Brasserie d'Ecaussinnes makes, as it turns out.
So, now that I am finally getting around to tasting them, I've decided to start with "Cookie Beer". Amazing but true, it really is called: "Cookie Beer". It's just not right somehow, is it? For one thing, we've got that whole marketing-to-kids issue, reminiscent of the Belgian penchant for using elves, gnomes and pixies to sell beer.
For another thing, what's the point of cookies -- presumably spéculoos -- in beer? I am assuming they indeed put the cookies in rather than just use them for the label because there's some serious mungusness in this thing, much more than the yeasty goodness of your normal bottle-fermented Belgian ale.
To add to my initial poor impressions, when I opened the bottle, foam burst out everywhere in my kitchen. And before you say, "oh, I bet you shook the bottle", or something else in an effort to defend this brew, let me say, no I did not. It's been sitting undisturbed for a month at least. So there.
And the stench was appalling. "Urine" is the only word for it. In my glass, on my counter-top, on the floor, on the cupboards... Don't get me started on the taste. It's worse.
"Go with tradition", said Fiona. "Stick with cookies and milk."
Indeed, I rather love spéculoos biscuits, which remind me of the gingerbread men my mother used to bake around Christmas time. I can eat them by the cart load, and I certainly wouldn't be doing that if they reeked of urine.
Please, Brasserie d'Ecaussinnes, tell me I got a bad bottle of this beer. This cannot be the taste you were aiming for. This cannot be the reason you have drowned well-loved baked goods.
And please, my dear colleague, tell me the other nine bottles of beer you convinced me to buy from this brewery are not going to leave me similarly thirsty with lots of cleaning to do.