The wife picked up one of these a while back. I read the label and quickly discovered that there were no English words. I understood “Belgium” and “a”. It came in at 11% so I knew this would be a sharing beer, but when Mark was over that last few times, we had other beers instead. Then, the last time the wife went shopping, she grabbed some regulars, a few new ones and “this big one. It’s Belgian and the bottle looked pretty”. As soon as I heard “pretty” I knew it was the same thing that I had in the fridge.
The next time Mark came over, I warned him that we’d be drinking a big Belgian ale. He was all for it. What I didn’t know at that time is that we wouldn’t be getting around to it for quite some time. By the time we opened them up, I was already drunk. Drinking an 11% when you’re sober is enough of a feat, attempting it whilst intoxicated is dumb.
It poured out dark brown and smelled very sweet and malty. It had a little spice to it, some fig and the rest was malt. It took a while for us both to drink, but we did it. It was probably the worst decision I made all week. I was fine until halfway through it, then I started with the hiccups. That’s when the wife knew I was done for.
Mark, on the other hand, is some sort of machine. I have never seen him drunk. Yes, granted he is a large man, but how can the human body process alcohol that fast? Inhuman I tell you.