I want to run into the kitchen and beg the cook to tell me her secret. Maybe she’s a Black Country witch.
With my foamy moustache of stout head, I wrapped my lips around pork and ham. It was a beautiful moment.
I’m sure our souls will need saving at some point during the evening.
There was no sex for us, but they do say it’s wrong to exercise on a full stomach.
So who broke my heart on Saturday night? Well it wasn’t the Dudley Beer Festival. Or the Dog & Partridge.
I just have to find that (un)lucky beer loving Black Country mon to propose to me. All for the beer of course!
I was only disappointed with the lack of old bush, but there’s always another night.
Don’t judge us. You know you would too.
It’s really hard for Black Country pubs to improve on perfection, but serving bread and butter pudding is a noble effort.