I enjoy drinking beer on Fridays – at this point in my life, it’s a well established ritual, a means of slinking into a couple days’ rest.

I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes I done-drank one too many. It happens. Not often, but I know that the possibility exists. I just get too excited by the warm fuzzy feelings that arise when slurping on deliciousness. And then I’m cooked.

But sometimes after a particularly arduous week, when I find myself drained by work or just the world at large, all I want is a good beer. One. A single beverage that will quench not only my thirst but my existential misgivings, my doubts about the blessing that is life. Fortunately, as the ancestral blood of maritime carpenters runs through my veins, a tasty brew is often enough to assuage even my most ostensibly unshakable qualms about reality.

Vanilla Porter is one such brew.

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