![]() ![]() There was yet another world war to come, and industrialization, a shift to sweeter flavors, mass advertising, and a preference for shelf-stable beer all had an effect. Nevertheless, the 20th century was extremely hard on Belgian breweries, beginning with World War I, when German troops raided brewhouses for metal. The contours of brewery consolidation in Belgium are familiar, yet this stubborn little country has always supported its local breweries more than most places. Imports from Bavaria and elsewhere began to take hold in the mid-1800s, and by the end of the century, some Belgian brewers were making their own. There have been lagers in Belgium for almost as long as it’s been a country. ![]() This divide is decades old, and breweries large and small have a keen interest in maintaining the romance around their ales. It’s not the rich, strong ale exported around the world (in fact, few outside Belgium are even aware of Jupiler). Jupiler is the beer in every corner bar-an everyday beer. It has created a sharp divide in the Belgian market, exaggerated by the impression that the ales are all made in quirky little family breweries or by silent monks in ornate abbeys. The bull in the room is the national giant, Jupiler, which tastes pretty much like you’d expect of an AB InBev brand with 40 percent of the market and a major soccer sponsorship-consistent but uninspired. It’s made me wonder: In an age when brewers have experimented with American and Italian and even Alsatian variants, why not Belgian pils? In Jupiler’s Shadow Culture and ritual help cement experiences in our minds, and in Belgium, the practice of drinking pilsner-they just call it “pils”-is a common one. The beers are inexpensive and-as Rédor illustrated-great with food. The glasses usually hold a modest quarter-liter, less than nine ounces. It doesn’t hurt that they’re served in their own charming glass (with a pleated skirt called a ribbeke) that seems to glow from within as it comes to your table. The pilsners I recall-add Strubbe and Bockor to the list-were not just excellent, but somehow distinctly Belgian. These experiences have lingered in my memory. Still, outside the village of Tourpes, it’s not that easy to find. It’s one of the most characterful pilsners in Belgium, rustic and grainy-a perfect partner for the slightly salty little cheese cubes we munched on. After pouring us glasses, Dedeycker went to a nearby refrigerator to retrieve some homemade cheese. When we tasted through his beers, he brought out the Rédor Pils as a digestif. At Brasserie Dupont, co-owner and brewer Olivier Dedeycker was less shy about his lager when I visited there a decade ago. It wasn’t the first time in Belgium I’d had such an experience. It was excellent, and I wondered why they didn’t talk about it. It bore some resemblance to German pilsner, but the malts, the minerality, the finish-they were unusual. The beer had a curious quality-sweetish malts, zesty hops, a mineral note, and a quick, dry finish. The glass, of course, was embossed with the brewery’s ornate crest, typical for Belgium. I found the restaurant and was served a luminous glass of liquid gold with my steak-frites. Pils? I had just toured the whole brewery, and nowhere did I see any mention of a pilsner. Yet when I was preparing to leave around lunchtime, Martin mentioned a café nearby where I could have a glass of their pils. Tour guide Katrien Martin and owner/brewer Peter Verhaeghe showed me the brewery and cellars, and we tasted through a line-up of their beers-all of them, or so I thought. On a sparkling morning in late September three years ago, I arrived in Vichte, West Flanders, to tour the wonderful old Verhaeghe family brewery, where they make the classic Flanders roodbruin, Duchesse de Bourgogne. ![]()
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