Microbrewed Adventures - Charles Papazian [104]
There are many wonderful islands in the Caribbean, though beer is usually not the primary reason for heading there. But beer is my business, and I was here to work.
I’ve been pleased to discover dozens of wonderfully small breweries scattered throughout the Caribbean. All of them make thirst-quenching light American/Caribbean-style lagers. Many are contract brewing (or owned by) Heineken or a powerfully tasty and strong (7.5 percent alcohol) special export Guinness. Some also make their own island brands of stout. In April 1994, I flew to Martinique, an island “state” of France, to attend the 33rd annual convention of the Master Brewers of Americas, district Caribbean.
I took the opportunity of having come all this way from snowy Colorado to explore a bit of the island culture before the convention began. While almost all other Caribbean islands are tiny nations, I was often reminded, “Right now you are in France.” This was just the beginning of what made this island unique.
While Martinique’s own Brasserie Lorraine produces a hard-to-find porter and a light lager with pleasantly discernible malt and hop character, there were other beers I soon discovered. Lorraine was a welcoming, island-brewed fresh lager sufficient for the first few beers of my cultural explorations, but I was soon very intrigued by the tap handles at local bars and restaurants.
Lorraine was not to be found on draft, anywhere. I discovered the available draft was imported Belgian-brewed Stella Artois, Leffe Blonde and Leffe Brun. They were ubiquitously available throughout Martinique. Ahh, the Blonde was refreshingly good, but I really enjoyed the zestiness of the Brun. In all my travels to tropical islands and climates, this was my first encounter with specialty beers (other than stouts and the brewpub beer of Santiago’s on Cayman Island)—and this was from Belgium no less! Things were looking up; the volcano was not blowing smoke and there was a warm sea just outside my window.
But never, and I mean never-ever, have I been so pleasantly beer surprised than when I encountered Le Terminal Bar at 104, rue Ernest Deproge, in the capital town of Fort-de-France—a quiet, comfortable, unpretentious second-floor bar with a view of the harbor. As I entered and crossed the stairwell, I noticed many familiar beer labels and signs from around the world, but not knowing French I dismissed them as wishful decorations. But when the beer menu arrived, language posed no barrier. Before me, I suddenly had a choice of 80 different beers from around the world, of which more than 25 came from Belgium and 15 from France. Whoohoo! I was in the Caribbean without any homebrew, but I seemed to have found the next best thing.
I recalled that I was “actually in France.” With that in mind, I delved into the choices to be made among Jenlain, Adelscott, Bière du Démon, Gueuze de la Bécasse, Lucifer, Abbaye de Leffe Radieuse, Mort Subite Cassis Lambic, Chimay Rouge and Chimay Bleue, Sixtus, Kwak, Duvel and Orval, to name just a few. While sipping on Jenlain, a French country ale, I learned from some of the folks who owned and tended the bar that all their beer, regardless of its origins, had been imported from France. The beers of the United States, Australia, Canada and even Mexico—in some cases just a few hundred miles away—were all, incredibly, first shipped to France and then to this tiny island, where Le Terminal did the best they could in presenting some classic brews. I asked why, but the Frenchman seated beside me shook his head in confusion and only explained in a heavily accented deep, gravelly voice, “Ahhh, but thees ees France!”
With this in mind, I chose beers that could hope to do well with age and journeying. But not before my curiosity got the better of me and I asked what a “Picon” was, listed on the menu under the “country” of “Terminal.” Someone explained, “It is something we drink in France when the weather