Twelve beers. Four of them never leave.

The one we brewed first and never stopped.

Resin, grapefruit pith, a dry finish that does not apologise.

Coffee, cocoa, and a pint you can have two of.

Cold, clean, and the reason we bought a second tank.

Toast, caramel, and a name that is a private joke.

Soft, juicy, and not remotely a milkshake.

Peppery, dry, and built for a long lunch.

Chocolate, dark fruit, and the smell of a cold morning.

Eight percent and named after what happens next.

Fourteen months in a barrel that used to hold something else.

Brewed with the bakery two doors down.

Their yeast, our water, an argument about the hops.