Call to mind a Belgian tripel, and two images are likely to appear: The first is a goblet of liquid gold, bubbling like a cauldron, topped with a head of snow; the second is a monk moving deliberately among brewery vessels in meditative concentration. Both reveal something essential about the development of this classic style. The question of color fixes the style in time, as does the image of those credited with first brewing it.
As Belgian styles go, tripels are not especially old, dating to fewer than 90 years ago. Until well into the 20th century, Belgium’s barley-based ales tended heavily toward amber and brown, colors that signal full, rich flavors. As in neighboring Germany, drinkers seeking pale beers often turned to wheat. (Compared to the deeper color of barley beers, they looked white or “wit.”) Brewing strong ales of pale color was flirting with gimmickry, and the early examples in the 1930s remained curiosities for decades. Nevertheless, the people most responsible for popularizing tripel—the Trappist monks of Westmalle Abbey—saw the future of beer, even if it took a long time coming. And because they were patient, they had time to refine their unusual beer, preparing it for the moment flaxen Belgian ales would supplant brown ones.
Double Ales, Yes. But Triple?
A pub-goer in 19th century Belgium would be familiar with “double” beers (or “dubbel,” in Dutch). Beers such as uytzet and gerst and Diest all came in ordinary and strong versions. The “double” in the title may have seemed slightly mysterious to drinkers, but to brewers it referred to process. It indicated gravity, but not in the way our 21st century brains might imagine. In a modern brewery, the way to moderate a beer’s strength is via the amount of malt in the grist. The difference between a session and imperial IPA is a matter of pounds.