After a relaxing 19-hour journey we arrived at our Philadelphia hotel late last evening. I felt so full of energy, I didn't go to the pub. Shit. It's day two and I still haven't been in a pub. What's happening to me? I didn't even have a beer in the airport.
I did find a corner shop, or convenience store as they so quaintly call them here, yesterday. Which was first encounter with Pennsylvania's weird laws. No singles on sale, only sixpacks. A real pain in the arse for someone like me, who's only in town a couple of days. Decisions, decisions. The choice wasn't great - loads of PAs, IPAs and wheats. Naaah, didn't fancy any of them. So I went for Bell's Porter.
I like it more than last time. Though that could be because it messed up my legs on an afternoon New York pub crawl. I really shouldn't have insisted on a full Imperial pint. It proved to me that anyone who thinks you can session beer of any strength has no idea of what a session is. Or is an elephant.
It's still quite chilled. Which seems to be supressing the grapefruit nicely and just leaving the roast. Much more my kind of Stout. I'm feeling quite chilled, too. And not just because I'm sitting next to the airco.
Dolores and the kids are swimmng. This arvo we plan visiting USS Olympia. A pre-dreanought heavy cruiser. And, totally coincidentally, the Triumph homebrew pub is on the way. How's that for planning?
The formative beers of my teenage years - My teenage beer drinking involved plenty of quantity – I was a regular pub customer from 16 onwards, pubs being the place to meet my mates, and girls – but...
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