Our own spiritual quest brought my wife Lorena and I to an 18^th century farmhouse in the Sacred Valley. The house, like most colonial constructions in the region, had been built on top of the foundations of an ancient Inca stone structure. Behind the farmhouse, a huge rock face ascends to the Huchuy Qosqo, an Inca citadel. The farm itself is administered by an indigenous commune that grows maize.

Walking through the cornfields on a sunny October afternoon, we came across a group of farm hands tending the crops. Two women amongst them invited us to to take a chicha break.

Intrigued, we followed them to where the larger group was getting settled under the shade of a leafy grove. Putting down their spades and hoes, these women—and a few men—sat down to relax, chatter, playfully banter and, just as people in the region have been doing for millennia, share their chicha de jora.

Pouring from large decanters into a cup, they offered us the first serving. For untrained palettes like ours, chicha tasted surprisingly flavorful and sweet, with a tanginess that reminded us of kombucha. The drink has a high nutritional value and an enjoyable, mildly intoxicating effect.

In between cups of chicha, these women were eager to share stories that had been passed on from generation to generation since time immemorial.

During the reign of Tupac Yupanqui, a major rainstorm pierced the roof of one of the royal silos in the city of Cuzco where corn was stored after the harvest had been completed. When the silo was opened, they found out the grains had absorbed great amounts of water.

To avoid wasting tonnes of maize, Yupanqui ordered that it be quickly distributed to the population.

Most people did not consume this soggy cereal and looked at it with great disdain. Only after a few days, someone decided to try out the liquid that had accumulated at the bottom of the vat. Surprised by this strange substance’s agreeable flavour, he drank more.

As he was drinking, he realized that he was being overcome by a very pleasant sensation. He drank more and kept on drinking until he passed out. The next day, he shared his discovery with his closest acquaintances, and soon the whole town was drinking it. From that day on, chicha’s popularity grew and quickly spread to every corner of the empire.

Walking the cobblestoned streets of Ollantaytambo, an ancient Inca town continuously inhabited since the days of the empire, something caught my eye. Back in Cusco, a few days before, I had noticed these same strange contraptions at the entrance to otherwise nondescript buildings.

This particular device consisted of a very long stick topped by a ball made out of bright red plastic bags. In other cases, at the end of the stick I had seen red pieces of fabric or a red bucket. As I was to find out, these are the distinctive markings of a chicha speakeasy, a chicheria.

A chicherias is part social club, part brewery and part watering hole; it’s a place for family gatherings, community events, or simply afterwork drinks. Patrons at the chicheria all drink from the same cup, usually a tall half-liter glass, underscoring their deep sense of community as well as their connection to the land and ancestral heritage.

Chicha de jora does not have a long shelf life and is always prepared fresh on site. The potency of the brew depends on fermentation time and its intended usage.

Peru is a modern, vibrant, and diverse nation with a rich variety of food and drink, including European imports. But it would be a sure bet that in the highlands, folks will continue to flock to chicherias for generations to come. And women will continue to work the ancestral cornfields, share their chicha, and pass on their stories and recipes—all under the benevolent and devoted regard of the goddess of maize.