Hippo Trout
Hidden Hand Brewing

It’s a dreary Sunday afternoon in a sleepy village in the countryside and a grey drizzle falls against the cobblestone street outside your local. The bar maid sets down a fresh pint of mild with a steaming bowl of mushed peas and you smile a crooked grin to yourself as a disembodied voice screams from the tele, “Stoneham scores! One nil FC Stoneham! One nil!”