Wells Banana Bread Beer
I admit to being something of a traditionalist when it comes to my barley beverages. I’m also generally a creature of habit – most of the time I know, and the regular bar staff know, what I’m going to drink, at least in general terms. Sturdy stouts, round browns, full-bodied bitters or a crisp weissbier – I only rarely stray from the path, and when I do it’s normally down to recommendation. Here, in Wells and Young’s Banana Bread Beer, is a classic departure from the norm – picked not for any of the usual reasons, but because it was so different.
Brewed in Bedford, England, the label describes the beer as having “tempting banoffee aromas and flavors” balanced by “silky richness of a masterful malt blend and the peppery…hops”. Made with fairly traded bananas, I thought this was going to be just another of those pretentious yuppie beers.
I’d seen the beer being delivered, and had done the classic double-take on seeing the name. “A beer that contains bananas? Wrong, just plain wrong”, I thought. “But I must try it, to prove just how wrong it is”. Read on… Read more…
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Boddingtons Pub Ale
So here, for me, is a real blast from the past – one of the top best-selling beers in the UK, if my sources are correct. Not that I ever drank much of it, any more than I drank Watney’s Red Barrel when that was one of the Top Three. I remember the Boddington name more from their 1990s TV adverts than from their beers (an example of their ads you can currently find here).
Then last night, I was offered a Boddy’s, so I stuck my neck out and thought I’d give it a whirl. When it arrived and I saw the can, I had one of those shuddery, scrotum-tightening moments (apologies, ladies, I know of no female equivalent), as I never was much of a fan of canned beers. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound. I managed to down it, and herewith are my thoughts on the beer they call “The Cream of Manchester”. Read on… Read more…
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Wolaver's Brown Ale
So here’s one of those beers that surprised me greatly. Mostly it did so because it was described as an “English-style brown ale”, and for me, it didn’t turn out like that. Poured from the bottle into a 16-ounce glass, it starts with a promising head and a good colour, but it was the wrong colour for me! The reddish-amber took me back a little – it honestly looked like a dark bitter, and that did have an effect on my expectations.
I took it out of the fridge, where it had been chilling for about half an hour, and poured it slowly into the glass. The lacy head was quick to form, and the beer was clear and bright. I took my time drinking down the first two-thirds, as I tend to do, and it revealed itself as an easy-drinking brew. The first impression is the nose of hops and fruit, and the light texture. There’s a hoppy flavour, just a little bit of sweetness and with a hint of walnuts, caramel. Somewhere in there, I also got hints of blackcurrants and ripe plums. This especially true as the beer warms a little, the warmer flavours come through the hoppiness of the first taste.
The head soon passes and the whole is a very pleasant drink, and yet I couldn’t get away from my initial impression that this was going to taste like an English Bitter. Having grown up with the examples of Newcastle Brown and Riggwelter, I’d have expected deeper hues to match the depth of the flavour. Still, it more than passes muster, with a “B” grade.
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Back in the days when I lived in England, one of the ways many of my friends would judge a pub was on the quality of their Guinness. It seems that it is one of those draught beers that will either suffer or benefit greatly from its treatment in the cellar. Now Guinness itself barely needs any introduction – it’s well known the world over for its almost black, dark-chocolate colour, its rich and creamy body, that almost-sweet, slightly bitter flavour with a hint of espresso.
So why is it that people are fussy about it? Is it true that “Irish” Guinness is better than that brewed elsewhere? Is is de rigeur or a faux pas to serve it ice-cold? Well, some of this is historical, some of it is cultural, but all of it hinges on one’s view of what beer is. Read more…
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Imagine my utter delight when I stumbled upon (I avoided saying “came across”) this delightful label in the Davis Food Co-op. Now I’m not normally given to buying a beer based on the label, any more than I judge a book by its binding. This time, however, the New York Shmaltz Brewing Company did it for me, with one of their “Freak Beer” brews.
Here’s a practically pornographic freak snake blow-job fetishist beer label from Hell, that manages to hide a beer that is almost certainly from Heaven. Thankfully, the label is not the only thing that stands out. The label may be somewhat erotic, but the beer itself is, saldy, only exotic. It’s reminiscent of Hoegaarden, a weissbier-styled lager with a sweet and slightly spicy finish.
It’s malty enough for me, and hoppy enough to stay balanced from the first sniff to the last swallow, and with a 22-ounce bottle, there is, thankfully, plenty of swallow to go around. I managed to procure the last two in the store, one of which I gave as a birthday gift to a friend, the other being slowly demolished at home. Sadly, that wasn’t enough, and I eagerly await the arrival of the next batch at the Co-op, so that I may chase the snake to my heart’s content.
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