The set up is so juicy: dissolution, gluttony, corruption--but no, it's a moral Scottish march through politics, ethics, and penance, with a 3x3 drink that does what it should but not what it could.
Buried in an eighth-century Latin letter from a monk who keeps his name a secret is a two-line maybe heroic nugget of juicy maybe heroic wisdom. We read it.
Matt and David try to grapple with a late Middle English anti-money tract, but there isn't much to work with, and the cocktail is a citrusy paean to sadness.
A very special stunt episode where Matt and David read unseen (by them, but no doubt Furnivall has read them all) and give their gut reactions / hot takes, as they peregrinate through breweries in Port Moody. Chaos, 80s music, and revelry ensue.
The vaguest and most general milquetoast fifteenth-century poetry on how bad things are (they are bad people!) with a drink that makes Matt and David question their credibility.
Alfred shouts out his sorrows while Matt and David (both the Biblical and the actual) knock back a Bob Dylan x vermouth fanfic love fest. With fire. And a monastic chaser.
