How I love porters. The beer, that is. I’ve never had any other kind of porter. Well, see, the hotels I’ve stayed at are self service, see, so to speak. There’s no one there to carry my luggage.
Anyway, the beer style called porter is always a delight. Oft dry, always toasty, slightly charred which matches my mood of late. ‘My bones are charred like a fireplace.’ Such is the moment for a beer, a porter.
And this is what I wrote of Windmill:
Good brown porter
Carbonated, like a belligerent soda
Burp worthy hop aftertaste