Archive for the ‘Lambic Pentameter’ Category

If you’ve ever looked at the title of this blog, either on this site, in your Google reader, on the blog’s corresponding Twitter account, what have you, you’ve probably noticed something: computers don’t write capital “i”s the way human beings write them, with a vertical line connecting two parallel horizontal ones of equal length to the vertical line.  No, computers make this letter almost the exact way humans write lowercase “L”s- as a single, horizontal line.  l vs I.  Granted, the uppercase “I” does have teeny-tiny little lines jutting out from its head and feet on the blog itself (not so on Twitter!), but even then, to the undiscerning eye, it constantly looks like I’m writing “lambs and ales,” as if this were a blog about sheep.

But today I’ve decided to use this to my advantage.  I will write in Iambic Pentameter, or lambic pentameter (I had to mix cases to give you the full effect), whichever you prefer to call it.  I will write a review of a Belgian lambic in iambic pentameter!

This guy would be proud:


With this undertaking on my list of blog projects for the long holiday weekend (most of which didn’t get accomplished, because life and enjoying it got in the way, but rest assured, they are coming!), I headed to my local Total Wine to pick up a true Belgian lambic, preferably un-fruited.  I’m not a particular fan of the sweet, fruity lambics like those from Lindemans (again, not trying to knock, but just not my bag).  I like my lambic to be tart and dry, and I want to really be able to taste the wild yeasts whose role in fermenting the brew characterize the particular lambic.  I was hoping to find something from Cantillon, for instance.  Unfortunately, there were no un-fruited lambics at the store, so I just picked one that had “tart” in the description that Total Wine wrote up for it.

St. Louis Kriek Lambic

That would be the St. Louis Kriek Lambic (meaning a lambic made with cherries) from Brouwerij Van Honsebrouck in Belgium.  Now, cherries can = tart.  And I’m a big fan of Flemish red ales/Flemish sour ales, which always taste like cherries to me.  And it’s from Belgium.  And the description said “tart.”  I had pretty decent hopes for this one.  So I poured a glass of the ruby red beauty:


Ignore the sock monkey feet, ash tray, and menorah in the background.  What, you don’t have these things on your windowsill?  Just admire the sunlight shining through this little gem.


And sit back, relax, and enjoy some “lambic pentameter”:

My lambic, you were not the little tart
I’d hoped you’d be, but your specific breed
of sweetness grew on me, and I, in turn,
have warmed to it. Your blushing cherry glow
is like a fresh-pressed juice, your sugars sun-
kissed, wholly natural and nourishing.
But when those front-line waves of taste recede,
the sands of wild yeast are left exposed
to grate and prick so pleasantly with pops
of sourness, like glints of sunlight on
its grains, or winds that carried what cannot
be seen, the microscopic particles
unique to you, that bend the sweetness of
your smile to something slightly vinous, dry
before the waves wash over you again.


(couldn't resist one more!)

Hope you enjoyed that lambic pentameter!  And just so you know, you’re allowed to have an extra half-foot in a line if extra beat completes the last word of the line and you start the next line with an emphasized beat so that it’s a half-foot short.  For those of you counting my meter.  Also please note the clever double meaning of “grains.”

I know I completely failed at delivering my slew of posts this past weekend, but stay tuned!  I promise to deliver on all those ideas over time.


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