My Cantillon Story

Have you heard?  Sour beers are getting popular.  Mainstream news sources (most recently USA Today) have noticed the upswing in the number of sour & wild beers rolling off lines - google “sour beer trend”.  They’ve noticed the accolades that they get, & cultish appreciation around these mysterious bugged brews.  While sour beers are definitely trending up, it’s hard to say that there’s tremendous exposure or popularity outside of that niche.  It’s probably safe to say that the amount of sour beer being consumed in the US is still only a fraction of a percentage of craft beer, which itself still only comprises seven percent of overall domestic beer consumption.  But the attentive media, supported by anecdotal evidence within our hallowed walls, says that sours are hot.  Don’t know if the demand - OR the supply - will hold fast, but it’s an exciting time if you’re into these esoteric ales. 

And people are paying for them.  Sours are expensive to make, taking a long time to ferment &, if blended, more hands-on time than many other styles.  They’re temperamental – not all wild/sour fermentation turns out pleasant, & the microflora used to ferment can be fussy.  They’re limited, most only released annually, if that.  But when done right, the results are exquisite, & the demand is high for the good stuff.

It didn’t used to be.  When I hear about sour beers on the rise, my mind goes back nine years ago to Kelly’s Bar & Lounge.  It was the middle of summer, my sister was visiting from out of town, & we hit Kelly’s for dinner & drinks after a hot day stomping around the east end.  I saw Cantillon Kriek on their menu, & had recently had a kriek from Red Star in Greensburg, a very fruity, sweet, refreshing beer.  Thought the Cantillon would be right up my alley.  The server brought a 750 mL bottle to the table, way more than I was expecting.  O-o-o-okay.  I dove in & poured a glass.  It smelled & tasted like vinegar with the sourest cherry flavor imaginable.  I tried another sip – just couldn’t do it.  To my palate, this stuff was putrid & undrinkable.  My sister tried some & confirmed it.  Gah.  I ordered another beer – I forget what, but I’m pretty sure I played it safe. 

We finished the meal & the check came.  I scoped out what this turd was going to cost me - $16.95!  WTF?!  It was doubtless the most I’d ever spent on a beer up to that point.  Nonetheless, I held my nose & settled up, lesson learned.

$16.95 for a 750mL bottle of Cantillon.  At a restaurant.  And I hated it.  Maybe you thought going in that this was going to be a story about how I was into sours before they were cool, but it wasn’t & I wasn’t.  A year later I had a Rodenbach at a beer festival & thought it sucked, too.  Now Flanders reds are my favorite style.  It took another few years & reading The Brewmaster’s Table until I was ready to give sour beer another stab – the description, the history, the process intrigued me.  I tried a Lindemans Cuvee Rene & loved the complexity & challenging aspect of it.  I got it then; it stuck. 

We used to stock Cantillon regularly at The House – at the time, a bottle of Lou Pepe was $18, & I’m pretty sure it was the priciest bottle in the store.  Things have really changed – Vecenie’s doesn’t distribute it any more.  When a bottle does float in, it sure as hell doesn’t go for $18.  These days, Cantillon is one of the most prestigious brewers in the world, & the subject of much braggadocio among beer geeks.  A decade ago?  No big deal, just that weird brewer with the unpronounceable name, that makes lambics that don’t taste like Lindemans.  I chuckle & think about how good I had it, & how gross it was.