The George Lite Zone

This is the greatest and best beer in the world’s. . . tribute.

Earlier this week I was in Cafe Bizon, when the barman asked “What do you want?”, “What beers have you got?”, I replied, “Any beer you want.”, said the bar keep. As a joke I asked for a glass of Westvleteren.

Belgium has a total of 6 Trappist breweries, Westmalle, Westvleteren, Chimay, Rochefort, Orval and Achel. On drinking my way through this distinguished list I found that by far and away my favourite was Westvleteren. Unfortunately, this beer is as rare as Pixie Poo and took an awful lot of tracking down for my first encounter. The reason for this rarity is that a couple of years back it was voted the best beer in the world. Subsequently, demand was enormous, stocks depleted and cases of this beery nectar sold for large sums of money on e-bay. Eventually the monks at St Barnabus monastery, formerly St Sixtus, said enough is enough and stopped sales of the beer outside of the abbey. Today to get hold of this heavenly brew you need to make the pilgrimage to the monastery in Flanders where you are limited to a maximum of one case.

Meanwhile, back in the Bizun, the barkeep looked around furtively and said yes they have a small number of bottles left, the remnants of a case but this must be kept secret (you wont tell anyone will you?). A few minutes later I had a distinctive bottle of the Trappist nectar sitting in front of me, distinguished by its lack of a label with just the bottle top to identify it. Moments later the beer was poured and I had a glass of it cradled in my hand on the road to beery Nirvana. Slightly sweet in a woody sort of way, with a taste redolent of strawberries on a Summers day, I could almost hear the monastery bells tolling in my ears. No wait, that was just a blues riff from Tommy Bolin ringing out from the Bizon bar speaker system.

My thanks go out to Rob Campell for purchasing this rarest of the rare in his round. Greatest beer in the world? Oh hell yes, I feel a road trip coming on.

No Brussels for me tonight, after a concrete mixer decided to give the Forth Road Bridge a concrete overcoat and left me in a giant motorway shaped car park.

Police haven’t yet ruled out sabotage due to a lack of any concrete evidence. Boom, boom…

But still, badda-bing badda-bang, at least I’m home with the family for an extra night this week. An offer I can’t refuse.

Speaking of beermats, the one under this cascade doesn’t look like it’s going to cope with the beery deluge, even with Keri’s attempted rescue mission. Nice pouring Phil.

Two Spurs fans in the White Hotel sit in the infamous love seat while the ghostly spectre of a White Moose gazes on. Of course it could be an adult male deer, which would make it a White Hart. Not quite White Hart Lane, but still, no moose is good moose.

The White Hotel in Brussels is a bizarre place. Each of its rooms is decorated in a minimalist style that is themed around the colour white. Pondering the purpose of the sink plug attached to your room key, you discover the matching plug hole inset into the wall near your door. All I need now is a copy of The Beatles - The White Album to listen to and my stay is complete.