How to Disappear Completely Imperial Stout
It was a dark and stormy night; the malt fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of roastiness which swept up the glassware (for it is in a pint that our scene lies), rattling along the taste buds, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of your soul that struggles against the darkness. You unlock this pint with the key of appetite. Beyond it bubbles another dimension: a dimension of taste, a dimension of smell, a dimension of marvel. You're consuming a beverage of considerable shadow and substance, of massive roastiness, dark fruits and malt; you've just crossed over into—the Imperial Zone. And while you contemplate that sinister darkness drawing you like the sirens' song to your rocky fate, you will savor that last sip and finally understand how to disappear completely.