Bananas about Belgium
Most people drive fast through Belgium, as if they would suddenly die of sheer boredom if they stopped in that flat, colourless landscape. I quite like the place, actually. I don’t think there is a super-computer underneath Brussels called ‘The Beast’ (which some apocalyptic folk believe).
If there’s one thing the Belgians know what to make - apart from the best chocolate in Europe - it’s the best beers in Europe. My ‘beer buddy’ Andrew Wooding wondered how we should follow up the pure delight of Moody Blues cider and the hairy rudeness of Alba Scots Pine Ale. I kept on and on about the wonder of Belgian ale.
So he gave in, and we ordered one with the glaringly sinister name of Morte Subite Gueuze. I looked it up on Google. Turns out it actually means ‘sudden death’. Oh great. Anyway, the fact that it had the word ‘banana’ in the description on the menu made us both think this might be a suitable ‘pudding’ to end our evening at The Devonshire Cat.
This was served from the bottle, this time into a very unimaginative glass that could’ve come from an unimaginative Belgian supermarket. And yes, it did have a banana-like taste. But it was a bit heavy going, like trying to chat up a large Russian hammer-thrower in a noisy Brussels pub. There was just no finesse about it. Most other Belgian beers usually send me to the seventh heaven. This one didn’t even send me to Butlin’s.
Again, probably not the best idea to put a beautiful West Country surf-babe next to a Scottish farming lass with bushy armpits and a Belgian mother of ten who stacks shelves on the late shift. But that just about sums up the beverages we drank that fine evening in Yorkshire.
Morte Subite Gueuze let Belgium down, frankly. But Leffe is still one of the best beers in the world. And I still like Brussels.
