In Belgium, when you order an abbey beer, tradition takes over. The waiter carefully finds the right glass, placing both bottle and glass with the label facing to you. Then, with a precision most Belgians will learn at some point throughout their life, pours the beer, forming a perfect collar that curves just over the edge of the glass. About a finger of beer remains in the bottle—holding the sediment. A matter of taste and preference, the person drinking the beer gets to choose whether to also drink the sediment.

The last time I saw my grandfather alive in 2002, I poured an Orval seated next to his sickbed. Since becoming an adult, I’ve never visited without being offered a beer. With a smile on his face, he told me: “Always drink the last bit, that’s the healthiest part.” And so I poured it all out. First in the glass and then in me.

I doubt my grandfather was right. But I don’t care. Every time I drink an Orval, it reminds me of the last advice my grandfather gave me. I pour out the beer. As part of the ritual, I leave the last finger of beer in the bottle to pour out just a bit later. Almost every single time, I think of the last conversation I had with my grandfather.

Orval isn’t just a tasty beer to me. It reminds me of the bits of “wisdom” my granddad always had ready. It was there on the first date with Kim, and again on the first weekend away we had as a couple. I’m pretty sure I told her the story that night, and plenty of times after that.

Last week, my 95-year-old gran was admitted to hospital. There was no hope of recovery after a flu combined with pneumonia. The day after I found out it was final, I went to a Belgian restaurant in Cape Town and ordered an Orval. The waiter faced the labels of both the glass and the bottle towards me. The pouring was mine to do. It was a perfect pour. The last finger of beer now will also remind me of how much my gran always loved visitors and always had beer on offer. It will remind me of how much over the last 20 years she wanted to be reunited with my grandfather again.

My gran passed away a day later. Orval’s remembrance has grown.