My buddy picked up two mini-kegs of stout called "The Backhand of God." It's from a microbrewery about four hours east from us, so we had planned to take a daytrip out and grab us a key each--they don't bottle their product. Well, my bud was camping out that way, so he made the stop on the way home. I guess we'll do the road trip next time. This stuff is amazing, but it's been too hot for stout, lately, so everytime I open my fridge I see this keg staring back at me crying out for me to taste its sweet nectar. I just kneel down, get right close, and whisper, "Patience, my precious."