After missing out on the 2024 edition of this long-standing series of green hop ales by De Ranke, I was not going to skip the 2025 one, bottled in October last year so now ten months old. Thick and frothy, foamy, eggshell-white, coarse, fluffy and rocky head, lacing in 'Brugse kant' and slowly thinning over an initially near clear, warm golden robe with pale orangey glow and some thin strings of visible sparkling, turning misty and more deeply peachy further on to even a murky beige in the very end. Noble hops meet the nose from half a yard away, dominating impressions of dried chamomille, tulips, white bread dough, raw turnip, lots of young wormwood leaf, grapefruit zest, parsley, unripe peach, wet nutmeg, hard pear, tonic water, touch 'herbes de Provençe', straw. Spritzy onset, strongly stinging carb detracting a bit from the fruitiness, which, though not sweet, is certainly there - as in hard, unripe fruit (peach, pear, apple); minerally carbonation pierces through a very bready core, pale malt of course but also yeast, with clove- and nutmeg-like phenols here and there. The overall dryness is amplified by the hops at an early stage, coming in with robust bitterness in a herbal and 'meadowy' way (think bitter weeds like mugwort, yellow rocket or tansy), eventually becoming peppery, grapefruit peel- and tonic water-like, stretching out into the finish very extensively - making said finish go on forever. Yeasty breadiness lingers as well, but the hops are, as it ought to be in this series of course, the star of it all, in an earthy, very 'European', noble and tonic-y way. I love a good old-fashioned bitter blond the Belgian way - De Ranke's own XX Bitter not being far away here - and I have enjoyed this series many times, in varying ages and conditions, but every iteration is always something new. This 2025 edition, in that sense, has its own character, seemingly even a bit more bold than many of the ones that preceded it - if only I could obtain the 2024 edition I missed, for the sake of comparison... Who knows, I may still stumble upon it, but the power of the hops will probably have waned a bit by then - which cannot be said of this ten month old 2025. Love it, and love De Ranke.

In the earlier days of craft brewing, when everything was still under exploration, I have sometimes wondered why "mixed fermentation" always seemed to involve top fermentation combined with (spontaneous or not) bacterial fermentation and why such an 'intermediate stage' did not exist between bottom fermentation and bacterial fermentation - at least not deliberately or in the shape or form of any tradition. The 'souring' of a bottom-fermented beer is of course perfectly possible according to the same procedures as souring a top-fermented beer, but the combination is still very rare and I think this beer from a local brewery in Richmond, Virginia may well be only the second one I encounter. Anyway, sobre yet elegant label on a 500 ml bottle stating that it was aged in red wine barrels too. Huge thanks and big cheers to Lauren and Morgan for this one! Firm and frothy, snow white, irregularly edged, cobweb-lacing, slowly breaking but generally very well-retaining head (until it eventually does dissolve) on a near clear, peach blonde robe with warm 'old golden' glow and some minute-bubbled, very sparse sparkling; turns cloudy peach with sediment. Aroma quite lambic-y at first glance, more so even than I was expecting - almost like sniffing a glass of geuze; impressions of sour apple and crushed green gooseberry, unripe grape, wet oak wood, sour cream, kefir, wood sorrel, petrichor, red wine as such remaining in the background but a tad more noticeable warming up and providing a subtle layer of complexity, unripe nectarine, barnyard, vague notes of dry green tea, limestone, sweaty feet, buttermilk and sulfur. Tart onset, again very lambic- or geuze-like, softish in carbonation (but a beer like this does not need more effervescence), fruity with notes of Granny Smith apple, gooseberry, unripe nectarine and unripe grape, but seemingly just a notch less estery than a 'normal' sour ale would be - probably because of the lager basis; smooth and vinous body, lovely yoghurty and green-fruity sourness remaining stable till the end, providing fraîcheur and some complexity. Retronasally, both a buttermilk-like scent and sweaty funkiness appear, very 'bacterial', 'animalistic' as it were - but entertaining enough, and working well with the sourness and the woody touch from the wine barrels. Flavour-wise too, the red wine remains in the background, not opening up as such but providing more vinosity and tart fruitiness than would probably have been the case had it not been there. Slight herbal hop bitterishness (hay, green tea) very subtly lingers in the tail, intertwining with the tannins from the wood and the sourness from the bacteria. Generally feels like a basic blonde sour ale, reminiscent of e.g. Alvinne's early dabblings in that genre (think Omega, Phi and Sigma back in, what was it, 2008?); that said, the level of esteriness is perhaps a bit lower because this one departs from a lager - resulting in an odd straddle in which the sour ale principle is a bit 'cleaned up'. Sour lager is the right word here, interesting enough as such, with the wine barrel treatment being a useful addition to the basis, as it adds elegance, warmth and fruitiness, even a very vague touch of sweetness. Quite subtle, in all, especially for an American sour - every bit as elegant and vinous as I was hoping.

Brambrass in Zwevegem near Kortrijk, a fixed value in Belgian craft beer for almost a decade now, is best known for its many strong stout variants, most of which have been very good to excellent - some even at an international level. I guess that in these post-craft times, where such more 'outlandish' beers have declined in popularity, Bram Neudt deemed it necessary to incorporate a simple standard blonde in his range, if only to see how it performs in comparison with the more established representatives of this often boring style (think Brugse Zot and the like)... Bottle from the Struise's webshop. Medium sized, tiny-bubbled and dense, busily cobweb-lacing, generally well-retaining and regular head on a clear golden blonde robe with vague 'metallic orange' tinge and very small but still visible, sparse bubbles rising up; shifts to a cloudy-orangey peach colour when the sediment is added. Aroma of old cardboard (clearly past its prime) but once this more or less fades, I get impressions of apple peel, coriander powder, fried zucchini, spoiled pasta salad, braised carrot, undercooked chicken, homemade pear juice, dry straw, dusty old bird seed. Sweetish onset but nowhere sugary, hints of pear, red apple and a touch of peach, lively carbonated with minerally effects but not above average in my sample at least for a Belgian blonde; smooth mouthfeel, white-bready pale malts with a cereally edge but nowhere sharply grainy, some residual sugars on top with slightly honeyish effect but again, the sweetness remains well restrained. Red apple- and coriander seed-like flavours linger in the finish, where the oxidation is again noticeable as a wet cardboard-like element, pairing with clove-like phenols which in the end become quite strong; floral hops also gain strength at that stage, preparing for a relatively long, drying, quenching, hop bittering finish - not so bitter that we end up in the 'bitter blond' category (think XX Bitter), but still a tad more so than in the average Belgian blonde, especially the macro brands. I can understand the idea of Brambrass trying to compete with what is - along with its stronger version 'tripel' - easily the most popular beer style in this country apart from pale lager, but I think Bram still better concentrates on his strong stouts, which made him a household name in educated craft beer circles at least in Belgium. That said, my sample was clearly past its prime (shame on you, Struise webshop!) and oxidised, but fortunately not to the extent that the ageing process ruins everything, in fact the cardboard odour almost vanished when the beer was left to 'breathe' for a while. Conclusion: obviously not Brambrass's most impressive creation, but armed with a confident hop bitterness and a certain level of yeasty complexity not seen in its macro competitors, so why not - anyone in their right mind should prefer this well over Tongerlo Blond, Brugse Zot, Affligem Blond or worse.

Brasserie Surréaliste, with its bar in Brussels, has become somewhat of a household name in Belgian beer circles since its beginnings five years ago, having become more widely distributed initially mostly in the catering business but now even in supermarkets as well (Delhaize at least, the one in Lokeren in the case of my sample) - I can still wonder how drastically some things have changed since U.S. style craft beer influences first arrived in this part of the world... And back again, because when they did, West Coast was the norm, then became completely overtaken by the hazy New England style - to the extent that the concept of 'West Coast IPA' in recent years became a thing again, as a nostalgic return to the originals. I have only very rarely seen such a return being successful: usually the so-called West Coast IPA still remains stuck halfway in the hazy NEIPA idiom. Let us find out how Surréaliste handles this challenge... Medium sized, off-white, irregular yet stable, slowly breaking, sparsely shred-lacing head on a misty golden robe with vague ochre-ish tinge. Aroma of unripe mandarin, soggy biscuit, unripe melon, white grape somewhere, starfruit, green kiwi, toasted garlic, fried onion, unripe pear, wet white paper or even very faint wallpaper paste - but in all, not very West Coast if you ask me. Fruity onset, crisp but fine-bubbled effervescence swirling through impressions of green pear, kiwi and unripe Galia melon, sweetish but not too much so - yet certainly a lot sweeter than any 'original' West Coast IPA was. Slick, full body, rounded pale malt sweetness with a very light biscuity edge, soaked in a hoppiness feeling a lot more 'tropical-sweet-fruity' than oniony, grapefruity or wormwoody like it should have been... Even retronasally, real West Coast aromas are hard to find: the only thing I can find here which may explain the West Coast moniker at least as perceived by the brewery, is the fact that more bitterness lingers at the back, spreading out over the throat for quite a while at least in comparison with this brewery's other IPA offerings. I get the same feeling here as when I get a salted but non-sour wheat ale pretending to be a Gose - or an extra hopped tripel posing as an IPA: the differences between historically evolved beer styles hardly ever lie in just one distinghuishing 'technical' feature, they are a complex of artistic interpretations, idiomatic and regional features and a 'soul' which remains difficult to explain. Perhaps the Surréaliste brewers are simply too young, or arrived too late at the scene, to be familiar with what any IPA coming from the U.S. tasted like two decades ago - but I remember those beers very vividly, including the effort I had to put in simply mastering their (to the standards of the day) enormous hop bitterness, and I can very safely say that this is not a West Coast IPA at all: this is a New England IPA with extended bitterness and nothing more. I feel bad for having to deduct points for that, because if you simply ignore that West Coast link, this is a pretty well-executed and tasty IPA especially to Belgian standards - we have come a long way indeed. But I have to be strict I guess, so sorry, point off for promising a trip down memory lane and completely failing at that...

ISA from Fugu, a Belgian brewing project located in Brussels, hopped with classic Japanese Sorachi Ace (hence the Japan-inspired name and label) and Chinook cultivated in Belgium (who would have thought that would ever happen just two decades ago). Can from the Delhaize supermarket in Zele. Thick and frothy, egg-white, 'Brugse kant'-like lacing, irregular but nicely stable head on a misty pale straw blonde robe with goldenrod-yellow tinge. Aroma of dried dill (strongly so even - in that sense immediately recognisable as Sorachi Ace!), starfruit, light guava, cucumber peel, hint raw turnip, cold oatmeal porridge without the sweetness, faint echoes of wild garlic, cilantro and lime (which should all be much more clear). Juicy onset, not too sweet though, hinting at green guava, starfruit and green pear, lively carbonated with important minerally effects - but in a very small-bubbled way; slick wheaty core with 'barley' white-breadiness at the edges, soft and fluffy, feeling a tad thicker than what one would expect at this ABV. The hops do not drown the malts completely - as is usually the case in any form of hazy IPA today - but creep in more gradually, eventually taking over with a retronasal reprisal of the guava, green pear and starfruit, superimposed by the dried dill effect and prolonged down below with a lingering herbal bitterishness lending more 'fullness' to the finish. Postmodern hazy session IPA with the classic Sorachi Ace signature written all over it (and let us not forget that Sorachi Ace has been around since the eighties already) - it delivers what it promises, but I know people who are not too fond of that dill-like quality of Sorachi Ace and exactly that aspect is very prominent here. If you do not mind that and are open to this quirky character of Japan's most famous hop variety, I think you will find a fine summer quencher in this beer in a very reasonable 'supermarket beer' price category.

BBP collaborating with what is almost certainly Estonia's most famed craft brewery (in spite of the stiff competition there) - not in the Baltic porter genre the latter is best known for, but with a fruited Gose, flavoured with mirabelles (the subspecies of plum I have known since childhood, as my grandmother had a tree in her orchard). Apparently hibiscus was also added to the mix, which could have been omitted for me - I never liked those dried floweriness in my beer (or anything else for that matter). Can from, remarkably perhaps, an Okay supermarket in Ghent. Medium thick, snow white, shred-lacing, breaking but generally stable head on a lightly misty yellow golden robe with almost khaki tinge and strings of very active sparkling. Aroma of small plums indeed but perhaps more in 'jam' form than as real fruit - yet still recognisable enough, ripe pear, brioche, tea (the hibiscus no doubt), osmanthus, dried rose petals (dito), oatmeal (effectively used - atypically for a Gose), overripe cucumber, sweetclover, hints of honey and wet sand. Fruity onset, not as sweet as ripe yellow plum but still on the sweet side - ripe mirabelle I assume, next to hints of pear or even slight (fresh) guava, and perhaps very vague peach; what is dramatically lacking, is lactic acidity: there is a sour streak present, but it seems to come from the fruit only. Has kettle souring effectively been applied here, as it ought to be in (certainly a modern) Gose? The pink salt - I suspect they mean that ridiculously and undeservedly expensive Himalayan salt from Pakistan which is nothing but a marketing stunt - is present but subtly so, as I get no Sauerkraut or seaweed sensations at all; instead, this annoying tea-ish hibiscus aroma appears retronasally, quite inappropriately so in my opinion, creating a soapy element reinforcing the oatmeal and (strong) wheat slickness. Slightly dryish in the finish primarily from this herbal hibiscus element and the sour side of the mirabelles; bitterness remains very faint (as it ought to be in this case). Wheaty fruit beer, presenting a certain authenticity especially in that mirabelle flavour which feels quite 'real' (even corresponding with how I remember them from childhood) - but lacking a bit in its own ambitions to be a Gose, still a difficult concept which is clearly not well understood here. I had beers before which, driven by the craft beer hype, thought that containing added salt was enough to be labelled as a Gose, but of course this salty aspect is, historically, nothing but a side effect, and lactic fermentation is much more essential. This one has a slight sourish side, sure, but it seems to come entirely from the fruit and not from souring of the wort with lactic bacteria as should have been the case. And why a mirabelle fruit beer needs any extra flavouring with that annoying hibiscus is beyond me as well - maybe BBP had some left from one of their experimental brews, who knows. To conclude: not badly constructed as such, but as is so often the case in my experience, collabs rarely are more than the sum of their two parts - usually even less...

After some first and interesting dabblings in fruit lambic, newcomer Odilon, operating in a former brewery building since 2024, took on the inevitable geuze challenge last autumn with this first batch. Odilon does not brew its own lambics but buys the wort from established breweries in the region - but which ones is not disclosed to the public, sadly. Thick and frothy, egg-white, dense, regular, stable head on an initially near clear, warm apricot-golden robe with almost salmon-pinkish tinge and a beautiful column of well-organised, steady, champagne-like sparkling rising up majestically; turns misty and a tad more peachy further on. Aroma of dried out lemon peel, old books, dry hay, green plum, oxidised Sauvignon Blanc, freshly cut sorrel, young birch leaves, green apple core, raw Kohlrabi, petrichor, light barnyard funk, faint background hints of rubber and chlorine. Crisp, tart onset, unripe stonefruit (à la Boon) mingled with green apple, cucumber and a sharper lemony sourness, but nowhere acrid; minerally effervescence, yet perhaps a tad less lively than average for the style (still adequate enough though). Rounded mouthfeel, bread-crusty backbone, drying lactic acidity with green apple-ish fruitiness and ongoing astringent green plum effects, joined by ornaments of Brett-induced funkiness (urine, damp hay) and old wet wood. Meanwhile, underneath it all, creeps a deeply buried old hop bitter element, which provides further body to the finish, reinforcing the drying effect of the acids and the tannins of the wood - and, in the very end, even providing a brief wormwood-like flavour. I think this blend consists of (older) Boon and (likely) the more streamlined Lindemans or Girardin, spiked with a shot of De Troch because of the bitter 'vegetal' element to it, but that is anyone's guess but the blender's I suppose - I would be a lot more enthusiastic had he provided more details concerning the composition of his first geuze, not only in the origin of the wort, but also the ages of the lambics and their proportions. This lack of disclosure aside, I think for a first attempt (at least 'commercially'), this is not a bad geuze at all: it is far from the most refined examples of the style I had and therefore far from world class, but it has all the features required by the genre, perhaps lacking a bit in depth and complexity, perhaps needing a tad more effervescence, vinosity and sour-fruitiness, but nevertheless flawlessly delivering what any regular geuze drinker expects - and doing a better job at that than some other first attempts made in the past years by other new generation lambic blenders, I must add. I enjoyed this one quite a lot.

Blonde ale brewed by De Meester for the ballooning scene of Sint-Niklaas, the self-proclaimed capital of the Waasland region where ballooning is cherished as a local tradition (officially since 1948 - allow me to add that ballooning as such has its roots already in the 18th century and was already performed in Ghent before Sint-Niklaas got involved, though they do seem to come in second in Belgium historically speaking). Having been born in Sint-Niklaas and having gone to school there in a now distant past, I see why this beer is called "Ballong" instead of simply "Ballon" - the local pronunciation of course, and apparently it is the Hemelrijk pub, which I used to frequent two and a half decades ago, that came up with the idea. Egg-white, medium thick, slowly thinning but generally very stable, wall-lacing head on an initially clear, warm old golden beer with pale orangey glow and some loose visible bubbles in the middle, turning misty (and deeper orange) with sediment. Aroma of ripe red apple, banana but not overwhelming, pineapple candy, brioche bread or croissants, coriander seed, sweetclover, very old and dried out orange peel note, wet grass, clove or very old dried juniper berries, damp strawbales, cooked turnip, raw parsnip, old dried thyme, cold vegetable soup especially when the sediment is added. Fruity onset but not too sweet, slight banana mingling with persimmon, red apple and green pear notes but fairly low in esters for this genre; medium carb, on the softish side but still adequately 'bringing the beer to life' with minerally sparkles. Slick core, cereally and a tad bready, soft, with coriander seed surfing on top - clearly this ingredient was, unfortunately, not forgotten - until it meets clove-like phenols and a vegetable soup-ish effect retronasally, the latter probably related to onsetting oxidation. Powdery coriander seed spiciness, phenols and light cereally effects linger as the hops add a gentle, floral, hayish bitterness, which nevertheless extends quite long into the finish, albeit in a subtle way. De Meester has succeeded in brewing a commissioned Belgian blonde, the most ubiquitous Belgian ale genre along with tripel which is basically the same but stronger, in a perfectly stereotypical way; I am not sure if I should applaud them for this... I have only very rarely been impressed by this De Meester brewery (Filicious was a recent exception) and I dare say that even though I was born there, I am even less impressed by Sint-Niklaas, so my expectations of this were low - I guess this blonde manages to be just as boring as the city it was dedicated to. It has, however, been executed correctly, even packing a bit more extended hop bitterness than I was expecting, so I guess in a final conclusion I have to say that it could have been much worse.