The foam of my beer tells the unfinished history of this universe, from Big Bang to self-reflection to the final pop of maximum entropy.
Board games, beers, Blimp, and a Bavarian tale make for a nostalgic chronicle of Christmas.
How catching the opening hours of Bristol Beer Week and walking across the Clifton Suspension Bridge got me thinking about French beer.
Bamberg, with eight breweries in its centre and dozens peppering the surrounding region, lives and breathes beer as if it were air. And that air carries the meaty aroma of beechwood smoke.
With the Oktoberfest on the horizon, I consider the birth of Mӓrzen and Hell at the festival, explore Munich beer offerings away from the Theresienwiese, and pay tribute to Georg Schneider, patron saint of Weiβbier.
Why was Dany Prignon – the George Best of Belgian brewing, its Richard Feynman, its Doctor Who, if you will – enquiring after my drinking habits?