Russian Imperial Stout?
Don’t mind if I do.
And this one is rather good too.
It’s thick and round and rich, pouring black hole dark and smelling of coffee, prunes and beef stock.
Taking a swig you find loads of burned wholemeal toast, Marmite, sticky toffee pudding and stewed plums.
There are some somewhere, but this beer has nothing to do with them, save for the lightest smack of hedgerow greenery.
Instead this is a tar thick, sticky treacle bodied little bottle of loveliness.