Trois Mousquetaires Kellerbier in a cellar

We already know the Three Musketeers from an earlier post in which I reviewed their Schlicke Alt, and today we present another entry in the category "somewhat obscure German beer styles brassée au Quebec". This beer is a Kellerbier - literally cellar beer. The style originates from the Franconia region in Germany, and while this region is part of Bavaria, making up its norther part, the people there do not consider themselves Bavarian and speak their on dialects. They are on par with the Bavarians, however, when it comes to beer drinking. The name of the region and the people derives from the Franks, one of several Germanic tribes that settled what is now Germany in and around the 2nd to 4th century A.D. They are the original French people, if you wish, and they make such delicacies as Lebkuchen (a heavenly style of gingerbread) and Rauchbier. They are also known for their wine making and the famous Bocksbeutel bottles in which the wine is sold. During late July, the city of Kulmbach in Upper Franconia hosts a Bierfest that could be considered a better Oktoberfest than the more famous one in Munich. As you might expect, Franconia is also famous for beer brewing, with a small brewery in just about every village, and locals are known to go on beer hikes that take them through forests and mountains with pit-stops at local brewpubs along the way. Now that's my kind of hiking!

Moving on to the beer, I decided that a Kellerbier should be photographed in locations that evoke basements and cellars - see below. The style itself should be unfiltered and malty, with low carbonation and an amber colour. Our sample from Les Trois Mousquetaires meets some of those standards quite well, even as I thought the beer's appearance was a little too dark. But malty this beer was, indeed, with plenty of dark grain bitterness and tart malt acidity on the front and middle palates. The lupulus bitterness soon takes over, even as I thought the blend of grain and hops was not quite successful. I did wonder why they branded this cellar dweller as a "golden lager,"  since the colour was far from golden and in any event, the (appropriately) cloudy appearance dulled any sense of golden-ness.

The beer in my basement, where it belongs among its brethren: