Poetry in a Glass - Belhaven Burn's Ale
Aug 20 '02 (Updated Feb 05 '05)
The Bottom Line It burns ussss....
"When Chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet;
As market-days are wearing late,
An’ folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm."
-Robert Burns
This is from the label on the back of a bottle of Robert Burns Ale from Belhaven, a special edition ale brewed to celebrate the bi-centennial of the bard. It is the first verse of the poem Tam o' Shanter, which you can find in it's entirety, along with a translation into modern English, at: http://www.kennedym.demon.co.uk/tamoshanter.htm
So much for culture, whit aboot the ale?
BELHAVEN brewery is situated on the shores of the Firth of Forth in the Royal Burgh of Dunbar - about 30 miles east of Edinburgh. The brewery was founded by Benedictine monks around 1415 when - after being given land here, they found the water to be excellent for brewing beer.
The present brewery was built in 1719, and is one of the oldest in Britain. One family owned the brewery for more than 250 years. In the Seventies the business was sold to pub and hotel interests and was then owned by a succession of colourful 'Characters' until recently when it was the subject of a management buy-out.
For many years Belhaven also acted as a maltings: germinating and kilning the barley that is widely grown in East Lothian and the Borders and supplying not only its own brewery but also whisky distilleries. Two malting kilns from 1719 are still standing.
Abridged from:
http://www.belhaven.co.uk
------------------------INTERLUDE---------------------------
On a rural road a policeman pulled this farmer over and said: "Sir, do you realize your wife fell out of the car several miles back?"
To which the farmer replied: "Thank God, I thought I had gone deaf!"
------------------------------------------------------------
Back to the beer.....
• The Pour •
Burns ale pours clear and clean, to a light brown, oakwood, colour with hints of amber and lots of tiny bubbles rising to a light tan, big foamy head - which is long-lasting and leaves a nice lace effect on the glass. The aromas - peaty and woody with some citrus notes and a strong sweet chocolate maltiness - are very strong. There's a musky, yeasty, bready aroma and something else that I just could not place. I asked Mrs P what she thought it smelled like and she said, "Beer." Thanks a bunch.
• The Taste •
It's full bodied with good carbonation but without a hint of gassiness. On taking a sip my first thought was....WOW! It's as luxurious as dark, Belgian chocolate and very malty. Rich and sweet, without being sickly, it's like a liquid gateau. There is only the meerest hint of floral hop flavour here. It's an unusual ale, with bitter-sweet overtones and an earthy, woody quality in its palate. Dark? Woody? Chocolate? Gateau? - Less of a beer, more of a schwarzwaldkirschkuchen....without the cherries!
• The Verdict •
At 4.2% ABV, this one is as a smooth as velvet and literally slides down. It's not too strong, so you can afford to sink a few before you start talking utter nonsense. It is utterly delicious. The perfect food to accompany this ale would be the traditional Burn's Supper of haggis, neeps and tatties. Mince pies, bridies or stovies would suffice. Or why not knock yourself out and try it with a meally puddin'. All the epicurean delicacies of Caledonia would surely compliment this brew.
See also:
Caledonian Burns Ale
Ah ken that no a'body kin unnerstaun' the verse at the tap o' the page, so fur a' they fowk whit dinnae spake the mither tongue, here it's in Inglis:
When gypsy people leave the streets,
And thirsty neighbours, neighbours meet;
As market days are growing late,
And people begin to take the road home,
While we sit drinking beer and ale,
And getting drunk and very happy,
We don’t think of the long Scots miles,
The marshes, rivers, steps and stiles,
That lie between us and our home,
Where sits our angry, moody wife,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath, to keep it warm.
Sláinte
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