Avery 5 Monks (and what Americans get wrong about beer)

Last summer the Avery brewery released a real whopper of a beer, named 5 Monks.  Clocking in at almost 19.5% alcohol, 5 Monks is currently the strongest beer I have tried to date, and I don't expect to break that record anytime soon.  To put this in perspective, most light beers are around 3.5%-4.5%, most "normal" beers are around 5% and most craft beer is between 5% and 7%.  Though I readily admit there is something alluring about trying a beer stronger than some liqueurs, the port-like strength was not what initially drew me to this beer.  Avery's description of the beer, a "Belgian-style quintupel" aged in bourbon barrels, was my first intrigue.

There remains much confusion and myth-making among Americans when it comes to beer categorization.  American drinkers prefer to apply neat, concise, perfectly-defined categories to brewing cultures that historically didn't overly concern themselves with simplistic definitions; we invariably categorize imported beers in ways considered nonsensical in their country of origin (the ways Americans describe German beer are especially egregious).  U.S. drinkers have imagined a rigid system of rules for Belgian beers, particularly Trappist-inspired beers: enkel ("single") beers are blonde and regular strength, dubbel ("double") beers are brown-red and somewhere between 7%-8.5% alcohol; tripel ("triple") beers are essentially "double enkel" beers, blonde beers over 8%; and quadruple beers are "double dubbel" beers, brown-red beers over 9% alcohol.  We Americans believe Trappist monks have been making these beers for centuries, so the styles are therefore set in stone.

This is completely wrong.  There were no Belgian beers designated tripel or dubbel before 1930.  The first brewery to use the "quadruple" terminology wasn't even Belgian, it was Dutch, and it wasn't made until 1991.  Beer "styles" in general are not rigid, they exist along a spectrum, and while Belgian monks have indeed made beer for centuries, the particular spectrum of beers they make now is less than 90 years old.  Belgians don't really care what you call their beer (other than "delicious") and don't stick to a rigid terminology; just look at how lazily they label one of their best beers.

Needless to say, I was curious what exactly Avery imagines a "Belgian-style quintupel ale" tastes like, since no such thing exists.  I expected a sugary bourbon barrel bomb.

Avery 5 Monks pours the darkest brown I have ever seen in a beer.  It would look black in all but the best-lit environments.  Though the bubbles look finely small, the carbonation is pretty light.  There's not really any head or foam to speak of.  Barrel-aged beers are often a bit undercarbonated, and I would hardly expect one that's 400% stronger than most beer to be anything else.

Since I didn't really expect this to taste like a Belgian beer, I wasn't disappointed to find it didn't smell like one.  The aroma's Belgian character is limited to some faint smell of plums and Belgian invert sugar.  The majority of the aroma consists of things you would find in any barrel-aged barleywine or stout, just amped up to 11.  Heaps of molasses and brown sugar meet burnt sugar, whiskey, and some vanilla. 

Unsurprisingly for a beer this strong, there is a quick flash of boozy heat at the start, and afterwards alcohol continues to play a large supporting role throughout the whole two hours it took me to finish this.  Surprisingly, it never goes beyond a supporting role.

The burning sensation at the start morphs into the burnt sugar flavor characterizing so many bourbons.  Once again, the Belgian character here is very limited; faint fig and plum flavors from yeast esters, and a slightly stronger hint of invert sugar.  These are overpowered by flavors of brown sugar, toffee, vanilla, and molasses.  There is an odd but pleasing note of chocolate, and the warmer 5 Monks gets the more I start to taste something akin to fudge.  This tastes a bit like a blend of a barrel-aged barleywine and an imperial stout.  On steroids.

The texture is thick, sweet, and warming, with a side dish of sweet.  I've long considered Goose Island Bourbon County Stout beer's equal to port; this one overtakes it on texture alone.

Avery 5 Monks is an oddity and most definitely an extremity, but it's a tasty extremity.  If you go into this expecting an imperial tripel  or an imperial quad, however, you will be disappointed.  This is only vaguely resembles the Belgian Trappist beers it claims lineage from, but then again Avery clearly just used that for marketing.  They did their own thing here, and it's pretty damn good.  Hopefully they make it again.  I'll be splitting my bottle two or three ways if they do.