Bières de Chimay

«Beer, cheese or the backdoor?» At the Chimay Monastery in Baileux, Belgium, a hulking monk in a petroleum black robe, neck and fingers heavy with ocher rings and medallions presented me with a red pill/​blue pill dilemma. There were only two doors in view and the most unlikely trio to ever be seen in any religious structure. My brother, the organizer of Grovetoberfest Miami and the most religious of the crew… me. I dashed toward the door on the left and pointed my brother to the right and didn’t wait to see what became of Tony A.
Charging in headfirst a one-​two combo immediately struck me; uppercut to the nose, jabs to both eyes. It smelled like someone filled a train car with athletes unfresh from a triathlon and shoes were optional. Once adjusted, I could read labels announcing the only six words I ever bothered to learn in the stuttering language of the French –
Allégé, à la Bière, Mont du Secours, Poteaupré, Vieux, Grand Cru and Classique
Seriously if the RZA had been born in France instead of Staten Island, no one would have ever noticed he had a speech impediment. Anyway I was in the monk’s fromagerie and shaking like a junkie. I could build a Lego monument with gold bricks at Fort Knox or make cocaine anthills in my underwear for a Cartel, but I CAN’T be trusted to give a cheese wheel a beery bubble bath without a little taste.
Everything I could get my mouth on was mauled and I quickly started to feel the ill effects of a butterdose. I tried to make my escape, but without warning was struck by a golden surge of wind and light at the door. Though my eyes were attacked, my ears were pulled toward some angelic Gregorian chanting –
I dusted the disappointment of not experiencing holy ecstasy off and gazed upon Bo M. standing at the top of the brewery stairs. My brother’s hands were over his head, admiring a full chalice in the sunlight. The rays were refracting and it was shining like a giant opal, I grabbed at it and drank deeply. I needed to purify the inside of my mouth with this holy sacrament.
«Dood!!! Mooch much? BTW what happened to Tony, something terrible I’m sure. I saw XXX written on all the barrels in there.»
Just then a booming, haughty voice proclaimed, «The number of exes, defines the strength of its contents. Those are Trippels, also known as STRONG pale ales in the Belgian style.»
Before we could ask Tony continued, «The abbot took me through the backdoor… on a tour. Did you know these monks reduce the ABV of their personal brew, reuse the bottles, and recycle the left over mash by feeding it to their dairy cows?» With that our ecclesiastical adventure had drawn to a close.
The Chimay Compound (hotel, monastery, organic farm, specialty store) manages 1 of the 8 Trappist breweries in the world, but you don’t have to be a know-​it-​all or speak worthless romance languages. If you see the magic word, Chimay, anywhere in the world, whether it’s beer, cheese or toilet paper, put your faith in it and the results will be miraculous.