It's Mt. Diablo on a hot May afternoon. It's dusty, it's windy. You suck down the first Vanilla GU about an hour in to an afternoon "jog". That first one goes down pretty good; the vanilla sweetness is pleasant, and the water even sweeter as it washes down the carbs. Every forty-five minutes or so, you suck down another GU; your muscles thank you for it, you love that little burst of energy you get, but each one gets closer to the experience of forcing wallpaper paste down the gullet. By the fifth or sixth GU, it sticks to the tongue and the roof like vanilla putty, and even water seems to clump as it tries to find a route down your throat.
You get back to the car, sweaty and salty, that GU paste just torturing your palate and there is absolutely nothing better to wash it down than a Gouden Carolus Cuvee Van de Keizer Blauw, from Brouwerij Het Anker. A mouthful to say and a heavenly mouthful to swallow. The rich, complex, and beguiling layers of this Belgian bombshell push that GU right off the palate and to the nether-regions, as each wave of goodness washes through the mouth like the Emperor's richest tapestries. Vanilla, molasses, oak, spices, sugars, all just rush in to the senses and command not just attention, but celebration with this beer; indeed, it is almost sacrilege to refer to this as "beer" - this sh*t is as close to godly nectar as one can get!
The "Grand Cru of the Emperor" is brewed on February 24th every year, in celebration of the birthday of Charles the 5th, who was apparently an English bastard that was fond of and willing to help the Belgians against the French or the Germans or some other Eurotrash rampaging conquering nutjobs. Apparently, Charles the 5th knew how to party, cause this brew is beyond enjoyable; it is an experience that defines life itself, and calls for its imbiber to look towards the heavens and question just what it is that makes beer - and life itself - such a rewarding and beguiling experience. Each sip arouses new sensations, the alcohol mingling with the soul, palate and heart becoming one. The highlight here isn't on a bunch of hoppy, skunky greenness - no. Here, the Keizer revels in the backbone of malt and fermentation - he'll kick your ass if you don't show respect, and he'll bless you with the kingdom if you allow him to permeate your being.
So your feet are up. You smile reaches from ear to ear, and you just couldn't frown if you tried. Even though you wore a hat and slathered sunscreen all over yourself, you're still radiating a warmth and glow not seen since Kilauea erupted. "More Blauw," you spew, with an enthusiastic mumble that belies the beer's 11% alcohol. The lingering pasting of vanilla GU is gone, replaced by an enlightened mouth that is still reveling in the challenge of mystery of such a celestial brew. You get up to see if there is more - but alas there is none. The Keizer only reveals himself on special occasions, and he - and the six GUs of a four-hour run - are just flat-out telling you to go to bed. You crawl in to bed with a giggling gasp, and with a last-minute thought: Ol' Charles the Fifth musta been a trailrunner allright!
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