Reminds me of a scene from a favorite book-series, where the protagonist is visiting with a recently-retired/convalescent former boss.
> “So,” Illyan said at last. “What do a couple of retired officers and gentlemen do on a country weekend?”
> [...] “Tradition is, you take the local beer from the village—there’s a woman there who home-brews it, extraordinary stuff—and hang the bottles over the side of the boat to stay cold. When the beer gets too warm to drink, it’s too hot to fish.”
> “What season is that?”
> “Never, as far as I could tell.”
> “Let us by all means observe tradition,” said Illyan gravely.
> “So,” Illyan said at last. “What do a couple of retired officers and gentlemen do on a country weekend?”
> [...] “Tradition is, you take the local beer from the village—there’s a woman there who home-brews it, extraordinary stuff—and hang the bottles over the side of the boat to stay cold. When the beer gets too warm to drink, it’s too hot to fish.”
> “What season is that?”
> “Never, as far as I could tell.”
> “Let us by all means observe tradition,” said Illyan gravely.
-- Memory by Lois McMaster Bujold