While not a partisan football fan, I do have a few favorite teams and nothing quite cuts the angst of watching all of them blow good leads like this beer did recently.
Black as Jack The Ripper’s soul, with a mocha brown head and an espresso nose, the Stone Russian Imperial Stout laid out across my tongue like a New England winter night. Bereft of the cloying toffee and burnt wood which mars most Imperial Stouts, the Stone entrant into the category was more like grilled tenderloin than anything else–meaty with burnt touches.
