Great news for fans of stout! It seems that the old advertising slogan is quite correct: Guinness is good for you.

Among other benefits gained by choosing this hearty Irish brew instead of lighter and less-manly beers are “less alcohol, fewer calories, fewer carbohydrates and, to top it off, protection against heart attacks, blindness and maybe even impotence,” according to the article I linked to above. Hell, the stuff even seems to improve bone density — take that, milk drinkers!

I first discovered Guinness almost eleven years ago while I was a student at the International Summer School at Cambridge University, in Cambridge, England. I was twenty-three, relatively naive, eager for new experiences, and feeling the flush of absolute freedom that comes with being away from home for the first time. Upon seeing my first pint of Guinness — an exotic, opaque fluid capped with thick foam that looked something like beige Cool Whip — I reacted much like the hobbit Merry in The Fellowship of the Ring: “It comes in pints? I’m getting one!”

Like Merry, I was a small-town boy suddenly exposed to a much, much wider world than I had ever imagined, and all the inarticulated wonder and fear I was feeling about being abroad was somehow embodied in a dimple-sided pub mug filled with something I’d never tasted.

Feeling a bit intimidated at the thought of drinking something I couldn’t see through but wanting desperately to expand my horizons, I stepped up to the bar and placed my order. I remember feeling impatient at the amount of time it took for the barman to draw me a mug of this terribly British beer. I hadn’t yet learned that quality cannot be rushed. Finally, my pint was ready. The barman gently set it onto the bar in front of me and I was amazed to see that the bubbles in this mysterious stuff appeared to flow downward, away from the head. This definitely wasn’t like any other beer I’d ever seen.

I was no stranger to alcohol by that point in my life, but my experience with beer was limited to Budweiser and Corona, pale yellow liquids that are no denser than water. My first sip of Guinness was frankly startling. I expected it to be bitter. It wasn’t. It wasn’t sweet like Bud, but it had a wonderful, oatey flavor unlike anything else I’d ever drunk. The real surprise, however, was the texture. It was thick and creamy and felt almost like condensed milk in the mouth. It was, quite simply, delicious. (It was also incredibly filling — a pint lands in the stomach like a Biggie-sized double-cheeseburger combo meal from Wendy’s. And yet, the research indicates that it has fewer calories than many lighter beers. Amazing stuff, this Guinness!)

I came home from Cambridge with a swagger in my step. I now considered myself a beer connoisseur after sampling the best of the British Isles. The “tastes great, less filling” debate had become meaningless advertising hype to me, Corona tasted like cat urine, and domestic beers were no better than cans of soap foam. It was Guinness I wanted… and at the time it wasn’t to be found in Utah. Oh, I could get it in bottles from the State Liquor Stores, but in this form the nectar of the Celtic Gods was rank-tasting swill that had probably spent nine months floating across the Atlantic. I would’ve given anything to find a bar that carried Guinness on tap. But I wouldn’t find such a place for several years. When I finally did, it was a like a revelation.

Nowadays, I’ve come off my high horse a bit, at least when it comes to beer. I’ve realized that Guinness is best under certain conditions — say, an hour after dinner and paired with a pipe or cigar — and that it really isn’t the sort of beer that you want to pair with food or drink a lot of. I now favor the ales produced by Utah’s own Wasatch and Squatters brew pubs. However, it’s still good to have a pint of “motor oil” from time to time, and lucky for me, it’s no longer the scarce commodity it was ten years ago. Guinness is now to be found all over the Salt Lake Valley. The best place to get it is, in my humble opinion, Utah’s own replica of an Irish pub, Piper Down.

(My thanks to John Scalzi for drawing my attention to this article.)