Here's to Beer! A Lesson From Belgium: Part Two

Jupiler: Glass Optional...

Our group was on a train, headed back to Aalst after having a nearly religious experience drinking Westvleteren at the Trappist Abbey St. Sixtus. It was Carnival time in Aalst, and the atmosphere similar to being in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. When we had departed in the morning, we could not help but notice the town was battening down the hatches. Shops were boarded up; cement crowd control barriers were in place. Grandstands were erected that offered a view of the parade route, and streets were closed off all over the city. A big time party was about to go down, that much was clear.

Now, as our train carried us back to Aalst, the Carnival attendees began to pour in at each successive stop. Costumes are an absolute must, and so the train was soon filled with insane costumed revelers.

A group of guys all dressed in identical teenybopper drag outfits came on board and sat down surrounding me in the small booth where I was seated. Without a word, the young guy sitting across from me pulls out a can of Jupiler, the beer of choice for Carnival attendees. He places it on the table directly before me. I have had Jupiler before, so I was well acquainted with just how vile this beer is. It is a Belgian macro lager, made by Anheuser-Busch partner InBev. The taste is rank, with huge amounts of cooked corn flavor (also known as Dimethyl Sulfide to you beer geeks). Before I had visited Belgium I had considered Stella Artois the” Budweiser of Belgium”, but no, actually, it is Jupiler. Not wishing to be rude, I accepted the beer from my new friend.

“For me? Dank je vel,” I responded, saying thanks in Flemish, as its some of the very little I know.

“Are you American?” he asks in perfect English.

I reply “yes” and he proceeds to tell me he was born and raised in the U.S., and has been in Belgium for about ten years. He describes the Belgian way of life as we drink up our Jupiler. His friends interject in Flemish, most of which is lost on me. He leans in with a serious look.

“You just have more freedom here to live the way you want, “he says, and then, leaning in closer he adds, “And the age of consent here is sixteen.”

I duly note that kernel of wisdom, as the train stops in Aalst and we part ways. By this time the party was in full effect. Throbbing dance music filled the air and masses of people were drinking in the streets. Nearly everyone had a Jupiler in their hand, and in fact, it was the only beer available at the local convenience stores. I bought a sixer of Jupiler Maxis and went on to make some very enthusiastic friends by handing one to anybody in the crowd who looked like they were running a bit dry, all while downing a few myself. On top of all the Westvleteren I had drunk earlier, it packed a nice punch.

Dancing around with a sixer of Jupiler under my arm, my mind drifts, and I remember something that the late Beer Hunter Michael Jackson had said when asked what his favorite beer was. To paraphrase, he said that there is no one best beer, but rather, it depends on the occasion. There is only the best beer for the time and place, for what is happening that moment. As Jupiler cans crunch under my feet, I think I understand what he meant.

This is dedicated to the memory of Michael Jackson, the original Beer Hunter, whose birthday was March 27th.