I’ve seen a tunnel or two in my day, back when I used to work for a living. When they are 3000m below surface we don’t call them tunnels, we call them drifts. As for the screaming, it could have been the vent fan or it could have been my supervisor providing some constructive criticism loud enough to be heard at a Who concert* in language that would make a longshoreman blush.
The screaming tunnel. Spooky, Eh!
Enough fanciful reminiscing because Blackburn isn’t referring to a perturbed pit boss, but to the Niagara legend of the screaming tunnel. A spooky tale of a ghost of a girl who suffered a grisly demise.** And they tell us that this beer is “served best with a chill on your glass and in your spine.” Maybe a sinful 10% imperial stout will have me in a state of mild trepidation but have no fear because i have no fear of this beer. Truth is I love me an amber. Maybe this is the tunnel of love?
Amber dark and hazy in the tunnel, and in my glass with a snow-white head gracing my pour. A scintillating scent of caramel among the malt. A tasty lager with some surprise fruit hops in the mix. Certainly easy drinking but not much toffee or caramel or sweet or amber for that matter in the quaffing. The fruit faded and it eventually evolved into a bit of an amber but more like a light dark amberesque lager to me. Still a tasty lager by any name. Perhaps I’ll call it the tunnel of like a lot.
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