6.5/10
—
Appearance 6
Aroma 7
Flavor 7
Texture 6
Overall 6
From a 75 cl bottle with crown cap bought at Dranken De Moor. Irregularly cobweb-lacing, loudly crackling, bit 'dirty' but otherwise very pink, medium thick, moussy, fairly stable head over an initially almost clear, ruby red beer with copper hue, shifting to a murky dark brownish-tinged wine red with sediment added. Aroma of fresh cherry juice and even cherry skins (even though only the juice has been used here), lavender, soap, bread crust, blueberries, banana and even a bit of chewing gum, dry earth, melting cherry ice cream, dead tree leaves, old rosé wine and eventually a touch of red wine vinegar, sweat, pear, iron, tea, raw pineapple, strawberry wine, ripe red apple, faint wet dog, freshly grated ginger and - perhaps even more so - freshly cut dandelions, some straw, old liquorice, earthy beetroot, spoiled potatoes. Crisp onset, a typical mediocre Belgian ale with banana-like and even bubblegummy ester effects as well as hints of peach and blueberry but drenched in a rosé wine-like tartness representing a generous amount of cherry juice, feeling quite 'natural' and genuine, as if actual cherry juice was poured into a standard Belgian blonde - almost without the dreaded sticky sugary sweetness I was expecting. Strong and sharp, bit 'rough' carbonation, still slick and lean, bit glueish mouthfeel but nothing here feels truly artificial; a mellow breadiness with cereally edges forms the supporting structure for ongoing 'real' cherry juice effects, adding quite considerable tartness to the whole and drying the palate. Ends with this drying cherry tartness still dominating over a lightly earthy, bready, eventually quite yeasty and softly phenolic Belgian ale character, with a very beetroot juice-like earthiness to it as well as a soft but important, late and 'deeply' positioned hop bitterish touch, but some (fruit?) sugars linger as well, cloying to the enamel of the teeth and root of the tongue. The cherry juice sourness, however, remains the most pronounced factor and dries the throat with a soft but long-lasting tartness. Feels honest, as if Den Triest Blond has been deeply drenched in actual cherry juice - which is probably not far from the truth; brings back memories of the semi-tart cherries my grandmother used to cultivate in her garden, as well as of the cherry-flavoured artisanal ice cream she used to treat me to when I was a child. A Flemish top-fermented 'kriekenbier' of bygone times, it seems, from before the macro breweries turned it into disgustingly sweet syrup; this whole beer, though not at all representing my personal preferences in terms of style, breathes a 20th-century rural Flemish vibe in a quite charming and alluring way. Maybe it's just me becoming old and nostalgic, but this is way more sympathetic, 'authentic' and - very importantly - a lot less sweet and more tart than I had been fearing ever since I bought the bottle just for the tick. Beers like this stand no chance anymore to achieve international greatness these days but they are a remnant of beer tendencies in the previous century, like Crombé Oud Kriekenbier (now still continued by Strubbe if I'm not mistaken) used to do in the south of Eastern Flanders. Way too soapy, sweet and simple to really appeal to my personal taste, but in any case considerably better than I was expecting when I fearfully opened the bottle - being the passionate hater of syrupy sweet fruit beers that I am.
Tried
from Bottle
on 06 Oct 2017
at 18:35