Our species has long sought to make sense of the world by classifying it into neat little chunks. First-century Roman scholar and oft-mispronounced eponym Pliny the Elder included in his Natural History an exhaustive botanical survey that included the hops plant, or at least some close relative. Seventeen centuries later, Swedish biologist Carl Linnaeus published works that lay the foundation for modern scientific taxonomy by which we call those hops Humulus lupulus.
Beer taxonomy, in the form of Beer Judge Certification Program (BJCP) and Great American Beer Festival (GABF) style guides, attempts to make sense of our infinite variations on malt, hops, water, and yeast by assigning them to well-defined categories such as Pilsner and stout. It’s all too easy, however, to interpret such guides as prescriptive instead of descriptive.
Nowhere is the gulf between edict and observation as wide as in the diverse array of beers that we casually lump together as Belgian. What does it mean to call a beer Belgian? After all, Belgium is a linguistically and culturally diverse political entity that has only existed as a constitutional monarchy since 1831. So what is Belgian about Belgian beer?
The only thing we can say with some certainty is that the beer is probably inspired by the brewing traditions of Flanders, Wallonia, or Brussels. Reliance on an expressive yeast strain or the inclusion of Reinheitsgebot-verboten sugars and spices is often part of the equation, but that need not be the case. Belgian brewers tend to ignore style parameters and lean upon knowledge, experience, and creativity. And yet, so many of these beers do, still, fall into discrete, if roughly hewn, categories.
It is therefore with a spirit of curiosity, not of constraint, that we survey the ales of Belgium, where being out of style is always fashionably in style.
Monastic Ales
The most famous Belgian ales are those brewed by monks, augmented by those that we romantics like to imagine are brewed by monks, even when they are brewed by multinational conglomerates. Variously referred to as Trappist-style and abbey-style ales, these have come to epitomize what is meant by “Belgian beer.”
Trappist beers hail from Trappist monasteries, of which there are six in Belgium, two in the Netherlands, and one each in Austria, Italy, and the United States. Only products bearing the hexagonal Authentic Trappist Product logo can technically be called Trappist, and legions of lawyers stand by to ensure that this remains the case.
For the purpose of discussing style, we consider monastic ales to be those that may or may not originate in a monastery but nonetheless maintain the Trappist 1-2-3-4 order of beer styles, if not the Benedictine Order itself. Here, then, is that order.
Enkel
The Dutch enkel translates as “single,” and the enkel is, in fact, a monastic session beer built on a simple but sturdy Pilsner base. Light in color and low in alcohol, these effervescent ales showcase a fruity, spicy yeast character just like dubbels and tripels. However, you can enjoy a number of enkels, unlike dubbels or tripels, without inadvertently breaking your vow of silence. Enkels are meant to refresh, so they’re well attenuated and feature spicy hops aromas and flavors that complement the expressive yeast.
Trappist-style enkels are usually served only at the abbeys themselves, but of the few commercial examples out there, New Belgium Porch Swing (Fort Collins, Colorado) and St. Bernardus Extra 4 (Belgium) are among the easiest to find.
Dubbel
As the name suggests, dubbel is stronger than a single, though not necessarily twice as strong. While enkels are golden, dubbels showcase a deep russet body, topped by a fluffy white head. Like all monastic ales, dubbel’s flavor and aroma feature yeast-derived esters and phenols. But beyond the yeast, much of the dubbel’s character derives from dark sugar syrup, which provides both color and suggestions of raisins and figs.
American dubbels often feature caramel malt in the grist, but one can brew a well-made dubbel with little more than Pilsner malt and a healthy dose of caramelized sugar syrup. Simple sugar promotes light body and a dry finish in an otherwise hefty beer.
Widely available examples include Chimay Red (Belgium), New Belgium Abbey, and Ommegang Abbey Ale (Cooperstown, New York).
Tripel
Climbing higher into the belfry, we arrive at tripel, one of the world’s sneakiest beer styles. Tripel almost universally means a light-colored ale that relies on Pilsner malt, simple sugar, and little else in the grist (Stift Engelszell’s Gregorius and Brouwerij Van Steenberge’s Gulden Draak are, however, both marketed as dark tripels). A golden hue, firm hops character, and dry finish belie the alcoholic content of the best-made examples, which can easily approach 10 percent alcohol by volume.
Widely available examples include Unibroue’s La Fin du Monde (Chambly, Quebec), New Belgium Trippel, Tripel Karmeliet (Belgium), and Westmalle Tripel (Belgium).
Quadrupel/Dark Strong Ale
Quadrupels and Belgian dark strong ales are the strongest of the strong, and this category exhibits a great deal of diversity. The BJCP and GABF descriptions indicate wide ranges for all of the stylistic parameters, and a lot can happen between the extremes.
So what makes a quadrupel or dark strong ale? It’s all relative, really. A quad or dark strong ale is usually the richest, darkest, heftiest member of a brewery’s lineup and can range in color from deep ruby to an almost opaque dark brown. The best ones are deceptively smooth and deliver robust flavors of figs and plums, along with some phenols from the yeast. As with the dubbel, quads and dark strong ales derive character from generous doses of dark caramelized sugar.
Widely available examples include Avery’s The Reverend (Boulder, Colorado), Chimay Blue, Rochefort 10 (Belgium), and St. Bernardus Abt 12.
Westvleteren 12 remains the world’s most famous and sought-after example of the style, but laying your hands on one—the monks of the Sint-Sixtusabdij van Westvleteren are famously reticent—means visiting Belgium yourself or buying it through clandestine import channels.
Orval
Orval (Abbaye Notre-Dame d’Orval, Belgium) is so unique, so unlike anything found anywhere else, that it is literally in a class all its own. More like a fruity pale ale than what we think of as classically Trappist-style, Orval features three flavorful twists:
- It’s dry hopped with Styrian Goldings.
- It’s bottle conditioned with Brettanomyces.
- It’s carbonated to about twice the level of most American ales.
It is telling that in the first four issues of _Craft Beer & Brewing Magazine®, _Orval found its way into the dream six-packs of our featured brewing professionals. Orval is just a beer, not a style, but that singularity only serves to make it all the more appealing and enigmatic.
Strong Secular Styles
Beyond the monastery walls, a couple of other styles merit mention because of their ubiquity and alcoholic strength.
Golden Strong Ale
Golden strong ales are fashioned after the archetypal Duvel and feature a golden color and fluffy white head. Similar in appearance to tripel, the golden strong is drier and bitterer. These potent ales also feature spicy, fruity notes courtesy of signature yeast strains. Expect beaucoup carbon dioxide and lacing that lasts for days.
Widely available examples include Delirium Tremens (Belgium), Duvel (Belgium), Great Divide Hades (Denver, Colorado), and Russian River Damnation (Santa Rosa, California).
Blonde Ale
To the casual observer, a Belgian blonde ale looks rather like a Pilsner in a tulip glass, but a few sips tell you that this is something more. Despite its heft, Belgian blonde ale is among the most accessible Belgian styles for newcomers to the field. The best ones are medium-strong and a little spicy, though rarely as strong, fruity, and spicy as tripel or golden strong ale.
Widely available examples include Affligem Blond (Belgium), Allagash Blonde (Portland, Maine), and Leffe Blonde (Belgium).
Belgian Style
“I don’t write for children,” observed the late Maurice Sendak, author and illustrator of _Where the Wild Things Are. _“I write, and somebody says, ‘That’s for children.’”
Like Sendak, Belgian beers famously resist classification. In that spirit, perhaps we shouldn’t think of beer-style guides as taxonomies of standards, but rather as phrasebooks—references that empower us to speak about beer in a common language despite our diverse perspectives and palates. Viewed through that lens, Belgian style is less about classifying beers into discrete categories than it is about uniting them under a common umbrella.
And what could be more classically Belgian than that?