On Belgian Beer

On Belgian Beer.

Jenny had a mouthful of Carillon gueuze – one of the most exalted blends – at a bar on Friday lunchtime, and she looked at me in horror. “I suppose it’s meant to taste like that,” she said. “Yep,” I replied. “It’s not for me,” she said. I took a sip. I could see exactly what she meant. It was like an wildly unsuccessful stab at a Lithuanian salad dressing. But… I had to keep ordering gueuze, where’er we went.