No pairings . . . unless you count Pippin and a pint.
I don’t own anything. It all belongs to JRRT and I’m only borrowing.
It looked right; a deep, loamy brown that was sparklingly clear when held to the light. Pip sniffed, then inhaled deeply. Hops. The fumes alone set his head swimming and he found himself grinning. Real beer. Not that pale, flat stuff served down south but good honest bitter with a creamy smooth head to coat your upper lip.
Diving right in, he took a big gulp and his eyes lit as the round combination of tartness and malt filled his long parched mouth.
Of course, nothing could match the ale in The Green Dragon but Barleyman’s would do. Oh yes.