Beer is Dessert: Southern Tier Crême Brûlé

One of these days, I'm going to write a book about beer with dessert. I'm gonna talk about beer cookies, and fatty shortbread and biscotti and which hops go best with cranberry muffins. I picture this writing coming at a quieter time in life: there's a country cottage, sunshine, a cupla dogs, maybe grandchildren and I'll spend the day puttering in the kitchen and then around five, friends will drop in and we'll open some swingtops and baskets of bread and plates of cookies will appear.
Of course, once the word gets around, there'll be more and more people wanting to stop by. And someone will want baking lessons. Then Atlantic Culinary Academy will probably want me to teach a course and somebody with extra cash will want to open The Sweet Brewer or Hoppy Endings or some cutesy-poo joint and then I'll be back to working sixty hours a week in a kitchen somewhere and my legs will be hurting and I'll start waxing profane and flirting carelessly and then. . . .

But wait, butt weight. Before this gets out of control, suppose there was a beer that was dessert-a beer that didn't need any baking or topping or frosting. Suppose there was a beer that had the elegance of rum and the sweetness of caramel along side the body of a sumo wrestler and the sexy smell of vanilla.
Well, that could save a lot of work, couldn't it?

That's 22 oz. at nearly 10%-better share it with a friend.