Tilquin Oude Quetsche à l'ancienne on draft. A true sour sneaking itself in amongst a wall full of German and local taps. That's not something you pass on.
The first pour was beautiful. Plum and stone fruit, that long Tilquin tartness that settles in and makes itself comfortable. One of those glasses you just sit with for a while.
The second pour landed on the table cloudy. The sediment from the bottom of the keg had made its way through, and it was obvious. Worth mentioning. Worth drinking anyway, because the dregs of something this good still have a story to tell.
And they did — amplified, unruly, the rough edges that the clean pour keeps in check suddenly running the show. Not bad exactly. Just unfinished. The plum still there underneath it all, but fighting through something murky to reach you.
A spicy white paprika schnitzel arrived somewhere in the middle of all this and honestly may have had the last word.
Some pours you remember for the glass. Some you remember for the story. This one gave me both.