“Do you know what a Belgian Malinois is?”

A dog barks as Chef Chris Lively leads me into his fabled basement—a labyrinth of a beer cellar. Rows of lambic and gueuze bottles in formation line its shelves, aged and dusted like seasoned soldiers, medallioned and uniformed in green. Ending my curiosity, Chef Chris reveals that the U.S. Secret Service uses these dogs to guard the White House. I ask if it’s friendly, Chris responds with a chuckle, “No.” Having been knighted by the Belgian Brewers’ Guild, and honoured with a tribute beer—Black Albert, from De Struise Brouwers in Vleteren—Chris jokes that the most Belgian thing he possesses is probably his dog.

Beyond the cellar, up a spiral staircase is not only Chris and Jen Lively’s home but also Ebenezer’s Pub, which they own and run. The pub is known for its precisely executed menu, and an atypical beer list given their location, with sought after offerings from Fantôme, Cantillon, Bokkeryder, and more. Together the Lively’s have built a place where visitors make the pilgrimage from all over to go to one of the best Belgian beer bars in the world—out here in rural Maine.

“Ebenezer's is a must-visit,” Carlo Grootaert of De Struise exchanges via text message. “It’s in the middle of nowhere but this place is out of this world!” He’s not wrong. Some 50 miles northwest of Portland, and with little cell phone reception, the town of Lovell, Maine may not be a noted tourist destination, but the journey is certainly worth it.

Accepting Chris’ offer to be a special guest at Ebenezer’s third annual Belgian Beer Fest, “The Night of Great Thirst,” De Struise visited Lovell—a town of less than 500 households—in 2007, and were impressed by the level of service and care from Jen, Chris, and their staff. “We checked out the place and found out that these guys were most professional in what they were doing,” Carlo says. “[They had] very rare stuff, old stuff, even top beers from Belgium that I had never seen before. Name it, Chris had it.”

***

Chris and Jen Lively met in Los Angeles in the early 1990s. Jen and her friends would go to lunch at Lucky Baldwins in Pasadena—a British pub where Chris cooked. He thought their relationship was platonic at first since prepping fish and chips in the LA heat left him reeking of fat and grease. In 1994, Chris was working during a Football World Cup match between Ireland and Mexico. He gesturally tells me the story of how swelled the place was with fans cheering and chanting, the whole restaurant mobbed and swaying like a vessel caught in a tempest. And him, at the helm, smiling from ear to ear, devoting that he would forever work in a pub. Together, they established Ebenezer’s in 2004.

The Lively’s emphasise that this parcel of Maine is their home and their life. Jen comments that their pub is like a farm and that every visitor is treated like a guest in their own home. “Our true love is preparing and serving great food and beer and taking care of our customers. That’s just what we do,” she tells me.

“We’ve always been a family restaurant first. I think the reason why we initially won all those awards is because we are familiar with that pub concept,” says Chris, picking up from where Jen left off. He also once owned a brewery—Lively Brewery in Brunswick, which ran from 2013-2017—and acknowledges some facilities aren’t an ideal environment for children as the conversation turns towards kids in pubs. “A pub is a ‘public house’. It’s where the entire town goes after work to meet,” he adds. “Kids are people too, moms are people too. We have a family, so I am very sympathetic to it.”

Jen and Chris’ daughter, Alexandra contributes largely to the pub, helping with baking and making delightful seasonal pies. Chris admits that she has been integral to the team and is both excited and scared that she’s moving onto college next year.

““Our true love is preparing and serving great food and beer and taking care of our customers. That’s just what we do.””

— Jen Lively

“When I render everything down here, the beer is great, and all the experiences… but seeing my father and her side-by-side setting tables together [means] a lot,” he tells me. “To see my wife’s dad doing dishes and things like that. When I look at Ebenezer’s overall, these are things that I will remember. It’s been a family thing. A thing that me, and my friends, and the community have built.”

***

Up at the pub, a ceiling fan rotates at its lowest speed, surrounded by tin tackers and unlit neon signs. A woman enthusiastically informs me that her 50th birthday is coming up, and her wish is to take her friends out to dinner at Ebenezer’s. In the winter, a good portion of the clientele are snowmobilers. Chris draws a map in the air of the northern part of the United States, dotting a route from behind the pub all the way to the state of Washington.

Establishing themselves in Lovell, Maine took hard work. Anyone that knows the Lively’s will profess their work-ethic; sharing tales of Jen in her third trimester working at their annual Night of Great Thirst, and Chris, aside from running the restaurant, coaching youth basketball. “When we started here, we were told this would never work, this is Budweiser land,” Jen says. “The beer that we wanted to serve wasn’t even in the state of Maine. Our job, in the beginning, was to educate every single customer to try something other than Bud, Bud Light, or a cocktail.”

In 2001, their house beer was Boddington’s and, as the front of house manager, Jen felt a duty to open and share bottles such as geuze from Belgium’s 3 Fontenien to help guests to expand their palates. ‘‘No one knew 15 or 16 years ago that they were drinking this kind of craft beer, let alone in Maine. It took years to build this. Imagine at that time, explaining to people to buy an $8 beer,” she says.

Chris fervently accounts how now everyone can celebrate the pub’s success, but the origin story of Ebenezer’s was far from pretty. Belgian media has featured the Lively’s throughout the years, and a particular commercial comes to Chris’ mind.

“When they were doing this whole thing [the production of the shoot], I was breaking down and very emotional because they were here since we won all these awards, but if they only knew what it took to get these brewers here, it’s anything but romantic,” he says. “Breweries like Struise, Fantôme, Cantillon, 3 Fonteinen, lambic, and Trappist beers... that’s always going to be who we are, and that’s what we’re going to keep pushing. We never wanted to be a Belgian bar, people just called us that. We did what we believed in, and thought that those were the better beers. And by fucking far they are still.”

Aside their numerous beer specific accolades—including multiple awarded Best Beer Bar in America and Best Beer Destination in the World from the likes of RateBeer, Beer Advocate and Men’s Journal—the Lively’s take pride in their ranking as one of America's Top Bars, alongside some of their own favourite establishments. “A place we go and do research at is The NoMad, in New York City,” Chris says. Many years ago, we were like this place is killer, and now it’s the 4th best in the world!"

Jen tells me how fulfilling it is to be on the same list as places that she loves to visit. Since they are physically distanced from the scene of industry socialites and other food city hubs, Jen says they are still flattered when going out and enjoying the reciprocated hospitality and occasional bit of VIP-treatment. While they are friends with some of the most well-known brewers and restaurant owners, they admit that it is challenging to keep the tradition of a family pub alive.

As I finish my glass of lambic downstairs, I listen closely to more tales. The one about a famed brewer tipping a canoe and losing treasured bottles of Cantillon Don Quijote at the bottom of Kezar Lake. Or, how regulars like author Stephen King purchase yearly holiday gift cards for friends. Even stories of today's great brewers reaching out to the Lively’s for affirmation, young in their careers.

Before I head up to settle my tab, Chef Chris tells me, “I’m not going to lie to you. The motto is, ‘Keep Everything Fucking Truthful.’ That helps me be vulnerable with my staff. I can cry in front of my staff. They can cry in my arms. We’re colleagues, we’re in this together. My family needs me to do this, I need to do it, my community needs me to do it. I’m so fucking lucky.”