In 1968, I got off the plane at Shannon Airport and stuck out my thumb. When the first ride came along and the driver heard my Canuck accent, he said, "How long have you been in Ireland?"
I said, "I just got of the plane."
He said, "Then you haven't had a Guiness, have you?"
He stopped at the first pub we came to and bought me a pint of Guiness. I took my first sip and thought, "Jeez, there's something wrong with this beer. . . It tastes burnt."
By the time I reached Dublin a month and a half later I loved the stuff and couldn't wait to tour the Guiness plant.