Secret Orgies in the Hotel De Ville, Public Ones in the Grand Place.

Well, no luck talking my way into Belgian Beer Weekend's costumed pre-fest ceremonies. Not for lack of trying. Maybe next year. Oh I'm sure it's all very boring, but I prefer to imagine it like Eyes Wide Shut plus beer. And what's a guy gotta do to try on a hat like this, short of trying out for the school play? Reckon if I can find a hat like that, they'll let me in automatically next year?

Elsewhere some asshat chastised me for suggesting this fest would be full of drunk Americans and Brits. I felt shame at my chauvinism, forgetting about all the drunk Belgians. Until I actually went to the fest. Let's just say that I (a) felt vindicated and (b) fit right in.

Meanwhile I saw a lot of familiar faces and met some new ones, including the classy dudes at Cave Direct. Go buy beer from them.

The fest's most interesting beer to me was that Bockor Foederbier. Not too complex, but it was tart and refreshing. Something between an unblended Flemish sour and a malty lambic, and it could be the base for the brewery's sweeter commercial beers (I can't recommend the Max series unless you prefer fruit candy to fruit beer). It's still mysterious but I'll let you know when I find out more. With luck Bockor will prioritize this more serious and interesting offering.

Another pleasant surprise was revisiting the light, fresh and hoppy Saison 1900 from Lefebvre, whose other, sweeter beers – such as Barbar – usually fail to turn me on. The Saison was a bit malty but fairly low on esters, making me think of lager or even Kölsch. Not a bad thing. Still, it was flabby next to Saison Dupont. Of which I had several glasses. Even though I have plenty at home. Shameless, I know.

Next up: Bruxellensis. A more discriminating, buttoned-down affair. No orgies as far as I know, but the selection of veggie quiches is impressive.

How to Avoid Beers Made from Cactus and Quinua.

A couple of years ago two friends of mine approached Belgian Beer Weekend on the Grand Place with a perverse idea: a competition to see who can find the absolute worst beer at the fest. After a few trials they arrived at Huyghe's Mongozo Coconut. There was no need to go further. The unique blend of sugar syrup, alcohol and suntan lotion had brought the contest to an end.

But let's say you want to approach this weekend's fest with a curiosity that's less scientific, more hedonistic. You actually want to try some good beer – preferably stuff you can't find in a Belgian grocery store – and annoy your friends by consistently picking better ones than they do.

I can help. Or at least I can cut through the noise on this prolific beer list. Bear in mind that your tastes and your own, so own them. No refunds, no guarantees.

Beer to start with while you make your drinking plan: Easy. Saison Dupont, on draft.

Breweries to try if you've never tried them: Dupont, Verhaeghe, St. Bernardus, Boon, Bavik and De Landtsheer. In that order I think. Trappist breweries: Achel and Westvleteren, since they're all nice but the other four are widely available.

A few rarities and curiosities:

Bockor Foederbier: I've never seen this anywhere. Could be an unblended version of the Bellegems Bruin, a red Flemish sour in the vein of Rodenbach. The word "Foederbier" suggests it's straight from the barrel. Possibly, maybe connected to the Grand Cru Rouge that Bockor made for Ommegang in New York (and thus for Duvel Moortgat).

Chapeau Cuvée: De Troch makes a lot of dumb, commercial fruit beers. But they also make this apparently authentic and interesting gueuze. The St. Louis Gueuze Fond Tradition from Van Honsebrouck is a similar exception. Besides the two Boon gueuzes those are the only serious ones on the list.

Boon Lambic: Frank Boon's aged and unblended lambic, straight from the barrel. Or a plastic jug that was recently filled straight from the barrel. Sour and strange but refreshing. In Belgium it's only found in a small handful of cafés.*

If none of those float your boat, well, we can't be friends. In that case I suggest the Floris Cactus.

Good luck.

*(such as the Belga Queen in Brussels, pictured here, which also has the unfiltered Palm pale ale)

Brussels Beer Fests Deliver the One-Two Punch in September.

The next two weekends are huge for the Brussels beer enthusiasts.

From Friday to Sunday is the big Belgian Beer Weekend on the Grand Place. Next weekend, September 13 and 14, is Bruxellensis. These are two of the best fêtes on the Belgian calendar, and they're the only two full-on beer fests in the capital.

More importantly, for those who live here: Nobody has to drive!

Here's what I was thinking: Some Brussels-based beer writer ought to really whoop and holler and make a big deal out of the next two weekends. Isn't that what bloggers are supposed to do? You know, pretend that lots of people are reading and make a big deal out of stuff. Unfortunately there are only three or four of us beer bloggers in the city, far as I know.* So it might as well be me. (Ahem.) Naturally my unrivaled promotional powers will bring hundreds of thousands of additional thirsty pilgrims flocking to the city, ready to sample the country's best tipples in opulent surroundings.

Anyway, this weekend's bash is the opulent one. How can you beat the Grand Place for ambiance? This one's also bigger (43 breweries at last count), more commercial, and slightly more expensive. Did I mention the ambiance?

One of the more interesting things about the Belgian Beer Weekend is the funny little ceremonies. Check out the lineup for Friday afternoon:

2.20 p.m.	Celebration of Saint-Arnould, Patron Saint of brewers, with the consecration of the beer organised by the Knighthood of the Brewers' Mashstaff, in the Saint Michael and Gudula Cathedral, Parvis Sainte-Gudule at 1000 Brussels.
3.30 p.m.	Academic session and enthronement ceremony of the Knighthood of the Brewers' Mashstaff, in the Gothic room of the Town Hall of Brussels. (Access limited to invited guests and press).
4.30 p.m.	Solemn inauguration of the beer stands on the Grand'Place by the brewers, the Grand Master of the ‘Knighthood of the Brewers' Mashstaff', the Mayor, the aldermen of Brussels and the invited guests. (Access limited to invited guests and press).

Think they'd let me in?

*The only others I know are Andreea's Belgian Beers – attached to her snazzy food blog – and Andrew Stroehlein's 40 Beers at 40. Also one very nostalgic one in French called C'était au temps où temps Bruxelles brassait – or "It was the time Brussels brewed" – a nifty Jacques Brel reference. Go read them all.

Which is Smaller: The Average Output of a French Craft Brewery, or my French Vocabulary?

Question: What's the difference between a French microbrewer and an American one?
Answer: About 10,000 hectoliters.

That was a little joke from Simon Thillou, proprietor of the excellent Cave à Bulles bottle shop in Paris. Any serious search in Paris for French craft beer starts and ends in his shop. And that's all the sneak peek you'll get into an article I'm trying to sell at the moment (want to buy it?).

The bottle you see here is not in Paris but Brussels, generously shared with us a few months ago by Jean Hummler at Moeder Lambic. This is the balanced and refreshing Cuvée des Jonquilles from the Bailleux brewery in Gussignies. From Cave à Bulles recently we also picked up a bottle of that brewery's Saison Saint-Medárd, which really blew the Missus and I away as a classic and dry saison-type beer in the Belgian mold. Either are versatile with various foods, moods and weather. Just our style.

By the way: Jean says Moeder Lambic will be offering some special treats during next weekend's Bruxellensis festival, which takes place just a few blocks away. That festival, meanwhile, promises some fun beers from Germany, Italy and Spain – besides all the Belgian beauties.

Incidentally I've offered to volunteer at the festival in a fit of beer-fueled civic enthusiasm. Not sure what I'm in for yet, other than taxing my anemic French to its very limits.

Raise Your Glass to Session Beers.

Maybe every young geek of my generation can remember a particular moment when they turned to craft beer forever (tell us about yours!). Mine came on a particularly thirsty evening in college. Someone gave me a cool bottle of Boulevard Tenpenny. A bready and hoppy version of the British bitter style, it was loaded with flavor yet fully thirst-quenching. It also happened to be 3.3% strong, made mainly for the state of Kansas and its reactionary liquor laws. Whatever its origin, it met my needs and pointed me in a new direction.

Boulevard has since retired that beer and moved on to more successful beers of mainstream strength. But I hope they bring the Tenpenny back one day. It might happen.

Now, I'll refrain from suggesting that sessionable beers are an up-and-coming trend, since people have been drinking them for years and years and years. Still, it's worth noting that the inimitable New York Times has just done this piece on quaffers with relatively low alcohol. The NYT will bring it to the attention of a lot of people. Many of them will be thirsty geeks who are secretly tired of overhopped and overboozed strong ales. Insert prediction here.

I've got two easy favorites in this genre, and the NYT names one of them: Dupont Avril, better known here as Dupont Biolégère. Maybe they changed the name so Americans wouldn't have to type the accent marks.

This is Dupont's take on the traditional Belgian table beer. At 3.5% abv, it's quite a bit stronger than the stuff once served to children at school and family dinner tables. To me its strength better reflects the history of saison beers, served to farm workers for happiness and hydration. It's hard to beat a couple of them on a lunch break, like the one glimpsed here at the Fous du Terroir in Brussels. (Tell you more about that place another day.)

The other favorite I'm sure I've raved about before: The Senne brewery's light but hoppy Taras Boulba. Great from the bottle and unbeatable on tap. I'll note their Stouterik also weighs in at 4.5%, while their upcoming lambic-infused Saison will check in at 4.3%. By Belgium's boozy standards, we're talking bantamweights.

Enjoy them while you can. It's still August, usually one of the hottest months of the year across the U.S. Here in Belgium it's already looking like fall. That dark, strong, warming stuff is just around the corner.

Mysterious Belgian Bar Snacks, Part I: Kip-Kap.

Lively discussion going on here about whether a good pub should serve decent food, and the popularity of something called "gastropubs" in the U.K. Let me try to boil it down:

(1) Good pubs don't necessarily need to serve food, but it helps.
(2) Good pubs without food are rare but still exist.
(3) Serving no food at all is nothing to brag about.

All of this has me thinking about the drinking cultures of other countries. And to what extent they include eating as part of the picture. Originally I vomited up hundreds of words about the importance of food to pubs in the U.S., Germany and Belgium. I'll sum it up with a rhetorical question (which means I don't really want you to answer): If you care about either good beer or good food, then why don't you care about both? Because beer is food and vice versa.

Then I deleted it all, because none of it was as interesting as the mystery of kip-kap.

Kip-kap is a local bar snack common in Brussels and surrounding areas. It's a sort of lunchmeat made from, allegedly, pig cheeks suspended in gelatin. Tastier than it sounds, especially with a glass of bottled lambic (pictured here next to some Cantillon Oude Gueuze at the Bécasse café). The gelatin has a faintly lemony taste that gets along with the sour beer, whose natural carbonation sweeps the meat's salt and fattiness away. Something like that.

OK, I'm sure it's not for everyone. But is that really pig cheek in there, or are other organs involved? How is it processed? Who came up with this? Most importantly, why?

On second thought, I don't want to know. The mystery is part of the adventure.

I'm not sure we could handle the truth anyhow.

Sour Ale and Shrimp Croquettes on the Coast.

We could have gone shopping or sightseeing. We could have visited the Ensor House, the art museum, walked the beach, or even rented a bicycle built for two. But no. On a dry and mild day in Oostende, we spent basically all of it eating and drinking.

So, it was a good day.

I had half-baked idea for an article on democratic seafood. By that I mean good and fresh at reasonable prices, upscale restos need not apply. In short: pubs and street stalls.

Of course we nipped into the Botteltje, one of the best specialist beer cafés in all of Belgium. But our highlight was probably the James, a brown café that finds its way into several guidebooks for a singular reason: its garnaalkroketten, or shrimp croquettes. They are freshly handmade, crispy on the outside, and exploding with fresh grey shrimp in creamy goodness.

A pair of these little guys will set you back €10. I haven't decided whether that price is democratic really... Did I mention it's a nice pub? Squeeze your lemon over them and wash down with a bottle of Rodenbach Grand Cru to learn what pairing is all about. The shrimp's natural sweetness and lemon's sharpness find mates in the Flemish red's unique sweet-sour flavor. Then the acidity and carbonation handle that thick creaminess and reset the palate.

That alone was worth the train ride.

Goin' Down in a Blaze of Glory, and Other Old West-Themed Rock Ballads.

Another thing Springfield is known for: a gunfight.

It happened in July 1865, one of the only known shootouts in which the gunmen faced each other and fired simultaneously, quick-draw style. The two men were Wild Bill Hickock and Davis Tutt. If you've never heard of Tutt, that's because he lost. Hickock wasn't really famous until Harper's wrote about the duel two years later.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "What a great piece of history. Someone ought to take that Old West/Wild Bill theme and start a brewpub with it. That's money!"

Too late. It's been done. Hickock's Steakhouse and Brewery opened in December 2005 amid much local buzz. Springfield is a town whose favorite restaurant is the latest one to open. Once the buzz wore off Hickock's quickly gained fame for shitty food and a really cool Old West mural. OK, I can't vouch for the food, I never tried it. Because everyone told me it was shitty. But that mural is awesome. Meanwhile hardly anyone mentions the beers.

Turns out they're pretty damn good, thanks to the direction of brewer Dave Lamb. We got to try them all one day in late June. The crowd was sparse and meanwhile the bartender hinted that the place was going down the tubes. We were happy enough with the Copperhead IPA and an oatmeal stout on creamy nitrogen pour. We all spoke optimistically about how the place might turn its grub and management around to save a solid little brewery being treated as an afterthought.

Hickock's shut its doors about two weeks ago, apparently a victim of poor management. So the place has gone the way of Dave Tutt. Somewhere in there is a lesson for the thousands of brewpubs across America. I'm not smart enough to figure it out. But I think old portraits of gunfighters are cool and every beer blog should have them.

Oh, maybe it was this: Running a restaurant is hard. Most people like food even more than they like beer. Neglect the food and you're dead in the street while other guys get famous.

Me, Rad Brad, and Good Beer in Springfield, Mo.

Hi. I'm from Springfield, Missouri, hometown of Brad Pitt. Now, I know what you're thinking. For a town like that to produce someone like Brad Pitt and someone like me... "Well," you're saying to yourself, "there must be something real special in the water down there." And maybe there is.

Being from Springfield, the Springfield Brewing Co. is our hometown brewery. I'm proud of that. Most beer geeks have never heard of the place. I don't care. Truth is, it's a lot like thousands of other breweries across the country.

It has a shiny brewing kit and shiny dark wood on the bar. It has a mug club for regulars. It has bartenders who don't always know what they're talking about. It has a core of house beers and an always-changing range of interesting seasonals, usually served too cold. There are occasional appearances from a barrel-aged sour ale, a hop monster, and a coffee stout. That's about as wild as it gets. Nothing that really stands out from the pack.

What sets it apart for me, besides the fact that it's my hometown brewery? This: I believe the technical quality is exceptionally high. In my 10 years of legal drinking, I've simply never had a bad beer there. From the light and refreshing quaffers on up to the ponderous Barrel Reserve, it all just tastes good. For me that puts it in the upper 10th percentile of all American breweries.

You might have heard this pointless pub debate: What country is the best/most exciting/most innovative brewing country? There's no correct answer,* and it's usually an excuse for my fellow Americans to pat each other on the backs (which is lame). Or maybe just an excuse to argue (which I respect). Usually the argument brings up all the exciting experiments with alpha hops, wild yeasts and barrels, plus the ongoing efforts to preserve foreign beer styles that have gone extinct. Fine.

The experiments are fun, but you know what's better? More and more small- and mid-sized cities having perfectly decent breweries of their own. One they can call their own. Imagine it! After decades of light lager then 30 or so years of craft beer revolutionizing, we're finally getting to a point where nearly every town bigger than a village has a local that makes its own beer. That's so, I don't know, German of us.

Speaking of Germany, the Springfield brewery makes one of the best Schwarzbiers I've ever had. And I've had a lot of them. In Germany. It's not a style I get excited about, but this one just tastes good. Chalk it up to a high degree of technical skill if you want.

Or maybe there's something in the water.

*I'm lying to your face to make a point here. In fact the correct answer is Belgium.

My Fellow Americans, Don't Forget to be Hedonists.

Hey: Collecting and analyzing and arguing about beer really doesn't do any good unless it contributes to your enjoyment of the stuff.

Imagine a Venn diagram where one circle represents people who spend way too much time thinking about beer. Another represents people who spend way too much time on the Internet. Those of us who live in that overlapping area can be a really weird sort. It can get ugly out there in cyberspace.

We can imagine more circles in this diagram. Americans. Brits. Europeans. Those who have beards. Those who collected baseball cards or comics when they were kids. Those who don't have favorite beers because they only rate new ones. Those who have read a couple of books and thus are authorities. Those who never learned how to have civil discussion with other human beings. Those who don't eat with their beer because food affects their palate. Those who are disappointed by an otherwise tasty beer because it doesn't match up with someone's idea of its "style." And so on.

I'm 31 years old. Beer and girls were still icky to me in the 1970s and 1980s, when there was no Internet. America was just waking up to craft beer. Michael Jackson was using journalism to teach the world about foreign beers, and there were not yet experts at every computer. I'm nostalgic for a time I never knew.

I'll tell you what I was doing then: collecting comic books. But I took really shitty care of them. I was more interested in reading them, over and over.