A strange and repeat occurrence happened to me again over the passed weekend.
It has happened at a few pubs, but never consistently. One pub however does do it all the time, oddly it is one of the best pubs within easy public transport distance.
Actually there is nothing odd about it, I’m actually lucky to be fairly blessed to live within stumbling distance of good pubs.
But yet again when confronted with my order of what turned out to be an excellent 5% stout (Abbeydale Congregation ), the totally innocent and ever dutiful barman inquired if I was aware:
“This is a darker drink, Sir!”
Or words to that effect.
This “warning” (which I actually find endearing) still catches me out as I prefer my darker brews. In fact I feel almost duty bound to declare my love for them on the altar of alcohol that is the bar.
But why this “warning”?
Now logic would suggest I was in an area that doesn’t have a high populace of dark drink drinkers. Brought up that Guinness is the only true dark drink and no amount of Christmases; past, present or future is going to convince anyone that a dark drink is any good, simply because acquiring a taste for the Irish black stuff was something most people were happy to leave off the boozing CV.
Perhaps it is some kind of closet purity thing. A racially pure bar only containing only the palest of the pale – provide that the nose isn’t too big.
Perhaps its this seemingly new fade of hoppy, hoppy, bunny wabbit beers that are the current new craze in the brewing world, waiting for the googol-hopped mega IPA.
Maybe the barman was practicing some kind of Jedi mind trick?
Me: Let me see your dark ales
Barman: You don’t need to see our dark ales
Me: I don’t need to see your dark ales
Barman: These aren’t the drinks you’re looking for.
So bring me your red ales, your bitters, your milds, your stouts and especially your porters.
If it tastes fine going in, then I don’t mind that I shit lead the following morning.