Quadrupel

Per the question "what is a Quadrupel", Compliments of ratebeer.com:

Abt/Quadrupel

Abt, or quadrupel, is the name given to ultra-strong Trappist and abbey ales. The name Abt was pioneered to describe Westvleteren and the beer that would become St. Bernardus. Quadrupel was pioneered by La Trappe. Abts are the darker of the two, with more rich, deep fruity notes. Quads are paler, with corresponding peachy notes. Neither have much in the way of hop, and both are very strong and malty. Though both are bottle-conditioned, abts trend more towards yeastiness. Alcohol is very high (10+% abv) for both.

Butterscotch Schapps Anyone?

Oh my! Climate change limiting access to barley, and by extension, malted barley. Let's see what a few people have to say about it.

A Short Dialogue...

Excerpt of the message log from our recent chess match:

goldcorb Move 10
Excellent... you are coming over to the dark side... say it with me... the night time is the right time... the night time is the right time...

DJCM Move 11
the night time is the right time...the night time is the right time.... what now? do i get to throw people with my mind and wield a light saber?


goldcorb Move 11
umm... no weirdo... you get to worship the dark one - all hail Lord Westvleteren!


DJCM Move 12
Don't forget Prince Rochefort, The Duke of Duvel and Duchess of Corsendonk, Sir Bernardus, or the humble Father Unibrau.


goldcorb Move 12
SAINT Bernardus and Sir Westmalle... and how could you ever forget Count Chimay?


DJCM Move 13
I lost a shit ton of money to Count Chimay during a booze fueled night of heads up poker and cone Olympics. He is not forgotten, but we aren't on speaking terms at the moment.


goldcorb Move 13
Do tell more...


DJCM Move 14
It all began innocently enough, I had meant to ring up my old pal The Count (as in *THE* Count, my cohort on Sesame Street)...but I had simply dialed the wrong number; the correct number was understandably juxtaposed in the phone book to 'Count Chimay'. I apologized for the error, stating that I was intending to invite my poker buddy over who loves to compute the expected value of various hands with different flops over and over and over. Well Count Chimay jumped at that, telling me just how avid a poker player he was and how a lively game would really brighten his evening. I saw no harm...he was from Belgium and promised to get me drunk. Gotta be a good guy right? What's not to like about a dude named the Count who wants to play poker with strangers and provide good beer?

I was fairly excited but slightly apprehensive with the activity I had now committed to so I took refuge in a bottle of Jameson and a Quaalude. In hind site this was a poor decision. But I digress.

Count Chimay shows up in this crazy ass blue jump suit; said it was his "strong" suit. Whatever. We hit it off pretty good anyways and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly as the hopped beverages flowed and the cards kept turning. He talked a pretty big game about having something to do with some dude from St Sixtus but I was willing to give him that. He had kind beer, who am I to call him out? The night started to turn sour however when I started yelling "BONZAI" each time one of us dealt the flop. He got a bit annoyed by it but I had stopped caring about social foibles. It was probably because his kind beer was a hefty 9% ABV....though the Quaalude certainly hadn't helped matters any. His consternation only encouraged my self serving disposition and "BONZAI" turned to "CHIMAI". When I won a hand it was particularly bad and he became visibly vexed. I was, as you say, 3 sheets by this point. Count Chimay was regretting his decision to deal with such shennanigan's and yet could not shake the adolescent need to "put me in my place".

It was after his exclamation that I "was a very poor sport" that I suggested a change in competition. Cone Olympics was only natural. Naturally. It's the only pure competition left, the only true modern manifestation of the ancient Olympics.

The events didn't vary much...we ripped out a "Hillary 08" sign from one of the neighbor's yards and used it to create the Sling-of-Death event wherein the projectile must be thrown further than your opponents while also being lodged into some organic matter to provide a metaphor for the bodily decay that would occur with a succubus as a president. But I digress... The Count, Count Chimay that is, has a crazy awesome throwing arm. 100 bucks a throw was a bad idea.

I had to get unstuck...so I wagered a double or nothing that I would eat cat shit. I remember eating cat shit and owing nothing....Count Chimay remembers me placing tootsie rolls in the cat box then eating them. It is hard to say who is right, but my Quaalude and Belgian Beer induced euphoria had dissolved into a Belgian Quaalude induced fuster cluck and I ended up giving the guy all of the money I had set aside for opening our brewery. It's fair to say that I was pretty pissed off in the morning.