In "Scents and Sensibility" from the March 10th issue of The New Yorker John Lanchester reviews "Perumes: The Guide" by Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez. How does a review of a book of perfume reviews relate to beer? While the review never mentions beer, it does mention sensory evaluation of wine, which was enough to get me thinking about beer.
People who review beers (and wines) tend to use a common array of terms in their descriptions. Malty characters have their own set of descriptors: caramel, bready, chocolate, roasted and so on. Hops can be described as: resiny, citric, grassy, piney, et cetera. The meanings of some of the terms are clear, but what the hell does "resiny" mean? Some of the characteristics that these descriptors refer to can be unclear until we try a beer or wine in which their presence is so singular that we have a sensory epiphany. In the first few paragraphs of his review Lanchester discusses this phenomenon:
I first became aware of Brett after reading The Brewmaster's Table by Garrett Oliver. In his description of Orval, Oliver uses the term Goût d'Orval which describes the characteristic aromas and flavors contributed by Brettanomyces. The more common and perhaps more descriptive term was coined by Michael Jackson: "hop sack". What exactly does a hop sack smell like? I'd had Orval and other beers fermented with Brett before, but I didn't really appreciate what hop sack meant until I tried a bottle of Orval that was several months old. I wish that I'd stressed this more in the original blog entry. There were aromas that were similar to hops, but distinctly different: slightly more mellowed, and different in a way whose description still eludes me. I like the term aged hop aroma although, this still isn't completely accurate.
Has anyone else had moments like this with beer?
People who review beers (and wines) tend to use a common array of terms in their descriptions. Malty characters have their own set of descriptors: caramel, bready, chocolate, roasted and so on. Hops can be described as: resiny, citric, grassy, piney, et cetera. The meanings of some of the terms are clear, but what the hell does "resiny" mean? Some of the characteristics that these descriptors refer to can be unclear until we try a beer or wine in which their presence is so singular that we have a sensory epiphany. In the first few paragraphs of his review Lanchester discusses this phenomenon:
For years, ever since I started taking an interest in wine, I’ve been annoyed by the word “grainy.” It’s a word that mavens use in relation to red wines, and refers to certain types of tannin—the chemical that cures leather, is present in tea, and makes the mouth pucker. Tannin is a preservative and an important factor in the way wines age. Still, how could a liquid be “grainy”?I was reminded of my "Aha!" moment with Brettanomyces. Brettanomyces is a genus of yeast sometimes used in fermentation. They were once prevalent in giving stouts, and are of primary importance in the production of "wild beers" such as lambic, Flanders Red Ale and Flanders Brown Ales. Brettanomyces is also used to bottle condition Orval.Then, a few nights ago, I opened a bottle of wine I’d been given, a Languedoc red called Le Pigeonnier, from the European heat-wave year of 2003, and, without concentrating very hard, took a sip, noticed something odd about the mouthfeel of the wine, and suddenly realized—bam!—that it was grainy. I’d found the famous grainy tannins, and the term actually made sense, because the wine definitely had a particulate, almost sandlike texture, not unpleasant, but distinctive. What’s more, in tasting it I realized that I’d encountered versions of it—milder, more restrained versions—before. Now I knew what grainy tannins were.
I first became aware of Brett after reading The Brewmaster's Table by Garrett Oliver. In his description of Orval, Oliver uses the term Goût d'Orval which describes the characteristic aromas and flavors contributed by Brettanomyces. The more common and perhaps more descriptive term was coined by Michael Jackson: "hop sack". What exactly does a hop sack smell like? I'd had Orval and other beers fermented with Brett before, but I didn't really appreciate what hop sack meant until I tried a bottle of Orval that was several months old. I wish that I'd stressed this more in the original blog entry. There were aromas that were similar to hops, but distinctly different: slightly more mellowed, and different in a way whose description still eludes me. I like the term aged hop aroma although, this still isn't completely accurate.
Has anyone else had moments like this with beer?
Labels: Brasserie d'Orval, News, Reviewing
195. Orval Trappist Ale
I purchased a bottle of Orval a month or so ago at none other than Downtown Wine & Spirits. I let this warm and served it in my Westvleteren chalice. Orval is a Belgian Pale Ale. BJCP Style Guide.
I think the packaging of this beer is very attractive. The bottle has an elegant shape, and the logo consists of a trout carrying a gold ring in its mouth. The story behind the logo is summed up well on Wikipedia:
Appearance (4.0): Pours a very lightly hazy copper color with a fluffy white head that thins to a persistent thin layer.
Smell (5.0): Wonderfully fruity with notes of citrus and a hint of berries. Additionally floral hops and medicinal phenols are also present.
Taste (4.5): Toasty malts with very little residual sweetness. Lemon is evident in the center. The finish has a nice pronounced bitterness with the characteristic Goût d'Orval from the wild Brettanomyces yeasts used.
Mouthfeel (4.5): Tingly carbonation, light-bodied with a slight oiliness. The finish is very dry.
Drinkability (4.5): Very tasty and easy to drink. The dryness is very refreshing.
Overall (4.5): Well balanced, flavorful and complex.
I purchased a bottle of Orval a month or so ago at none other than Downtown Wine & Spirits. I let this warm and served it in my Westvleteren chalice. Orval is a Belgian Pale Ale. BJCP Style Guide.
I think the packaging of this beer is very attractive. The bottle has an elegant shape, and the logo consists of a trout carrying a gold ring in its mouth. The story behind the logo is summed up well on Wikipedia:
There is a legend of the abbey's foundation, purporting to explain the name '"Orval" and the coat of arms. According to this, the widowed Mathilda of Tuscany was visiting the site, when she lost her wedding ring in a spring, to her great distress. After praying for the return of the ring, a trout appeared on the surface of the water with the ring in its mouth. She exclaimed "Truly this place is a Val d'Or", from which the name "Orval" is derived, and in gratitude made available the funds for the foundation of the monastery here. The abbey arms show the trout and ring. The spring still supplies water to the monastery and its brewery.
Appearance (4.0): Pours a very lightly hazy copper color with a fluffy white head that thins to a persistent thin layer.
Smell (5.0): Wonderfully fruity with notes of citrus and a hint of berries. Additionally floral hops and medicinal phenols are also present.
Taste (4.5): Toasty malts with very little residual sweetness. Lemon is evident in the center. The finish has a nice pronounced bitterness with the characteristic Goût d'Orval from the wild Brettanomyces yeasts used.
Mouthfeel (4.5): Tingly carbonation, light-bodied with a slight oiliness. The finish is very dry.
Drinkability (4.5): Very tasty and easy to drink. The dryness is very refreshing.
Overall (4.5): Well balanced, flavorful and complex.
Labels: Belgian Pale Ale, Brasserie d'Orval, Reviews, Trappist
