My husband is a beer drinker.
It’s one of the many things I love about him. He looks great in a suit; he taught me which fork to use at fancy dinners (when in doubt, start at the outside and move in towards your plate); and he can discuss 20th century art without sounding like a pedantic ass.
He also likes football, and Buffalo wings, and a really good beer. And he reminds me that in those things, there is poetry and elegance as well. So while in Dublin, despite Rand’s shouldn’t-have-been-but-actually-was busy schedule, I forced him to take a break and go with me to the Guinness Brewery.