We’ve fallen out of love with the Pembury a little recently. It’s partly that familiarity breeds contempt, and partly that we’ve got bored with Milton’s so-so beer.
But last night, in a strange reversal of the usual situation, we ended up there because someone else had chosen the venue, and our faith in the pub was somewhat rekindled.
The cause of the turnaround? Between us, we managed several pints of Banks and Taylor’s superb Edwin Taylor’s Extra Stout. It was in fantastic condition, and suitably autumnal. We weren’t taking notes, so there’s not much we can say other than that it was black and tasted it.
Our pregnant and therefore nearly teetotal friend sat staring mournfully at our booze over the top of her J20 most of the night. When we weren’t looking, she would grab one of our pints, nurse it, and breathe in the aroma and say exultantly: “It smells soooooooo good!”
Edwin Taylor also stood up well to the bottle of Hercule Stout that we enjoyed near the end of the evening — no mean feat at half the strength (4.5% up against 9).
In other news, disaster was narrowly averted when we pointed out why Stella wouldn’t be a good name for a girl…