I'm having an existential crisis here. One of my undeniable truths of life has long been that Samuel Smith's Taddy Porter is the finest example of the style to be found anywhere on earth. All others fell short of the glory that is the God of Porters, Samuel Smith's.
Now that I've had my first taste of Fuller's London, I'm facing a crisis. There actually exists a porter that is at least the equal of Taddy Porter. It stands my beer world on it's head, spins it off it's axis, my mind blown. I feel as if I'm blaspheming by typing those words, and yet the truth is in the glass before me.
Maybe I should take a page from the ancient Romans and have multiple beer Gods.
You know it's going to be a good day when you open up your mailbox and find out the previous tenant was a playboy subscriber
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