collide to make several tasty amber liquids.

A short primer: Many of the best French beers are known as biére de garde. That means beer for keeping, and it's a close relative of the Belgian saison ales. Back in the day, farmers (read: land owners) in this region used to make loads and loads of this stuff to fuel their workers (read: peasants) in the warmer months. Problem was, it was tough to brew in the warmer months because of infection and other issues. So they brewed in the winter. The beer was built to last.

My point is, France has a solid beer-making tradition. And wouldn't you think it would easy to find good examples of this tradition in Paris, the very capital of France?

Well, don't think that. You'd be wrong.

Not only is good biére de garde tough to find in Paris, but you'll pay a high price if you come across it. This is a city where, in the center, even a watery Kronenbourg will run you €7 in a typical café. Expect to pay a couple euros more for decent craft beer.

A smarter man would just drink wine in Paris. It's cheaper you know, and it'll be good.

But I am not a smarter man. I am a beer man.

So it came to pass that we paid dearly to try a few interesting French beers in Paris. One of them, pictured here, is Gwiniz Du from the Brasserie de Bretagne. That region is known for its buckwheat crêpes, and this dark and bready number is made from the same grain. There were no crêpes within reach at that moment, but I reckon it would have made a tasty pairing. This was at the cozy Sous Bock, a rugby-themed pub near the Louvre boasting more than 150 beers.

By my count, this pub had more than twice as many Belgian beers (85) as French ones (36). That was a common theme; in fact, a couple of the specialist cafés we tried had virtually no French craft beer. Just lots of Belgians.

More irony: The three best French beers I think I've ever tasted--two from Thiriez and the excellent Bavaisienne from Theillier--were at the Delirium Café in Brussels.

So it goes in the strange world of craft beer exports.

I Wouldn't Drink That if I Were You.

Recently we visited the WWII Museum and Memorial in Bastogne. And just now a Bart quote from a very old Simpsons episode popped into my head: "There are no good wars, with the following exceptions: The American Revolution, World War II, and the Star Wars trilogy."

Anyway, the museum and its audio tour were interesting. The coolest stuff for me was all the random objects from the war era. Many of them were presumably from the pockets and collections of soldiers. I'll be honest, the weapons were a bit boring for me. I was a lot more interested in the comic books and chewing gum.

And the beer.

So here's a photo of a beer from WWII. Note the clear bottle; I think it's safe to say that this little guy is long past his drink-by date. A little trivia on Fort Pitt Brewing, in case you care: It was a Pittsburgh brewery open from 1906 to 1957. It's named for the British military fort around which Pittsburgh was built.

Incidentally, the British built one of the early North American breweries at Fort Pitt in 1765. Not long before the American Revolution. Another of Bart's good wars!

See how beer brings everything full circle?

OK, One More Thing About Lisbon, You Drunks.

I like to think I'm a dude who appreciates the finer things, and too often I don't mind paying for them. Real flavor and character are far more important to me than alcohol, which frankly gets in my way.

Aww, but I'm a sucker for cheap novelty booze!

In Lisbon, the cheap novelty booze of choice is ginjinha. It's a brandy made with fermented sour cherries. OK, a little googling will tell you they're not really sour cherries, but in fact a suspiciously cherry-like berry called ginja. Nonsense, I say. This is a Prunus of subgenus Cerasus if I've ever seen one. Ahem.

Anyway. In the center of Lisbon you're bound to walk past a hole in the wall called A Ginjinha. It's not much bigger than a walk-in closet. There, for a measly euro (approximately US$87.52 at today's exchange rate), you can get a plastic cup of this tart and syrupy sweet concoction. Interesting stuff, and an easy pick-me-up if your dogs are tired from touristing.

One more thing: Guidebooks will warn you not to eat the liquor-soaked cherries in the bottom of the cup, lest you get sick or hallucinate. More lies! I took that bullet for you with no ill effects. Chomp away and live to tell the tale.

All That and a Bag of Chips.

Late report from Open Brewing Day: We hit all three of our priorities at Drie Fonteinen, Dubuisson and the castle at Géants. The last one was probably the most fun, as a medieval atmosphere invaded the courtyard amid perfect weather. Minstrels and jesters ran around and bemused a sizable chunk of Ath and Irchonwelz beer lovers. Outside the castle a sporting dude in knight's getup allowed a gang of young whippersnappers to beat the hell out of him with rubber swords. There was an archery range, which to me seemed less than brilliant alongside copious amounts of Belgian beer. And there was much revelry.

Most exciting for me: the redemption of Saison Voisin. Ah, saisons... I could go on and on and on about them, but not today. For now I'll tell you about this one: The Voisin is generally a touch maltier and darker than other beers calling themselves saisons. It's also been a touch sweeter without much bitterness. On tap, fresh at the brewery, it was another thing altogether. The hops got all serious on me. That plus moderate dryness made for a very refreshing beer on a damn fine spring afternoon. Could be that the recipe has changed a bit since merging with Ellezelloise, whose beers lean on the dry and bitter side. I hope so. Or it could be that I've got no idea what I'm talking about. Also very possible.

In Beersel, we got a sneak preview of Armand's new tasting café at Drie Fonteinen. Sadly there was no glimpse of the café's beer list yet. It should open for real sometime this month, in theory. That's a must-visit if you enjoy real lambic and plan to be in Belgium this summer. Tell Armand that Joe sent you. If you're lucky, he might pretend that he remembers who the hell you're talking about.

The Dubuisson brewery just outside of Pipaix is also worth a visit, especially if you have a taste for the strong and sweet. The weather wasn't quite right for barley wines; I prefer winter and a snifter before bedtime. But the tour was a hoot anyway. The animated film starring the Dubuisson troll is much funnier if your French is as weak as mine. The gym-sized, high-tech bottling machine was truly impressive. Best of all, the beer tent at the end sold bags of chips for 2 euros.

Now, I'm used to be gouged by snack prices in Brussels pubs. So I assumed I was plunking down coins for a tiny snack pack. But behold! It was one of those giant, extra-large bags from the grocery store. They don't skimp on the chips in Pipaix, no sir. They do it right. And every few feet around the tent, there was a poster warning you to use a "Bob," or designated driver.

This is true wisdom when your beer is 12 percent booze.