According to the BBC, people are leaving behind their evil larger-loutish ways, and are moving towards drinking low alcohol lager instead of the tastier, stronger brands.
Yeah, right. That’s been said before, and I remember exactly how well Kaliber sold round these here parts.
But the point of this post is not that I have anything meaningful to say about the story, it’s that it (and conversations over the weekend) have made me think about my changing habits.
For many, many years, my beer of choice has been Stella. Sure, the hangover can be a killer, but the taste was always much better than the rest of the stuff on tap. If there wasn’t Stella, I’d go for Carling, because I actually really liked the taste.
Recently, however, I’ve been moving away from these. Oh, I’ll still enjoy them; I still have cans of them waiting to be drunk. And I’m not going to go all CAMRA-ish. But while I used to walk into a bar and say “Oh, they have Stella, I’ll have that”, now I’ll walk in and say “I’ve not heard of that one, a pint of it please barkeep”. Without the barkeep bit, because if that was said I’m sure that the pint would contain more biologicals than I’d be comfortable with.
Over recent weeks, this has led to many fine experiences, and only a couple of bad ones. I didn’t particularly like the St Patrick’s Ale, but the Legbiter from the same brewery was excellent. There was a bit of a nasty experience in an Italian on Breckenridge’s Main St, but the micro-brewery down the road more than made up for it. The Canuck bar in Covent Garden has a surprisingly drinkable “light brown honey lager”; the cheap Chinese bottled stuff in the Mongolial BBQ place across the road was a pleasant one. And the dodgy bar in the redeveloped domestic lounge in Heathrow had Erdinger on tap.
Of course, the limiting factor with these drinks is not how much you can manage to fit down your throat in a session; nor is it the time constraints on your visit to the establishment. No, it’s how many body parts you’re willing to sacrifice in persuit of them. At the minute, I’d happily donate a couple of minor organs to medical science if Erdinger would see fit to supply me with a few cases of the Schneeweiße; the honey lager would, I’m afraid, have to be drunk in small quantities because it’s not quite good enough for me to consider giving up my gall bladder for.
But, anway. It’s a new and interesting way of doing things. Long may it continue.
And seriously, Erdinger, get your people to call my people. I’m sure a mutually benefical agreement can be worked out.
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