Sunday, 27 March 2011
You experience a culinary high - And it's so high that the only way is south, going south with yer mouth. Or more of a zig zag from all day breakfast sandwich to near starvation. It's been an emotional rollercoaster ride through the darkness. Take a torch if you're gonna go in...
A very greasy breakfast
It's a lifestyle choice
The inexplicable bit of a very small bird
A light dinner
Lightbox - want one
Long tings in the chicken shop queue
It's last tube kinda ting
Premium strength lager has always been a good, if not the main, reason to get out of bed on a daily basis and head to work. But last Saturday we happened on a small test of how well we knew the beverages that we splurge our wages on every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Wednesday.
Imaginatively entitled the 'Lager Challenge' four cans of (premium lager) were purchased, opened and poured into glasses by an independent adjucator. Then we sampled the various nectars and attempted to guess their names. Going into this test of mental and tasting agility, I was totally 'balls out in the shower'. The list featured Heineken, Grolsch, Red Stripe and Stella which are all lagers we know intimately. And when you spend more than ten years drinking too many of them, it stands to reason that you'd get a bit cocky.
But the reality of the endeavour was much more confusing than you'd think. Our marks were disappointingly low (I got two - my opponent? a fat zilch) and proved that the snobbery I'd shown to certain high street fizzy beers was completely ill-founded. The conclusion derived from our rigorous testing? They all taste exactly the fucking same. Going to the pub will noe never be the same.
The score sheets