Achel Blond 8°
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(2 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)
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There’s a method to the madness of this virtual tour of Belgium. I’m starting with Trappist ales as a baseline, then branching out into other styles and types of beer.
Friday and Saturday I dug into Westmalle, thoroughly enjoying the abbey’s Dubbel and Tripel. So it seemed appropriate to follow Westmalle with Achel, because Achel may not be brewing beer today without the help of the monks at Westmalle.
According to Wikipedia, this brewery on the northern tip of Belgium is the smallest of the seven Trappist breweries. Dutch monks built a chapel in Achel in 1648, which became an abbey in 1686 and then a pile of rubble during the French Revolution. Eventually, 1844 to be exact, the monks from Westmalle rebuilt the abbey — though it didn’t become a Trappist monastery until 1871. Beer began flowing, but trouble reared its head in the form of German occupation during World War I, when the brewery’s copper was looted. Not until 1998 did the monks decide to have another go at brewing. Westmalle helped once again, joined in the effort by the monks from Rochefort (whose beer we’ll be focusing on next week).
The Achel 8° series (Blond, Bruin, & Extra) began in 2001. They also brew Achel Bruin 5° and Achel Blond 5° which are only available on tap at the abbey.
Today I’m drinking the Achel Blond 8°, a tripel I’ve heard compared favorably to Westmalle’s. Certainly the 11.2 oz bottle resembles Westmalle’s bowling pin bottle, but without the raised collar on the neck. The label is unassuming, with the word “Trappist” in nearly the same size print as the “Achel” name. Perhaps the smallest of the Trappist breweries has a Napoleon complex?
As for the pour, it was as noisy and fizzy as the Chimay White, with the biggest and most pillowy head of any Trappist beer I’ve had so far. But the beer itself was unattractive, with sediments the size of tadpoles. Had I not already understood that these beers were murky, I may have turned tail and fled just from the swampy appearance.
The nose is fruity and somewhat sweet, with peach and pilsener malt. But it’s a flat aroma, not overly rich. When I brought the beer to my lips for the first time, I was surprised — but not pleasantly. The candy sugar, caramel malt and tart, lemony hops quickly gave way to an overwhelming metallic taste that made me wince. In fact, I had to set the beer aside after the first several sips — the aftertaste was like sucking on copper pennies.
I had already allowed the beer to warm up to about 45 degrees before pouring it, but after the flavor caused me to recoil I decided to let the Achel Blond 8° breathe for a while and gain a few more degrees. Letting it breathe seemed to do the trick — though the metallic taste lingered, it was far less forceful. Surprisingly, the taste of metal was supplanted by a chalky taste and mouthfeel. And as I worked my way through the beer, it became sweeter and more citrusy, with some bitterness that reminded me of the Westmalle Tripel. The last few sips were very much like a lemony confection.
Not a bad beer — but not great, in my opinion. Perhaps I simply had a bad bottle? Mine had a best by date of November 26, 2009, but the metallic taste makes me wonder. The appearance was off-putting, and I strongly recommend allowing the beer to breathe before diving right in, but the final third of the beer was pleasant enough.
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1 Comments
March 30th, 2009 at 10:47 am
With such agressive floaties in the glass, there’s clearly something wrong. THe question is what, and when did it happen–in the brewing process or in poor handling in transport? A bit of sediment is one thing. But if there’s a thick layer of matter in a bottle, give it a bit of a swirl, and you’ll see if there are significant floaties. If so, leave it on the shelf, no matter the bottle dating.