The Rarest, Most Coveted Beer in the World
The Rarest, Most Coveted Beer in the World
Westvleteren 12 in Brussels
It happened by accident.
I was shopping for beer, as I often did while living in Brussels. But instead of handing over a few euros and being on my way, I noticed a strange look in the shop owner’s eyes. He carefully scanned the empty bottle shop before leaning in close.
“I have some beer in the back,” he whispered.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Westvleteren 12,” he said.
I couldn’t believe it. I just stumbled upon the rarest, most coveted beer in the world. With a mere nod, I pulled out another 11 euros and walked away cradling my unlabeled, yellow-capped baby.
Westvleteren 12 is a Trappist ale, brewed by monks at the Saint Sixtus Abbey in western Belgium. Specifically, five monks. Production is extraordinarily low—lower than any other Trappist brewery by far—because the monks only brew as much as they need to maintain their quiet lifestyle. It’s been more or less that way since 1931, which was still nearly a century after the brewery began.
Profit? Notoriety? Being named the world’s best beer time and time again? Those matters are of no concern to the Saint Sixtus Abbey.
With so many beer fans keen on trying Westvleteren and so few bottles available, there are, of course, many rules. I didn’t follow any of them.
You are supposed to call and place your order in advance. Sounds easy enough, but according to Reuters, as many as 85,000 calls are made per hour. If you somehow get through, you can only order one case every 60 days per phone number and license plate number.
Of course, this breeds a black market, which the monks are extremely displeased about.
Alas, I didn’t know all of this when I first held that Westvleteren 12. I just knew its reputation and that I was very, very lucky to have found it. And when I finally cracked open the bottle, I felt nervous. What would I think? Did my lack of beer expertise mean I wouldn’t enjoy it? Wouldn’t understand it? Did I deserve Westvleteren 12?
Probably not.
I grabbed a glass anyway. It poured a dark, russet brown with a thick, creamy head. Notes of cherry, plum and fig mingled with spices and caramel. Its maltiness was assertive, but not overwhelmingly. And it was sweet, but not cloying. Most of all, it went down smooth. At 10.2 percent alcohol, dangerously smooth.
Still, I considered other Belgian quadruples I’d tasted in the past, namely Rochefort 10 and St. Bernardus Abbey 12. Both are fabulous, rich brews with similarly bold and complex flavor profiles. They are also less than half the price, and readily available both in Belgium and abroad. Does Westvleteren 12 only have its cult following because of its scarcity? Is it the darker version of Pliny the Younger, another winner of the World’s Best Beer title that draws seven-hour lines once a year to Northern California’s Russian River Brewing?
I felt my face: toasty warm and pleasantly drunk. Sometimes, it’s best not to overthink things.