When with the Irish...

"When in Rome do as the Romans. When with the Irish, drink lots of Guinness."

I normally don't like Guinness.  The last time I enjoyed its roasted malts was exactly three years ago, when summers were mild and friends called instead of texted.

But I was at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival in DC.   I did not second guess.  I easily gulped it down because I was with new friends from Northern Ireland, and I wanted to immerse myself in the merry spirit that they so gladly touted.  "When in Rome do as the Romans. When with the Irish, drink lots of Guinness."

But for the last three years, I practically refrained from tasting this popular stout.  It was too strong, too dry, too heavy, not tasty.  But then again which light beer had flavor.  I wanted to head the other way.

But then when my wanderlust travels took me to the hills of Northern Ireland, I knew it was time.  For the first three days, the moment wasn't right.  Yes, I passed many pubs and yes, the mugs were overflowing with creamy head mixed with liquid nitrogen.  As tempting as it may seemed,  I just didn't want to go solo, even in a bar filled with Patricks and O'Malleys.  I wanted to enjoy the thick stout in the company of friends and better yet, in the mist of a special celebration, even if it was the very last day in Ireland.