Belgian beers are here!

Best beer in the world? That’s a bold claim. Okay, it all started with throwing out some questions to Sam Calagione, host of Discovery’s Brew Masters TV show. He had mentioned that Belgium boasted the world’s best beers, and he ticked off a few favorites: Chimay Red, Saison Dupont and Cantillon Brewery in Brussels. This sounded great to me, because I was heading to Belgium soon: but flight delays and work meant my wife and I could only spend a day or so in the country. We decamped in Bruges (you know: that place in the movie with Colin Farrell) and set to work sampling the beers. Our best find was a top-fermented lager served in a baseball-bat-sized glass called Kwak. What a name.

Pair Belgian beers with real food, not just chips and peanuts.

Beer bongs and other paraphernalia are usually a sign that the beer might be just so-so, but not Kwak. At 8.4 percent alcohol, its rich, golden amber is not to be trifled with. We enjoyed our bong’s-worth of Kwak and the next day moved on to Danish beers, which are thin and boring. The taste of Kwak lingered, though.

But here’s the good news: you can now buy Kwak, and Chimay, at local Robinsons Supermarkets! Yes, someone in Robinsons Purchasing apparently has the beer savvy to explore the international marketplace, and alongside the German and Dutch imports, you will find, in Robinsons’ beer section, lovely bottles of Chimay and Kwak.

So what’s the big deal with Belgian beers?

It’s important to remember that Belgium, like much of Europe, has a family brewery tradition that goes back centuries. Unlike our era of instant “microbreweries,” these guys have been delivering the goods since as far back as the 1700s.

The other big supplier of Belgian beers is monasteries. Trappist monks were the original makers of Chimay, for example. (You didn’t think those monks managed to kill all that time in peace and solitude just by contemplating their navels, did you?) For some uncanny reason, Trappist monks make damnably good beer.

Bong’s up!: Beer is served in unique ways in Bruges.

Michael Jackson (the beer expert, not the deceased, Propofol-addicted pop star) says of Belgium in his book The Beer Hunter: “No other country (even those with far more breweries) has among its native styles of beer such diversity, individuality, idiosyncrasy and color. Nor does any other country present beers so beautifully.” The beer bongs we experienced in Bruges were proof of that. In addition, native brews are served in wired and corked champagne bottles, snifters and chalices. Beer is liberated from its workaday trappings in Belgium: it becomes a main attraction.

The real trick, though, may be “top-fermenting.” Something of a Belgian calling card — especially among Trappist brews — this means beer is bottled with a live yeast sediment on top, then matured. (You’ll know if the bottle boasts “re-fermented in the bottle” or “Refermentée en bouteille / Hergist in de fles.”)

And the taste? The Chimay Red bottle, for instance, describes it as a “silky taste on the tongue and a slight touch of bitterness towards the end.” In addition, according to Jackson, the Trappist brews also have “a distinctly rummy character from the use of candy-sugar in the brew-kettle.” It’s a thicker ale, rich and inviting, though not overwhelming like a Guinness or a port. It pairs well with real food, such as a good steak, strong cheese, or salmon, potatoes and asparagus (which was our dish in the Kwak restaurant in Bruges).

What the Kwak?: The beer stand reads “A votre santé” (“To your health”).

There’s a bit of a question as to whether “Trappist brews” still deserve the right to be so named; brewing was once the exclusive province of severe Trappist monks, a breakaway Benedictine sect from Normandy in the 1600s. Their friars — set up in an abbey in Forges, near the French border — were crafty brewers; some ales even age up to five years (these are première or grande réserve ales). Chimay became the most famous of these, even coining the term “Trappist Beer.” But nowadays, Chimay bottles can only boast the beer is made “within the walls of an existing trappist monastery controlled by the trappist community.” Whatever that means.

It’s a no-brainer that hotter climates tend to demand lighter beers; thus, a San Miguel goes perfectly well with bar pulatan — sisig, chicharon, etc. It doesn’t get in the way, and tends to help wash own the fried, greasy food. But Belgian beers are like the date that won’t be ignored: they tap you on the shoulder, ask you to dance, want to converse. And it’s a richer experience because of it.

But they’re not a cheap date: these beers sell for between P160 to P185 a bottle. That’s why they’re “special” beers. Alcohol content is typically seven to 8.5 percent (compare to San Miguel’s five percent), so they pack a wallop as well.

The best beer in the world? Now in your local Robinsons grocery store? You be the judge.

Brewed in Bruges: Beautiful Bruges was were we sampled Kwak for the first time.