There’s something to be said for chanting. That is, chanting and making beer or cheese or chocolate. These are some of the practices of monks. I understand why the brothers of a monastery must keep a vow of silence. There are secret recipes and such that can’t just go wondering off! I have no doubt that some of the best beer in the world is made in small batches by the holiest of holy. In this case the monk’s of Belgium have a strong ale that yet brings us closer to God.
In this style of reverent drink, I got my hands on a bottle of Westmalle trappist. It’s golden in color, yeasty with a light crisp taste and a lemon peel zest, undeniably delicious. Very crisp, clean, almost like a champagne, it has a tangy aftertaste; a tart finish. At first the fruitiness is like a green apple, but it changes to the tender sweetness like a red apple near the end. There is the subtle underlying aroma of fresh bread.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If this is my calling; if this is my vocation, then I am ready to serve. 1 ticket to Belgium, one-way, please. Amen.
