Microbrewed Adventures - Charles Papazian [56]
The fermentations were long and complete. And if the strength or gravity of mead was lacking during the initial stages of fermentation, more honey was judiciously added.
After lunch with the brothers of the abbey, I returned to Brother Adam’s office, now brightly lit as the afternoon sun accented the blues and greens of the world outside. Inside, the golden walls were trimmed with natural wood. Not far outside his office door, very large vats of honey provided comfort. But not as much comfort as his storied conversation, accompanied with bottles of his 10-year-old heather honey sherry mead and four-year-old sparkling clover mead.
Brother Adam spoke of his life, about which I had known very little. For two hours we talked. There were frequent pauses of silence as he attempted to recall memories of his past 83 years at the abbey. Brother Adam apologized for his frequent yawning. When one reaches the age of 95, he confided, weariness comes more often.
We spoke of mead, but I soon realized that this was only a very small part of his story; a morsel, a little flavor, but one that no doubt inspires someone like myself to explore the meanings of the reasons why.
We both often paused to contemplate and savor the ambrosia in our glasses. Saturated with antiquity, the mead refracted sunlight as deep amber. Its aroma was very big, floral and honeylike. Closing my eyes, I perceived an earthy aroma. An infusion of alcohol titillated my nostrils. The flavor began unusually soft and gently sweet, then flirted with fruitlike acidity, finally retreating to a wonderful sherrylike aftertaste—nutty, but not overbearing nor overly sweet. The green grass outside in the courtyard sparkled in the sunlight. I began to hear bees buzzing. They were on the other side of the window, seeking our glasses of mead. Smart bees.
Brother Adam recounted the making of his first batch of mead. That was in 1940. There was an abundance of heather honey. What to do with it? Heather honey, having somewhat of a gelatinous nature, was not as suitable for sale as other types of honey. The first batch of mead was made with very little knowledge of the process. I couldn’t help but reflect that 53 years later, the mysteries of mead-making remained enveloped in antiquity, awaiting discovery by individual mead makers.
I am not the monastic type. I spent only 24 hours in Buckfast Abbey, but I came away wondering how my small, whimsical notion of seven years back could have led to such an inspiring experience.
Brother Adam, Buckfast Abbey 1993
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ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S MEAD
Saint Bartholomew is the patron saint of mead. Considered mystical and held in the highest esteem, mead was originally made from the washings of beeswax. Every church used candles. Honey was washed from the beeswax and fermented into the ambrosia whose sale often provided welcome revenue to the church. St. Bartholomew’s Mead is my original and simple recipe. This mead is the pure essence of the art and tradition of mead. It’s easy to make, while offering all the complexity and pleasure mead has wrought for thousands of years. The recipe can be found in About the Recipes.
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Short glimpses, small tastes and brief digressions. With no real agenda I had wandered onto the grounds of Buckfast Abbey, somewhat purposefully but not expectant. An immersion into the sights, sounds, feelings, aromas and flavors of this place slowly impressed upon me the value of seeing with your eyes closed, tasting with your mouth empty, smelling with only your mind, feeling without touching and hearing through sound barriers.
I bade farewell to Brother Adam late in the morning. I happened to find him walking the halls of the cloister carrying an electronic typewriter. I thanked him for offering me some of his time. He hoped that I found his conversation and information of interest. They were.
Was it a mere whim I had had