After a few moments, the café's no-nonsense waitress set goblets
of foaming beer before us. The Westvleteren Blonde was citrusy and
hoppy with Hoppeland's proud harvests. Light by Trappist standards,
it was only 5.8 percent alcohol. (American lagers are generally 5
percent alcohol.) The intense and complex dark Westvleteren 8
seemed akin to a Zinfandel, with a dark rum flavor from the candy
sugar that the monks add to the brew-kettle.
At 10.2 percent alcohol, the Westvleteren 12 was almost daunting.
With bottle refermentation, it can rise as high as 11.5 percent,
making it
Belgium's strongest beer. The goblet stood with a high,
tan head. A few sips of the thick, inky brew began a rush of
flavors: roasted chocolate, figs, currants, oranges, cloves,
raisins, dates, and plums. It was a cornucopia in a glass.
While waiting for our lunch of abbey ham and cheeses, I decided to
visit the
Claustrum (Latin for cloister), the adjoining
abbey museum. For an institution with medieval roots, the monastery
provided a variety of modern, high-tech exhibits on the 29 monks of
Saint Sixtus and their Trappist life: their search for God and the
deepest realities through prayer, reflection, and labor. Photos and
videos showed monks in their spare modern church, ruminating as
they slowly read divine texts, farming, gathering at wooden tables
for silent dinner. In one section, titled "Brewing to Live," Father
Abbot decrees, "We are no brewers. We are monks. We brew beer to be
able to afford being monks."
Leaving Saint Sixtus was bittersweet, but we assuaged our pangs
with six-packs of Westvleteren 12, which we carefully rationed once
we arrived home. Months later, I noticed news stories coming out of
Belgium: The Internet's top beer site, RateBeer.com, had named
Westvleteren 12 the world's best beer. "It's just huge," gushed
RateBeer.com executive director Joseph Tucker, lauding its
beautiful dark head, complexity, and concentrated excellence.