This is what you get when you look up “taste of beer” in Microsoft Encarta. Just some old school, stodgy, cleanly executed, no frills English mild ale. Fox Farm brews the knit cardigans of the classic styles. It is comfortable, oddly regal, and has this air of informed superiority in this taciturn frame. English mild ales are the scientist in movies the government ignores until it’s too late.

It’s like pouring “Uh guys, youre gonna wanna see this” into a glass. I hope some bourbon chasing dipshit in Connecticut stumbles into a store asking for “Wellers” and they get this instead.

English session ales were crafted for a different culture than America embraces. In the days of World Cup fanfare, 2am Argentina matches, and lengthy hours of drinking, we could all stand to be less American in our drinking habits. The British are the most imperial people of them all, and here we are, enjoying a low abv pub ale, hardly imperial.

I like a beer that foresees the negligence of its drinker. This sands all the edges down and acts like that person that keeps your drunk friend from getting everyone thrown out of the club. Here, eat these wheat thins, drink some water, chill enjoy the multigrain crust, you good? No, skip this round, sip this scone flavored La Croix. Yes, I agree, fuck that bouncer. Your dad DOES do commercial real estate. You COULD buy this club.

The hottest girls always have weird unexplained leg bruises. This beer has that air of clunky mystery about it. The froth and sustain is vulnerable, but it lends itself to excess. It practically invites much larger swallows, crisp lightly grassy drags, Gardettos rye chip finish. The phenols are nonexistent and the esters poke their head out and throw a little wrench at you like the moles in SMB3 airship levels. Adorably dangerous.

If beer were monkey experiments, this is the cloth mother. Put down the wire imperial stout dolls and embrace this fresh out of the dryer mild. At Thanksgiving you’ll have a lot of those emphatic deep sips dealing with relatives. With this beer, when your Airsoft cousin starts talking about how kids get litterboxes because they identify as cats, you can just crush this entire can