Adnams Oyster

American microbreweries have been very diligent at unearthing the rarest, most esoteric beer styles of Europe and recreating them in the Untied States.  For example, Vienna lager is a popular choice for American craft brewers and homebrewers alike....even though the style has been extinct in Vienna for a century.  Until recently I could think of at least one European beer style that hadn't been widely imported to the U.S.: oyster stout.  I say "until recently" because in the past year or so, this rare yet treasured dark brew has become one of the latest fads in the craft brew world.    

Oyster stout was born in the British Isles in the 1700s.  The pairing of stout and oysters arose from a combination of luck, timing, and convenience.  Oysters were a staple food in the taverns of coastal England during the 18th century.  They were cheap, delicious, and (at the time) abundant.  Around the same time, brewers in London, Dublin, and other cities began marketing a new type of beer known as stout porter.  Tavern owners started brewing and serving their own versions of this popular style. Patrons soon discovered that the stout beer happened to go excellently with a meal of oysters.  "Oyster stout" thus became a generalized name for the rich, homebrewed stout that was commonly served along with oysters at roadside taverns.

By the late 1800s and early 1900s, however, the oyster beds of England were dying out.  Oysters were no longer a cheap, readily-available bar snack. (But don't feel too bad for the tavern-going public: "fish and chips" became widely popular and easily obtainable during the late 1800s.)  The popularity of stout beer also waned during this time.  However, the once-popular "oyster stout" style lived on in some of the taverns England and her colonies.  During the early 1920s, in a shining display of British gastronomy, a few breweries in both England and New Zealand decided to cut out the middle man by simply brewing oysters into the beer itself.   


For a long time, I labored under the delusion that Adnams Oyster was brewed with its namesake bivalve.  However, like many modern oyster stout brewers, Adnams does not actually put oysters in its beer.  Instead, the "Oyster" designation simply salutes the tavern stouts of 18th century England while also suggesting an ideal food pairing.  But this is not to say that all modern oyster stouts are oyster-less.  In fact, many of the recent American versions of this style employ the classic technique of adding oysters to the boil.  Flying Dog, out of Maryland, recently released its Pearl Necklace Oyster Stout, which is brewed with local Rappahannock River oysters.  Both Harpoon and Dogfish Head have also issued limited-release "true" oyster stouts in the past year or two.  However, the consensus seems to be that these brews don't actually taste like oysters:  the molluscs disintegrate in the boil and add protein, which contributes to body and mouthfeel but not flavor.

In addition to (sometimes) the addition of oysters, oyster stouts can be generally distinguished from other stout beers by a few key traits.  First, they are very thick and very heavy ("chewy," as my friend Grant would say).  They tend to have a distinctively nutty flavor and a dark, coarse head.  Authentic oyster stouts are cask ales, in the classic British ale tradition.  As such, they are often unfiltered, lightly carbonated, and served at relatively warm temperatures.  They are are in the low-to-middle range of alcohol content -- around the same as a "draught" stout (like regular Guinness), but less than an "extra" stout, and much less than an "Imperial" stout.  Many oyster stouts (including Adnams Oyster) are seasonal brews, casked and sold only during the winter and spring.

Adnams Oyster is by no means the only fine English oyster stout on the market.  I'm willing to bet that the American editions are good too.  However, if you can get your hands on it, I highly recommend trying Adnams Oyster.  As I have probably mentioned somewhere in this blog, Adnams is my favorite English brewery.  (This is probably because my all-time favorite pub in England, the Castle Inn on Castle Street, Cambridge, is an Adnams joint.)

The brewery is located in Southwold, Suffolk, on the coast of eastern England.  The brewery was officially founded in 1872, when brothers George and Ernest Adnams purchased a run-down operation called the Sole Bay Brewery.  According to the folks at Adnams, people have been brewing on the Sole Bay site since the 1300s.  Adnams is committed to honoring its local heritage: Oyster is made with local East Anglian barley and Goldings hops from southeastern England.  Until six years ago, the brewery still made its deliveries to pubs in Southwold via a horse-drawn cart. The brewery currently offer a wide range of classic English ale styles, including an awesome bitter called Adnams Broadside.

Kirin Ichiban

Some of the classic beers featured in this blog have been brewed according to the same recipes for centuries; they were born in Medieval monasteries and celebrated in the palaces of the Renaissance.  Others have been winning awards at beer competitions since the 1700s.  Many of them, such as Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Stout, are still brewed using centuries-old equipment and techniques.  I love the stories of these ancient beers, and  I love the dedication it takes to remain true to your heritage despite years of war, famine, and fires.  But there's always room for new techniques and new classic beers.  Kirin Ichiban is a shining example of this principle.

The Kirin Brewery is currently located in Tokyo, Japan.  Kirin prides itself on being one of the oldest commercial breweries in Japan: it was originally founded in Yokohama in 1869 as the "Spring Valley Brewery."  Their flagship brew - a Pilsner-style lager called simply Kirin Beer - has been the best-selling beer in Japan continuously since 1888.  In 1990, they took it up a notch with the release of a premium version of Kirin Beer: Kirin Ichiban.

"Kirin" refers to a mythical Chinese creature with the head of a dragon, the body of a tiger, the scales of a fish, and the hooves of a horse; a depiction of this beast can be found on the bottle. "Ichiban" means "first" or "best."  On its surface, Kirin Ichiban looks like your typical Asian Pilsner: it is clear, golden yellow in color, and weighs in at about 5.5% ABV.  However, two unique characteristics set Kirin Ichiban  apart from the other great beers of the world.

The first distinctive feature of Kirin Ichiban is that it is an all-malt brew.  This means that 100% of the fermentable sugars used to make the beer are derived from malted barley.  In contrast, most mass-produced American and Asian lagers contain sugars from adjuncts like corn, rice, or sorghum in addition to malted barely.  Adjuncts like these are cheaper to use than barley.  Not only that, but they can also increase alcohol content without having any effect on the body or color of the brew.  The down side, of course, is that adjuncts detract from the fine malty beer taste that we all appreciate.


Globally speaking, all-malt beers are by no means rare: most fine German and Bohemian lagers, traditional English ales, and American craft brews are all-malt.  But it is very unusual to find a mass-produced North American or Asian lager brewed without the help of any cereal grains as adjuncts.  For example, Sapporo - another major Japanese beer brand - is made with rice and cornstarch as well as barely.  Same goes for Coors and Budweiser, for that matter.

The second distinctive feature involves the way the beer is rendered from the malt.  Kirin Ichiban is brewed using a unique process called Ichiban Shibori, or "first press."  It's so unique, in fact, that Kirin bills itself as the only brewery in the world to use this strategy.  Basically, all beer brewing starts with a process called "mashing."  This involves soaking malted barley in water at temperatures varying from about 150 to 160 degrees.  During this period, natural enzymes convert the starch of the barley into fermentable sugar.  Once conversion is complete, the water is run off -- bringing the sugars with it, and leaving behind the bitter husks of the grain.  More hot water is then poured over the grain to extract every last drop of malty goodness -- a procedure known as "sparging."   All of this liquid, which is known as "wort," is then boiled along with hops.  After boiling, yeast is added and the sugars from the mash are thus fermented into alcohol.

"First press" means that all of the wort used to brew the beer comes from the initial run-off from the mash -- i.e. none of the subsequent "sparge" water goes into the beer.  The idea is to use only the purest extract from the barley: wort derived from the sparge contain less of the good sugars, and more bitter tannins from the husks of the grain.  In theory, the "first press" technique creates a brew with more alcohol, a milder flavor, and a fuller body.

The theory seems to work out pretty well.  Kirin Ichiban is refreshing and full flavored.  It is a deep golden color, much like the Pilsners of Germany and the Czech Republic.  The smooth, bright taste is also reminiscent central European lagers.  This isn't surprising, given the fact that Ichiban is brewed using the same noble European hop varieties that put Pilsners on the map in the mid-1800s.   However, the beer finishes a little sweeter, with a little less hop flavor, than its Continental cousins.

Most sources seem to cite Kirin Ichiban as the best premium Asian lager available in the United States.  Objectively, that assessment is hard to argue with (although my personal favorite Japanese beer is Asahi Super Dry...but that's a story for another post).  With its smooth taste, yet malty backbone, Kirin Ichiban is a great beer to go along with a summer BBQ.  As the label says, it's "brewed for good times"!

Fuller's London Porter

In my last post, I mentioned that "stout" is the modern derivative of "stout porter," which was the name given to a particularly strong version of a dark beer called porter.  This got me thinking about the history of the porter style in general.

We know that porter was first brewed and sold in London at some point in the early 1700s.  Beyond that, details get a little murky.  There are two popular origin myths about the dark, malty style of ale now known as "porter."  The first is that, back in the day, a respectable English publican would have three types of ale on tap: light, dark, and strong.  Laborers in London (who were then known as "porters") would come into the pub at the end of a long day and request a pint containing 1/3 of each kind of ale.  An enterprising brewer decided to capitalize on the popularity of this trend by brewing a beer that blended all three types into one finished package.  He named his new style "Porter" after its target audience.   This "three threads" theory was first advanced by an English writer in the early 1800s...and is almost certainly wrong.

Today,  most people who care about this stuff subscribe to the second theory of the origin of porter.  Before the 1700s, professional brewers would brew their ale, put it in a cask, and ship it off immediately to local pubs.  The publicans would then store this "young" ale in cellars until they judged it ready to be served.  By the 1720s, London brewers realized that they could get better results by letting their dark ale age at the brewery, then shipping it to pubs ready to drink.  This procedure guaranteed a higher level of quality and consistency, and allowed individual breweries to build their own followings.

The porter breweries of London were among the first brewing operations to enjoy great financial success.  At the time, traditional English brewers were skilled artisans who, if successful, could expect a comfortable life and local notoriety. Porter brewers, on the other hand, began building large international fortunes.  They were also the first to use modern equipment like thermometers and hydrometers while brewing beer.  By producing beer on a large scale, testing their products with scientific accuracy, and treating brewing as a lucrative commercial venture, the porter brewers of 18th-century London were the forerunners of modern breweries.

This golden age of porter lasted for about a century.  By the mid-19th century, tastes had shifted towards lighter ales and lagers.  While dark, heavy beers were certainly still around, they did not have the same commercial appeal that brought them fame and fortune in earlier times.  None of the truly authentic London porters of the 1700s and 1800s survived into the present age.  However, in the last couple decades of the 20th century English brewers began recreating some of the classic ales of olden days...including the once-famous London porter.  Which brings me to Fuller's London Porter.

One of the first posts on this blog featured another Fuller's brew called Fuller's ESB.  I normally don't like to double up on beers from the same brewery - I'd rather highlight a new brand.  However, for this post I wanted to pick a beer that (1) best exemplifies the classic London porter style, and (2) is readily available in the U.S.A.  Fuller's London Porter certainly fits both of these descriptions.

Fuller's Brewery is located on the site of the historic Griffin Brewery  in a suburb of west London called Chiswick.  Griffin was founded sometime in mid-to-late 1600s, and supposedly brewed an authentic London Porter during the late 1700s and early 1800s.  A consortium of brewers led by John Bird Fuller bought the old Griffin Brewery in 1845 and began making lighter cask ales (the descendant of these ales is now Fuller's flagship product - London Pride).  In the 1990s, as porter was making its way back onto the beer scene, Fuller's revived the porter style that put Griffin on the map so many years ago.

London Porter pretty much tastes like it looks.  It's rich and malty with a hint of toasty caramel flavor.  There is a certain amount of bitter earthiness from the English hops used to brew it, but overall there is much less hop flavor and bitterness in this old London-style porter than you'll find in the microbrewed American porters of today.  It is dark brown in color and very clear.  In theory, porter shouldn't need any extra additives to make it dark.  Instead, the dark color should come from dark type of malt called "black patent."  Black patent malt is kilned to the point of carbonization, giving it a nearly black color and a bitter, ashy flavor.  When used in relatively small quantities, black patent adds both color and character to porter.

There are certainly other English porters on the market that imitate the old London style of yesteryear.  Some specialty brews even use recipes from the 1800s.  There is also a whole range of dark old-world ales from eastern Europe called "Baltic porter," which is really a unique style in and of itself (and which I'll certainly cover in later posts).  If you want to take a trip through beer history, down the gas-lit streets of foggy London-town, you can't do better than Fuller's London Porter.

Lion Stout

My little brother is a fellow beer drinker and homebrewer.  Like myself, he has spent a lot of time (too much time, in my case) prowling the beer aisles of Total Wine and Safeway like the Uruk-hai stalking manflesh (note: obscure LotR reference).  So when he recommended Lion Stout, I had to look into it.  Up until that point, I had probably walked by Lion many, many times without giving it a try.  To be honest, I always thought it came from England...until my brother told me otherwise. 


I was way off.  Lion Stout is brewed half a world away, at the Ceylon Brewery in Sri Lanka.  The brewery was founded in 1881. It was originally located in a remote hillside town in central Sri Lanka, surrounded by sprawling British tea plantations.  Water to make the beer was supposedly drawn from a waterfall located near the brewery.  The brewery was only accessibly by steep, narrow roads, which naturally created several logistical challenges in bringing malt up the hill and finished beer back down.  Renowned beer scholar Michael Jackson (not the King of Pop) described a visit to the old Ceylon Brewery as his "most unusual beer hunting trip."  During the late 20th century, as rural Sri Lanka became enveloped in civil war and ethnic conflict, truck drivers supposedly made the perilous run to and from the brewery under cover of night, when the roads were thought to be safer.  In 1998, the company resolved these issues by opening a new modern brewery in the coastal capital of Colombo (not the 1970s detective).  Around that same time, the brewery (which is currently known as the Lion Brewery Ceylon Limited) was acquired by the Carlsberg Group -- an international brewing corporation that owns of beer brands throughout Europe and Asia (including, of course, the world-famous Carlsberg Lager of Denmark).


The Ceylon Brewery was founded to provide beer for the British expatriates who colonized the island of Sri Lanka (which was then known as Ceylon) in the 19th century.  So it makes perfect sense that the brewery built its reputation on brewing English-style ales.  For nearly a century, the Ceylon Brewery's main product was an authentic India Pale Ale, brewed to the taste of British tea planters.  By the 1960s the popularity of ales had waned, and the brewery converted to making a golden lager as its primary offering.  However, the colonial tradition of the Ceylon Brewery still lives on in Lion Stout.    

"Stout"  is the modern derivative of an 18th century beer style called "stout porter" -- basically, a strong, dark beer.  The stout style was born and perfected in the British Isles.  Today, the word is virtually synonymous with its most famous example: Guinness.  However, the stout style has also become a mainstay of American microbreweries as well as a favorite among beer enthusiasts throughout the globe.

Many American stouts are characterized by an overpowering roasted grainy flavor.  In contrast, Lion retains a much more complex profile, reminiscent of a classic English stout.  It is dry, peppery, and rich.  Beer reviewers often describe the flavor and aroma of Lion as fruity and prune-like...but I have to admit that I did not pick up on this when I sampled the brew (note: I know nothing about formal beer tasting so I'm probably wrong).  It finishes with a chocolate-like bitterness with hints of coffee.  The unique and intense flavor of Lion can be partly attributed to the fact that Lion Stout is still produced without any kind of filtration; the full measure of yeast, barley, and hops go straight from the fermentation vessel into your bottle.  Due to being unfiltered, the beer is dark and hazy with a deep tan head - rather than the bright, ruby-brown hue of a filtered stout


When I think of Asian beers, I tend to think of light, dry lagers -- Kingfisher or Taj Mahal from India; Tsingtao from China; Singha from Thailand; Sapporo, Asahi, or Kirin from Japan.  A rich, dark Asian stout like Lion was an awesome surprise.  If you've had your fill of Guinness, and you're looking for other world-class stouts bursting with character, look no further than Lion Stout. 

Old Speckled Hen

I've often had the experience of standing in the beer aisle of Total Wine, looking at all the options that are now miraculously available to the American beer consumer, and wasting countless minutes trying to make up my mind about what I should buy.  I'll admit that in a few instances I've given up and simply picked the one with the coolest and most unique name.  Because of this, I've always wondered about the impact that a memorable name can have on the popularity of the beer.  And as beer names go, it's hard to find a more curious one than Old Speckled Hen.

Old Speckled Hen was first brewed at the Morland Brewery in Abingdon, England.  The brewery itself was founded in 1711, but Old Speckled Hen is a relative infant: it was created only 33 years ago.  The story of the OSH brand is an odd tale that matches the unique and memorable taste of the brew.

In addition to being the home of the Morland Brewery, Abingdon was well-known as the hometown of the MG Car Company - a legendary British sports car manufacturer.  The MG factory workers used an old MG Featherweight Saloon as a runaround car, and it had become a common sight around the factory and in town.  Over the years, the car became covered in flecks of paint - giving rise to its nickname, "the old speckled hen."  In 1979, the MG folks asked Morland to brew a beer to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the MG factory's founding in Abingdon.  They wanted a traditional English ale to their uniquely English product.  One of the executives at MG recommended naming the beer after the ugly-but-beloved vehicle...and the brewery complied.

1960s MGB Roadster

Despite this auspicious origin, Old Speckled Hen did not skyrocket to instant fame.  At the time lager was by far the most popular beer style in England (and throughout Europe and North America, for that matter).  In such a climate, Morland had no interest in mass-producing and marketing an ale like Old Speckled Hen.  For many years, Morland only brewed a small amount of OSH, and this small amount was only distributed to pubs around Abingdon.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, however, traditional British ales once again became popular in England.  To compete in this growing market, Morland revived the Old Speckled Hen brand and began marketing it outside of its own proprietary pubs.

In 2000, Morland was bought out by a larger British brewery called Greene King.  Greene King closed the brewery in Abindgon shortly after the purchase...but fortunately this did not mean the end of the line for OSH.  Greene King now brews OSH (which is still sold under the Morland brand) at its own brewery in Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk.  It's worth noting that Greene King  is a historic operation in its own right, having been founded in Suffolk in 1799.

The original "Old Speckled Hen"

Over the last decade, Greene King has launched an ambitious marketing campaign to make OSH popular among young social drinkers both in the UK and abroad.  Over here in the colonies, OSH can be found both in bottles and on tap from kegs.  In England, OSH is also served on tap from a cask.  The key difference between kegged ale and cask ale is that cask ale is actually fermented in the same vessel from which it is served.  Cask ale is therefore unfiltered, unpasteurized, and unpressurized.  This means that the carbonation in cask ale is totally derived from by-products of fermentation.  The rich and authentic flavor of cask ale comes at the price of a much shorter shelf life than other forms of beer, making it hard to export.  In contrast, kegs contain beer that has already been fully fermented, (usually) filtered, and (usually) pasteurized.  Kegs are then artificially pressurized by carbon dioxide or nitrogen.  They can be shipped great distances and stored for long periods of time without any adverse affect on flavor.

OSH is a classic English ale, roughly along the same lines as beers like Bass or London Pride.  The great thing about English ales, though, is that no two are alike.  Indeed, the taste and feel of OSH are one-of-a-kind.  It has a toasty plum-like flavor that is much lighter and sweeter than you might expect based on its deep copper color.  It has a slightly bitter aftertaste, but no real hop flavor.

One of the best parts of living in or visiting the United Kingdom is the pub culture.  Most traditional pubs are associated with a single national or regional brewery.  Under this arrangement, the "proprietary" pub serves the full range of the brewery's products, plus one or two mass-produced offerings like Carling or Stella Artois.  I lived in Cambridge, where many of the popular pubs were proprietary Greene King pubs (including two of my favorites, the Eagle and the Anchor).  So suffice it to say that I know my way around a pint of OSH.  It's one of the most distinctive and memorable beers you can find, and I would definitely recommend giving it a test drive if you see it on tap at your local watering hole.

Weihenstephaner Original Lager

The goal of this blog is highlight the origins of the world's classic beer styles.  To that end, I've tried to cover some pretty old beers from places like Belgium, England, and the United States.  However, only one brewery can claim the title of "world's oldest": the Weihenstephan Brewery in the Freising District of Bavaria, Germany.

Like all good brewery stories, this one begins a long time ago at a church.  Around A.D. 720 St. Corbinian traveled to Freising, where he founded a Benedictine monastery dedicated to St. Stephen.  The monastery's tithing records from the year 768 include a reference to hops being grown near the monastery - an indication that the monks had already begun brewing at the site.

The next few centuries, however, were a time of turmoil.  The original monastic community founded by St. Corbinian was probably abandoned by the end of the 8th century.   At some point in the 9th century, the Bishop of Freising rededicated the site as a monastery.  Then things went pretty well until 955, when raiding Huns leveled the monastery. The Benedictines didn't give up, though.  Over the next few centuries they continued to rebuild and expand the settlement into what became known as Weihenstephan Abbey.

In 1040, Abbot Arnold of Weihenstephan obtained a license from the City of Freising to brew and sell beer.  According to most reliable sources, this officially makes Weihenstephan the oldest continually-operating commercial brewery in the world.  (It bears mentioning that the Weltenburg Abbey brewery, located at a different Benedictine monastery in Bavaria, also claims this title: they've been brewing since at least 1050).

The road to immortality was not smooth.  From 1085 to 1463, the abbey burned down three times and was depopulated by plagues, famines, and a massive earthquake.  In 1336, Holy Roman Emperor Louis IV (himself a Bavarian) attacked and burned the monastery as part of a bloody campaign against his cousin Frederick, a pretender to the throne of Germany.  Three centuries later, during the course of the Thirty Years War, a combined French and Swedish army plundered and razed the abbey.  The Austrians captured Freising during the War of Spanish Succession in the early 1700s and - you guessed it - burned the abbey down.

Throughout all of this turmoil, the Benedictines stubbornly rebuilt and rebuilt and continued to brew.  However, politics finally did the work that armies could not.  The abbey closed its doors in 1803, when Napoleon Bonaparte ordered the secularization of Bavaria.  The church's property was subsequently sold off.  However, the brewery continued to thrive under the direction of its new owner: the Free State of Bavaria.  The brewery is still owned by the state to this day, hence its official name - Bayerische Staatsbraueri Weihenstephan ("Bavarian State Brewery Weihenstephan").

Today, the world's oldest brewery is, paradoxically, also one of the world's most modern.  Since 1930, the Technical University of Munich has operated a world-famous brewing academy on the site.  This cutting-edge school is now a global leader in brewing technology.

Weihenstephaner is a light, flavorful Bavarian lager of the style known as Helles (I don't speak German, but I'm told this means "clear").  This style of beer is similar in appearance and heritage to its close cousin, the Pilsner.  However, Helles differs from Pilsner in a few key respects.  Pilsners tend to have a sharp, hoppy aftertaste, while Helles lagers are more malty-sweet with very little hop flavor or aroma.  Helles lagers tend to be slightly lower in alcohol (around 4%, as opposed to 5-6% for Pilsners).  Helles are typically also somewhat lighter in both color and body.  Weihenstephaner is a classic example of the Munich Helles style.  It is light in color and brilliantly clear.  It has a robust malty flavor that also manages to be refreshing. (It's like those Miller Lite ads from a few years ago..."tastes great, less filling".)  The aftertaste is crisp, smooth, and rich - the product of fermentation by a world-famous strain of lager yeast plus a long period of aging at cool temperatures.

From what I can tell, American beer drinkers tend to toss all Continental lagers into the same pile.  I completely agree that it can be hard to notice subtle differences among beers like Pilsner Urquell, Stella Artois, Warsteiner, or Heineken.  But each of these brews has its own distinct characteristics that deserve recognition, and none more so than classic Munich Helles lagers.  So rather than rushing out to buy a case of Weihenstephaner (which, by the way, runs on the pricey side - about $10 per sixer in my neck of the woods), I would recommend getting a mix-and-match six-pack of different classic brews from the Munich area: Paulaner, Spaten, Weihenstephaner, Hacker-Pschorr, Lowenbrau, and many other deserving entries that I've left out.  My personal favorite is Spaten...but they're all awesome.  Of course, I'm biased since German lagers really are, on average, my favorite beers in the world.

One final note: Weihenstephan is also well-known for their Hefe-Weissbier, a fantastic Old-World wheat beer.  I certainly recommend this brew as well - just don't expect the assertively sweet, aromatic character of your standard American wheat beers.  The Hefe-Weissebier is more bitter, tangy, and thinner-bodied, with a subtle fruity-spicy flavor that comes from the ancient strains of yeast used to ferment it.

Chimay Blanche

Since the Middle Ages, monks have been closely associated with the art of brewing.  It's hard to imagine today, but throughout most of history beer was considered a valuable source of nutrition; more of a food than a social beverage.  Drinking beer allowed monks to keep their strength up while fasting during Lent and other religious observances.  Beer also provided a cheap form of sustenance that could be offered to poor travelers seeking shelter and charity from the monastery.  Later on, monasteries began selling their beer in large quantities to provide financial support for their orders.  Monasteries possessed the skill, time, labor, and facilities necessary to produce consistent-tasting beer on a large scale - an uncommon ability in pre-industrial Europe.

The monastic brewing tradition is reflected in the names of many modern European breweries: Franziskaner (the German word for a Franciscan monk), Paulaner (named for St. Francis of Paola), and St. Pauli Girl (founded at St. Paul's Monastery in Bremen), to name a few.  While these beers may trace their lineage to medieval brewer-monks, today they are subsidiary brands of world-wide corporations, with no connection to monastic life.  However, there are still religious organizations that continue to support themselves and their charities by brewing and marketing beer - the famous Trappist breweries of Belgium.

Chimay is one of several breweries associated with the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance, commonly known as "Trappists."  During the 18th and 19th centuries, like many other orders, Trappist monasteries in western Europe began brewing and selling beer to raise money for buildings, supplies, and charities.  Today, seven Trappist monasteries carry on this tradition: six in Belgium and one in the Netherlands.  Of all of these, Chimay is probably the most visible Trappist brand on the American beer market.  The brewery is located at the Abbaye de Notre Dame de Scourmont in the town of Chimay in southwest Belgium.  The abbey was founded in 1850 and has been brewing since 1862.  Like many of its Trappists cousins, Chimay remained largely a local product throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  After World War I, Chimay and other Trappist breweries began exploring the possibility of exporting their products throughout Europe and beyond.

Chimay Blanche (also known as Chimay White or Chimay Triple) is the newest of Chimay's brews, introduced in 1986.  It belongs to a Belgian beer style called tripel.  The term tripel is a relic of a Trappist beer naming convention that originated at the Westmalle Trappist brewery in the early 20th century.  This convention was based on alcoholic strength.  Westmalle's standard ale contained about 3% ABV, so their dubbel ("double") ale clocked in at around 6%, and their tripel ("triple") ale around 9% ABV.  Westmalle began focusing on tripel ales in the early 1930s.  The style was intended to compete with the pale lagers from Germany and Bohemia, which were light, complex, and highly alcoholic.  Other Trappist and secular breweries in Belgium were quick to follow their lead, each producing its own version of a tripel ale.  By the 1950s, "tripel" had become synonymous with a strong Belgian pale ale.  However, there is much room for variation, and no two tripels are exactly alike.

Chimay Blanche is a pale golden-orange color.  It has a sharper hop flavor than your average tripel.  It also has a crisp, dry finish, whereas other tripels may be more sweet or malty.  The dryness and bitterness of the hops is balanced by a complex fruity flavor that is often described as being similar to grapes, raisins, or apples.  These flavors are byproducts of fermentation resulting from a unique proprietary strain of yeast - there is no actual fruit flavor added.  In fact, the list of ingredients that make up this extremely complex brew is surprisingly short and traditional: malted barley, wheat starch, hops, yeast, and water drawn from a well within the monastery walls.

Amazingly, the Chimay Brewery is still 100% owned and operated by the Trappist monks of Scourmont. Despite what you might think, given their global distribution, Chimay has remained true to its heritage.  All proceeds go towards funding the operation of the monastery as well as its many charitable endeavors.  This represents quite a windfall for the unfortunate, since Chimay's annual sales figures are around $50 million.  I mention the charitable connection in part because it might help you talk yourself into splurging on this brew: like all premium Belgian beers, Chimay Blanche is pricey.  It can be found at mostly any specialty beer store and is available both in standard six-packs and 750-cl "champagne" style bottles (which are labeled as "Chimay Cinq Cents").

And if Chimay doesn't float your boat, there are tons of other tripels out there, including other Trappist offerings.  For example, Westmalle Tripel (the original tripel) is very good and can often be found in specialty stores.  My brother Evan recently turned me on to Tripel Karmeliet, which has shot to the top of my Belgian beer list.  While not Trappist, TK is an out-of-this-world tripel which is somewhat lighter, crisper, and more subtle than Chimay Blanche.