ZBF 2013

I've not been going to as many beer festivals over the last year or two. Too many clashes with other activities. Plus, in the case of Belgian festivals, the awful train service puts me off.

I like the ZBF enough that, despite the physical trouble of getting there, I'm prepared to put the effort in. And, believe me, it was quite an effort. Leuven is only about 160 km form Amsterdam, yet it takes almost 4 hours, changing 2 or 3 times, to get there by train. The Fyra, a jerry-built Italian train, that's supposed to provide a high-speed connection between Amsterdam and Brussels has been withdrawn from service for an indeterminate period while they attempt to get it to work properly. The slower, intercity service it replaced no longer runs. Which means, apart from the expensive, reservation-only Thalys, there's no direct train connection between Amsterdam and Belgium.

Getting to Leuven wasn't the end of the horror. Brabanthallen, where the festival is held, is on the outskirts of town. There's a free shuttle bus, but when we arrived there was a huge scrum waiting at the its stop. After watching the crowd swell for 15 or 20 minutes, a bus eventually arrived, onto which we were swept by the throng behind us. Quite scary, but not as bad as the ride itself. 82 standing and 44 seated passengers the bus said it could cope with. There were a lot more than that onboard, judging by the way it struggled up every incline. It barely made it to the top of one hill. But it was the cornering that got to me. Every time the bus made a sharp left turn, it leant worryingly far to the right. Unfortunately it was almost all left turns on the final approach.

Inside the festival we found seats, which is always a plus. Next to the bloke with a beard who's always in Wildeman on a Saturday afternoon. Time to survey the land and decide what to drink next. (I'd picked up a Houblon Chouffe on the way to finding a seat.) That's when I noticed where we were sitting: right next to the St. Bernardus stand. There were my next three beers sorted out: St. Bernardus Christmas Beer, St. Bernardus Abt 2009 and draught St. Bernardus Abt. I'm so adventurous.

As three and a bit hours were all the time we'd get, I only bought 12 tokens. Just eight to go. Last year I'd enjoyed Tilquin's Lambiek a lot and luckily their stand wasn't far from my seat this year. I moseyed on over and was delighted to see they'd handpulled Lambiek. All lovely and flat, just the way I like my beer. It seemed silly to just have the one, especially as I had to wait 5 minutes to get served while the barman chatted with his mate. Some of us are thirsty out here, you know. The second and third went down well. It seemed a shame to stop there, so I had another three.

Just two tokens left. Beer Nut slowed down my pace when I bumped into him beer-less and hung around a bit for a chat. By the time I got back to Mike and our seats, there wasn't a great deal of time left. Having picked up some ondescript brown beer on the last leg of my walkabout, I had a single token left. What to spend it on? Obvious, really: St. Bernardus Abt 2009.

I managed to lose Mike in Mechelen station while he was fetching a shoarma. While between trains in Antwerp, I slipped into Spar and picked up some impulse schnapps and two cans of Gordon's Platinum. Just to make the journey pass a little more quickly. The Gordon's was cannily full of beer flavour. And high in alcohol, which is what I look for most in a train beer.

I hope the train service is sorted out by next year. I'm too old for these day-long journeys. 10 hours travelling for just 3 hours boozing. It should be the other way around.

ZBF 2012

"Two cans of Atlas, please" That's how my day started. Though, of course, I used Dutch words. The cans were to be my travel-time friends. Them and Mike. And a bacon and egg sandwich. Though the latter wasn't around long. It went to a better place before Schiphol.

A word of advice if you plan travelling from Holland to Belgium by train. Get on at Amsterdam Centraal. You've no chance of a seat otherwise. Yes, I felt a little sorry for the pensioners on crutches,  but it was their own fault for catching the train in Den Haag. They only had to stand for an hour. Or so.

We changed trains in Mechelen.Not been there in yonks. As we'd 40 minutes, Mike was keen on finding a shoarma place. Once he'd found one, I disappeared into the pub next door. My lunchtime sandwich was more liquid.

A beer and jenever sandwich. Admiring a rather nice old Whitbread sign, while sipping my Leffe Bruin. Quite spicy. Nothing like as bad as I'd feared. The jenever was a paint-strippery delight.

Leuven is another place I haven't been for ages. The square in front of the station has changed quite a bit. Not for the better. Most of the station has been demolished. The poshest stone parts remain, but not in use. Good one Leuven. You can get some idea of the horror here.

A bloke in an upper window of the building opposite seemed to be filming the crowds outside the station. Weird. He definitely didn't like me taking photos of him back, dodging inside.

Once in Leuven, we lacked just two pieces of information. Where the festival was and how to get there. It  only took us half an hour to work out. I say us. Mike worked it out. We sat outside a pub with wifi and Mike went ticky-ticky-tack on his phone. Smart phones - the Barcelona of the digital world. Lots of ticking and tacking with no visible result.

I took the opportunity of being on licensed premises to have my second jenever of the day. The pub's wifi, wittily, blocked all beer-related sites. I had chance to savour my jenever while Mike handled the technical issues.

The transport arrangements were so confusing. The shuttle bus went from . . . . the bus station. Who could have guessed that?

Apart from being in the middle of nowhere, the ZBF's new location, Brabanthallen is great. Lots and lots of room. The main hall must be at least double the size of the one in Sint Niklaas. So much room. It made me quite dizzy. Though possibly that could have been the spinning around in circles

Every festival demands special tactics. At ZBF, I have a particular routine. Pick a type of beer, have all the examples that look worthwhile. With a trou lambic in the middle. Then finish off with four or five of the nicest beer.

It didn't quite work out like that this year. I blame the organisers. With all that space and more breweries, there were just too many tempting lambics. I began in the hole. In all honesty, after the journey's refreshments, I thought it best to avoid the super-strong stuff.

It's the best collection of flat lambic I've seen at ZBF. Girardin, 3 Fonteinen, Boon, Oud Beersel and a new one (can't remember their name*, tasted like a Boon base) all had at least one.

Only in Opstal have I seen a better collection of Lambic. I thought my Lambic days were behind me. Plat rekindled my love. Such damn drinakable stuff.

I bought 15 tokens. Plus two free ones for being in CAMRA. Just three hours to drink. "Do you think I'll get through them all, Mike? Remember that I often interpret simple comments as a challenge."

"Yes. And yes, I do."

Sort of cheating. That's how I got through them. I filled up a small water bottle for the return journey.

"That reminds me of the special drink I took with me on the nightmare blizzard journey. A blend of St Bernardus Abt and Lagavullin. There was so much whisky it changed a funny grey-brown colour."

"You have such wonderful stories, Ron. Are there any that don't involve drinking?"

Can't remember its name. The beer I put in the water bottle. I mislaid my programme. (Probably just as well. I've piles of old festival programmes clogging valuable living space.) It was in a big wooden barrel connected to a beer engine. Not proper cask, as there was a CO2 cylinder linked up. Very naughty. I felt dirty drinking it.

The train back was packed after Mechelen. Where Mike had another shoarma. Me, too, this time. Alcohol weakens my will. We couldn't get seats together. Never mind. I had my whisky beer to keep me company. If not awake.


I got home early. Surprisingly early. Time for a couple of Abts before bedtime.




* Tilquin, that was it.

Drinking my floor

I was going to call this post "Drinking my cellar". Then I realised it wasn't strictly accurate. Because my stock of beer is actually spread around my living room floor. The drinking part is spot on.

Why am I drinking my lying-around-on-the-floor beer? Because of the ZBF. Going there, I didn't have chance to visit Ton Overmars on Saturday. To pick up my weekly supply of St. Bernardus. I get back too late during the week. No option, then, but to drink what I already have. It's an eclectic mix of gifts, things brought back from holidays and random purchases from De Bierkoning.

I've an idea. I'll bore you by naming them all. Naah. Too much work. But there's a Black Damnation in there. And a Stone XIII, Goudenband, a home-brewed AK, Mackeson, Tsarina Esra Reserva, Sierra Nevada Harvest, a couple of Schorsbräu things, Podge Imperial Stout and Guinness Special Export. Not to forget a can of Gold Label. I hope it will see me through till the weekend.

Not sure why I shared that with you. Just-out-of-work euphoria, perhaps.

Back to the dusty tomes again tomorrow.



Apologies for the blurry photo. Time for the Simpsons and I need to hurry.

ZBF 2010 (part two)

"Can I have a sausage, dad?" "I suppose so." We'd sat temptingly close to the sausage vendor. The sausages were the main reason Andrew had come. That and the chance to be plugged into his brain-sucker (iPod touch) all day. "A bratwurst with ketchup, please." I've warned Andrew of the evil of ketchup (and most other sauces) but it's had no effect. No point pushing it. I had onions with mine.

The onions had been poaching in the grease at the bottom of the hot plate. As I took my first bite, an orange stream of it trickled down my hand. "That'll be great for my stomach." I thought. The bratwurst shot out some more grease onto my hand. I love health food.

My stomach fully coated with grease, it was time to explore. First stop was the SAS stand. No, there were no human killing machines there. Just an odd collection of quite old-fashioned beers, including Leroy Stout, one of the four Stouts at the festival. But I've had that one before. Bit sweet for my taste. So instead I went for a Christmas Scotch. It was crap. But, as there were only 15cls, it was soon dispatched to the grease pit.

Sugar-free Tripel. That caught my eye at the de Graal booth. I thought sugar was essential to get the light body (for the strength) of a Tripel? I bought one to see. And you know what? You don't really need sugar in a Tripel. It was a perfectly liquid example and it no way heavy or cloying. I'd never have known they'd passed on the sugar.


On the way back to my seat, I bumped into Jezza P of the Burgundian Babblebelt.  After we'd been chatting a couple of minutes, a gorgeous local girl inexplicably joined our conversation. Maybe she has a thing for dimensionally-challenged, old English blokes. Or maybe it was Jezza. Naaah, who could resist my beautiful face? I would have stopped to chat longer, but my glass was empty. Not even a blonde stunner can keep me from beer for long.

Sebastian dropped by with a couple of beers he's had brewed at Braustelle in Cologne. He's only a few years older than Andrew, but disturbingly well-drunk (I don't mean pissed, but the beery equivalent of well-read). They beers were different-strength versions of a sort of Lichtenhainer. That is, smoked, sour, wheat beers. Rather pleasant and definitely unusual. They are commercially available under the names Freigeist Abraxas and Freigeist Abraxxxas. Not sure where from, but you might be lucky.

All too soon our time was up. And I still had three token left. I hate wasting things. Even things I haven't paid for (the tokens were the free ones you get for being a member of and EBCU organisation). Fortunately, Andrew had finished off his bottle of water. Three Glazen Toren Tripels fitted perfectly in the empty. No need to look for cans of Gordon's Finest Gold in Antwerp.

I recognised a familiar face on the platform as we waited for our train to Antwerp: Fred Waltman. Our paths hadn't crossed inside the hall. We caught up as we stood in the crowded train. The slightly-behind-schedule, crowded train. Antwerp station, on three levels, is a bit of a 3-D puzzle. Too much of one for us and we missed our connecting train. Not a total disaster. Especially for Mike. He'd wanted to the bakery of Astrid Plein on the way out, but we hadn't had time. Now we had a full hour. I got myself a half baguette sandwich.

We still had 45 minutes to wait. I tried to drag Mike and Andrew into a noisy, grotty-looking pub just off Astrid Plein. "I'm not going in there, dad." "I'll take that as a maybe." The grand bar in the station was more to their taste. It's an impressive sight, with a 10 metre-high ceilng and, loads of marble and gilding. And they sell Westmalle Tripel. That and a couple of jenevers were exactly what I needed. So that's what I had.

Of course, we had to piss around changing in Rotterdam again. But the jenevers and the water bottle full of Tripel knocked the edges off any annoyance. And I was home in plenty of time for Match of the Day. I celebrated with a St. Bernerdus Abt.

ZBF 2010

I can't remember missing ZBF. And you have to go back a way to find a 24-Uur Festival (its predecessor) I didn't attend. No surprise, then, that I went this year.

Saturday. That's the day to go. Mostly because I don't want the threat of work the next day. Could limit my fun. And I wouldn't want that. I could stay at home and get bored.

I let Mike work out the travel arrangements. Amsterdam to Antwerp, then Antwerp to St. Niklaas. Une pièce d'urine, as the French say. It didn't work out quite that simple.

One of the very first things I read in Dutch, back in 1987, was an article about the HSL (Hoge Snelheids Linie or High Speed Train line). They were trying to decide whether it should go directly from Amsterdam to Rotterdam or if it should go via Den Haag. In typical Dutch fashion, it took about 10 years to come up with a decision. The line was finally finished a couple of years ago. But, inexplicably, trains have only recently started to use it.

Saturday there were no trains running on the old mainline between Amsterdam and Rotterdam. So no Amsterdam - Antwerp train. Instead, we had to take the Fyra* to Rotterdam and change there. How exciting. First time on the new high speed line. "Are we on the new track?" I asked. "Yes. Look it's got a different catenary." Andrew is very observant about stuff like that.

Despite the new line being years late, NS still hasn't got new rolling stock. Instead, they've painted some old carriages a revolting combination of pink, red and mauve. It doesn't make them go any faster.

That's enough about the journey. It wasn't that exciting.  Oh, one more thing I almost forgot. I bought a couple of cans for the train. They didn't have Gordon's Finest Gold so I had to make do with Navigator 8.6. It's a cheeky little number, perfectly suited to al fresco drinking on a park bench. It works on a train, too.

Our arrival in St. Niklaas was carefully timed. For half an hour after the doors opened. Late enough to miss the initial rush. Early enough to get a seat. I hate queueing. And standing. And waiting. I'm the impatient type.

Mike had a list of breweries to watch out for. I would tell you them all, but I wasn't paying that much attention. And, seeing as you had to pay for it, I didn't bother getting a programme. Mike had one. Waste of money getting two.

Glazen Toren. That was on his list. And the closest stand to our seats. Obvious place to start. I had a Scotch. Before we get any further, I'll warn you: don't expect any beer descriptions. I've given up on the anal geek bit, spoiling the day by obsessively making notes. Pushing my way through crowds. Yet another thing I hate. So once the place filled up a bit, my beer choices were limited to the closest stands.

The Glazen Toren Scotch was pretty nice. I don't know if it really bears much resemblance to a Scotch Ale as brewed in Scotchland, but I've given up worrying about that sort of crap. As long as my glass is half full of something pleasant, I couldn't really give a toss.

Name-dropping time. (These names probably won't mean a lot to you. It's not as if we're a bunch of celebs.) I always meet loads of people at the ZBF. Sebastian. Jim who was on a beer tour with me a couple of years ago. Mark and Sarah. Des de Moor. You might have heard of him.

My second beer was another from Glazen Toren. Their Tripel. Quite pleasant, too.  Then it was time to implement my plan. My beer drinking plan.

Randomly sampling hugely different beers sounds like fun. But it ends up just being confusing. That's why I have my plan. I call it my Stout and Lambic Plan. It's basically like this: first I drink just Stout, then switch to lambic, before returning to Stout to finish off.

I looked at Mike's programme. Bugger. Just four Stouts. And one of those was from De Dolle Brouwers. I'm not wasting my money on that again. Not after the sour, infected mess it was last year. Trying not to get too discouraged about my ruined plan, I picked a Stout off the list Troubadour Obscura, brewed at the Proefbrouwerij. Mmm. A nice enough beer. But almost completely unlike a Stout. That's when I abandonned the plan. For a new one. Tripel would replace Stout. Except when I fancied something strong and dark. Or when I couldn't be arsed to walk far. It wasn't much of a plan.

That's it for now. Part two will follow tomorrow.

* The fast train service within Holland.

Crazy

I must be. Otherwise I wouldn't do this. Propose a transaction so financially disadvantageous to myself. No, don't thank me. The inner glow of self-satisfaction is my only reward.
 Dolores has encouraged my philanthropy: "Ronald, if you don't move those stupid books I'll throw them in the bin." "Share your erudition with world" that's what she meant, wasn't it?

I'm going to make you an offer. One you could refuse. If you were crazy. Because it's hugely to your financial advantage. While stocks last. I'll be doing a book for a beer at the ZBF.

Just say the codeword "Can I buy you a beer, Ron?"and one of my shiny, numbered, limited-edition books will be yours. After I've got the beer in my hand. I'm not stupid. Just crazy.

My kind of festival

This weekend it's the ZBF. Belgium's national beer festival. And a favourite of mine. I go every year (just about).

Why do I like it?

- The venue is a short walk from the station.
- I can get a seat.
- It doesn't take too long to get served
- The measure is a decent size.
- The prices are reasonable
- There's the full spectrum of Belgian beer, regionals as well as micros.
- People quite often bring beer for me.
- Andrew likes the sausages.
- I can have a Stout - Lambic - Stout session.
- There are falling over beers for me to finish off with.
- I can score loads of free beers with all my memberships.
- I always meet old friends.
- The journey home isn't too long.
- A shop in Antwerp Centraal sells Guinness Special Export for that journey.

This year will be special. Both kids are coming along. Should provide loads of material of the glass-eating kind. My blog will eat off it for weeks. A bit like a buffalo carcass. But not as smelly. And definitely without maggots.

If you're there on Saturday afternoon, maybe you'll have the chance to buy me a beer. You wouldn't want Andrew and Lexie to go hungry, would you?

ZBF imposter, please step forward

Lew Bryson swears he spoke to someone claiming to be me at the ZBF. If that person were charming, witty and intelligent then I could be persuaded it really was me. But I promised myself to leave sober this year and I thought I had succeeded.

Would the "me" who shared a 1914 Porter with Lew please like to step forward?

ZBF Report

Report is perhaps a slight exaggeration. A transcription of random scribbles I jotted down yesterday at the ZBF is more accurate description.

The variety at the festival can be baffling. That's why I pick a theme or two. The same ones this year as last: Stout, Lambic, whatever's close when I get tired of walking. Not that adventurous. I've learned to let others buy experimental beers and just take a sip myself.

It is a bit of a geek convention. That doesn't particularly bother me. Rather geeks than a gang of yobs. They're a harmless enough bunch. We're a harmless enough bunch I suppose I should say. Be honest with yourself Ronald. You're about as geeky as they get. My endless stories about extinct German styles and 19th century Porter grists have a hypnotic effect. At least my audience's faces glaze over three sentences in. I think that's a hypnotic effect.

I'm rambling again. ZBF, wasn't it? I'm not sure there's much I cant relate that's of general interest. I sat with a clump of friends who drank beer, exchanged bottles, chatted. All the usual social things. Some (including me) scribbled in notebooks. Good fun for me, but not so exciting for you to listen to.

Except the Lichtenhainer. Sebastian's mate had a bottle of Wöllnitzer Wessbier. The world's only Lichtenhainer. I was so excited I took a photo of it. Sadly, it wasn't destined for me. Fighting back the tears, I did mange to spout on the topic of German sour beers for an hour or three. I really should stop reading German brewing manuals while I still have a few friends.

Almost forgot the bloke with distilled Westmalle Dubbel in his rucksack. I speak here as a bier schnapps expert. Well, someone who's knocked back the occasional one. (Don't believe Stonch's lies. I only ever drank one a day, for purely medicinal purposes.) Very nice it was. The Westmalle Dubbel schnapps. A shame it isn't commercially available.

ZBF

I'm just about to head off for the ZBF (Zythos Bier Festival), Whitbread 1914 recreations in hand. I hope it will be as much fun as previous years.

Given all the people I'm supposed to be meeting, I doubt there'll be a whole load of drinking time. Oh well, maybe next year will be more low-key.

My camera and notebook will be making the trip with me. I hope I make more notes than at the Essen festival. What I wrote there could have filled a large stamp.

I intend reporting the day tomorrow. If I can remember any of it/have been arsed to take notes.

Happiness fulfilled

Just a short post. I dropped by De Molen yesterday to pick up a few bottles of my beer. I'll be handing some out to the lucky few at ZBF on Saturday.

This is what it looks like:

Whitbread and the ZBF

Just over a week to go to the Zythos Bier Festival. It's always good fun. So many people to talk to, so many beers to drink, so little time. This year will be especially exciting for me.

Why? I should have a few bottles of my Whitbread 1914 Porter and Whitbread 1914 Stout with me. I'm going to collect them next Monday from de Molen. "How can I get to try these wonderful beers?" you ask. Well you could try coming up to me and saying "You're Ron Pattinson and I claim my bottle of 1914 Whitbread." Waving a 10 euro note (or the equivalent in beer) in front of my nose at the same time might help.

A couple of caveats:

1. I will have a very limited number of bottles and some are already reserved
2. The Porter will be just about conditioned, the Stout will need another week or two

Could you be one of the lucky individuals leaving the ZBF with a 1914 Whitbread beer?