Drink Like a Monk

     
     In the West, the history of drinking well is one that would be lost without the practices, rites, and customs preserved and developed by those robed in service to God. From purple jewels bursting out from loam, clay, and limestone to roots, stems, and leaves found living alongside mountains, the wine and liquor that cemented the divine right of kings was born from holy hands. The Benedictines, the Carthusians, the Trappists, the Cluniacs, and more achieved Sainthood through intoxicating pursuits. Reject any puritanical notions you may have of godly men: faith cannot last without exceptions. 

    As we drink with intent as is our duty, in part to silence any murmurs of dependence, think back to those before us whose medieval alchemy forged the path to our current understanding of distillation and fermentation. Proceed from the heart; Leave behind spirits begotten by corporate agency, and remember the elixir of life crafted by the Order of Carthusians for hundreds of years in the walled monasteries around Grenoble. Made of herbs sprouted from earth and rock towering in eminence beyond our common level, the tonic known now to us as Chartreuse dances in the glass when brought to light. Brought to Le Grande Chartreuse by a marshall of Henry IV, it began its formal instruction in 1605, first under one Brother Jerôme - its essence molded and perfected behind the doors of the Order. Traditionally consumed neat at an alpine temperament, between scholarly sessions and after meals, open your doors to The Last Word - a prohibition-era cocktail where Chartreuse becomes acquainted with gin, lime juice, and maraschino liqueur - and find yourself rapt in revelry.

    To imbibe on an empty stomach is more in tune with Church doctrine than one might think. Should you question your judgement with High Life in hand, see through that glass bottle wrapped in traditional standard and find faith beneath that amber sea - just as the friars at Neudeck ob der Au did hundreds of years ago. The mana before you is not just beer, but liquid grain of the same alchemical origins as the doppelbocks brewed by 14th century German monks as Lenten fuel.

    Inclined for a bout of hooliganism in the sweet summer air? The Benedictines of Devon will set you on the path. Whether compelled by the moon, or to answer a call bellowing from deep within yourself, reach for Buckfast: a saccharine tonic wine fortified with caffeine - too compelling  a drink for American import. A bottle or three will render you pure and furnished with hate, joy, grief, courage, and the like; embrace your new life as a rambling scryer clawing through hedgerows between open pastures and untilled earth. This path through black country along pre-Roman roads is well known to the Benedictines of Devon who, while their country burned during its first civil war, were rumored to mount expeditions north to a mythical alehouse at the peak of Beinn Naomh. Its existence first recorded in the teachings of Saint Blathmac as transcribed by the Benedictine Walafrid Strabo, this sacred site was thought to have seen Christ himself hold counsel with Celtic druids.

    On a similar trip of spiritual alignment, I heard of an order of Cistercian nuns living in Vitorchiano, 70km north of the Holy See. I was surprised to find a quiet creed of women continuing the tradition of viticulture first pioneered by Saint Martin of Tours. Producing wines under the Coenobium label with honesty and grace, their 2015 Rosso expressed perfumes of frankincense and styrax with tears that mimicked the shadows of the worthy and blessed. The Blood of Christ is biodynamic, and like His Word, to offer it to a stranger is an act of divine charity - one which does not require fealty to the Church. To nurture one’s soul with wines formed simply under the watchful eye of a producer, one who recognizes the beauty of the natural world in motion, is piety enough.

In Vino Veritas.