Monday evening at my local, around 5:30pm. It’s not crowded, and I know almost everyone in here. I shake hands, exchange some chitchat, then grab a stool. Leaning across the bar, I pick my pint from today’s taps.

One of the greatest appeals of an American pub is that it’s the grown-up version of the ice cream shop. You have to choose from a lot of flavors, knowing you can’t really go wrong, but intent on selecting the taste that willprovide the absolute maximum of enjoyment. As in a Baskin-Robbins, a good pub will give you a taste; they know that, even after a full ten hours at work, this might be your most important decision of the day.

Today, I go English, picking a Fuller’s London Porter, and my eyes get a bit wider as the bartender serves me my pint of black beer. A bit of cream-colored head just makes it over the rim and down the side of the glass. I raise my glass to my barmates, the executive chef of a well-known area restaurant and his wife, as well as my “Co-Author” Bruce.

With each silky sip of my Fuller’s, I sinkmore deeply into my environment. It’s sweet, full-bodied, a bit nutty, with none of the astringency in the finish that turns me off to many porters. It’s a poignant reminder that England is the birthplace of some very impressive beer styles. Compared to many American interpretations of porter, the Fuller’s London Porter is… softer around the edges; less brash, with subtler flavor. The sweetness of the malt and the hops’ bitterness don’t crash against each other. Each sip is a treat. Maybe this is the perfect beer for the perfect moment.

If only there were more of those.

-Mark