(Let’s face it, this year’s Norway was no Lordi)
So, yesterday our flat was full of friends and really crap pop music on the telly. It was the Eurovision song contest and my Black Heart Stout went over well, I think. (I didn’t have the forethought to line up an international range of beers, as suggested by Mark at Pencil and Spoon.) I figured a really camp evening involving drinking games and bizarre pop acts in the name of European harmony (oh, and Israel) would be a good environment to debut my stout.
Initially J said, “I’ve had worse.” I took it on the chin and stuck several brew dog beers in the fridge to chill as back up. But then when E tried it, she kept sipping saying it reminded her of Christmas. As the night wore on I noticed that for those drinking beer, well, it was the beer they were drinking. (Save one person who couldn’t be disuaded from Fosters in cans). J later said, “the bubbles are very tiny.” I don’t know if this is good or bad in a drinking-game beer, and I didn’t press it.
Every time a contortionist showed up, or pyrotechics were used, cleavage heaved or gazes lingered on the camera too long, we drank my stout. And it was good enough.