Now you won't find Friar Tuck swigging away the mead at CBW, but you'll be sinfully delighted to partake in a little yourself. And no, you won't hear Handel's Messiah here, just the hiss and pop of the stills. The smell of hops and barley has long ago replaced sacred incense. Imbibing home crafted brews has since supplanted conducting elaborately scripted and ritualistic rites.
And the monks would doubtlessly have had it no other way.
Places like this really bring out my inner apologist. So come to CBW to see brewing, consuming and selling alcohol in a sanctuary. Then buy a shirt, have a shot and flirt with a waitron.
The owners have truly gotten back to the whole point of Christendom.