This New York Times piece by Eric Asimov has, for British readers, a certain charm. It's rather like seeing the world through alien eyes. My what strange yet wondrous habits you quaintly old-fashioned humans have:
I WAS sitting at a noisy bar on a beautiful fall afternoon, watching the bartender work, and she was indeed working.
She pulled down on the tap, then pushed back, pulled down and pushed up, in rhythmic repetition like a farmhand at a well. The ale poured slowly into a mug, at first all foam, then turning translucent before suddenly clarifying into a brilliant suds-topped amber.
I touched the faceted glass, cool, but not cold. A floral-citrus aroma rose up, and as I took my first sip I marveled at how soft and delicate the carbonation was, the bubbles giving the flavors lift and energy without aggression.
This was beer the really old-fashioned way.
Yes, he's just had a proper pint of beer. And in New York City to boot. Apparently there are now a few bars in the city that can be trusted to look after cask-conditioned ale without ruining it and, just as usefully, breweries keen to supply them with real ale. Another small step for civilisation.