By Alex Tweet, cofounder and head brewer of Fieldwork Brewing Co. in Berkeley, California. Fieldwork was featured in JBT31.
As the global craft beer movement has hit fever pitch, spawning new trends and styles that shift with the wind, it can be rather daunting for a newcomer to understand not just what they are drinking, but more importantly, whether it is even beer. The demand for modern-day brewers to produce whimsical beers can be irritating to most older brewers who came of age in an era before the term “craft” was synonymous with any and all beer that was not made by one of the global lager powerhouses. In the days of old we searched warm store shelves for beers from breweries far and wide, often altered by the time spent crossing oceans and countries, with no thought of cold chain distribution. Some handled the voyage better than others, but at the end of the day, they were all an experience to drink, telling the story of a few simple ingredients with a level of intriguing subtlety that delighted your palate while also sprinkling your olfactory senses with a sophisticated bouquet that can ever so easily get subdued, muddled, or even worse, unappreciated. There is no style more exemplary of that era than the Belgian Golden Ale.
There is an old adage in brewing that there is nothing harder to brew than a good lager. The reasoning is that with only basic brewing ingredients, and no bold flavors to cover up flaws, the lager is somehow the apex of brewing technique. While I respect the theory, I find myself wholeheartedly in disagreement. If perfectly following directions and adhering to process while using straightforward ingredients was the end all be all, then tomato soup would be the pinnacle of the culinary arts. You can travel the world and find hundreds upon hundreds of breweries making very high quality lagers that can stand side by side with the legends of the category. But Belgian beers? Not so much. There are so few breweries outside of Belgium that can come close to replicating their magic it would be more worthwhile to look for truffles growing out of concrete. As far as the Belgian Golden Ale is concerned, it has some of the same challenges as brewing a lager; the grainbill consists of very simple pale barley, fairly neutral soft water, simple sugars, and hops that are not potent in bitterness, aromatics, or oils. However, everything changes with the inclusion of that classic wily Belgian Ale yeast.
As a nation Belgium has had breweries dating back nearly a millennium, with the most ubiquitous Belgian Golden (Delirium Tremens) celebrating its centenary this year. It’s a tall task to mimic their long-learned art of manipulating their historic yeast to produce the trademark fruity esters of pear, apple, apricot, orange, honey, pineapple, bubblegum, rose petal, and lemon while also restricting phenols to the background, resulting in far more subtle notes of pepper and clove. You have fermentation temperatures, pitch rates, zonal tank control, cold conditioning, champagne-like carbonation, yeast stress level controls, thermal loads, ester and phenol compound production, and bottle conditioning…
One of the greatest things about this stalwart of a beer style is that you don’t have to track it down nor wait in line for it. The best examples in the world are sitting in your local bottle shop. Duvel by Brouwerij Moortgat, La Chouffe by Brasserie d’Achouffe, Delirium Tremens by Brouwerij Huyghe, and Orval by Brasserie d’Orval all exemplify the beauty and diversity of this style in their own unique ways. While Orval will always in my opinion be the GOAT, I’d be remiss if I didn’t pontificate on what is arguably the crown jewel of the legendary Michael James Jackson’s writings: Delirium Tremens.
So beautiful in its yellow paleness with the slightest haze so you can’t quite see your fingerprints through the glass, its high carbonation levels send bubbles soaring up the walls of the glass to let you know just how shit you are at washing your glassware (psst, if there’s soap residue in your glass, the bubbles will stick). The nose is simply elegant, lacking the sweet fruitiness or wintery spice that some Belgian ales deliver with reckless intensity. Delirium Tremens leads off with an assertive blend of fresh pear skins and a musty old workshop, which soon is overtaken by an uncommon floral intensity I wish more beers had. Loads of lavender permeate its bubbly head, and it’s not like that lavender candle at a department store that your significant other keeps shoving in your face saying “smell, smell, smell”, but real delicate freshly picked English lavender leaves.
Its body is deceptive; the aggressive carbonation acts like an airbag on your tongue keeping the beer from sticking to it for more than just a moment. The finish on this beer is something to behold. There is the ever so slight tinge of alcohol and a hint of astringency that washes off your palate quickly, leaving behind earthy notes of juicy red apple, lemon blossoms, and coriander seed. It’s not hard to understand why this has been such a beloved beer by so many, with such a dry finish, well hidden alcohol, and beautifully complex flavors and aromas that are pungent without being too obvious. Delirium Tremens might just be the best beer you never buy.
While customers currently have their sights set on hops and fruit, I keep the faith that things will eventually come full circle–not just these classic styles, but these historic beers. They, specifically, will return to the levels of popularity they so painfully deserve.