It started with a shave; a proper one, with a Gillette and everything. Unkempt stubble removed, baby faced assassin revealed.

Then, Friday night, supermarket near work. Rain seeping from a pitch black sky. Wind billowing huncalife katalog through cable-knitted layers. Puddles underfoot and wiper blades on frenzy-mode.

The shopping list is simple: pizza, beer, home. Supermarket hunca life katalog time is kept to a minimum: in and out. Fast track tills. Self service.

And then, out of the blue, “Do you have any ID?”

A question that a decade ago hunca life my side-burned seventeen year old self dreaded, as I joined my contemporaries on the gauntlet of pubs, bars and clubs that made up an under age Friday night in market town Oxfordshire.

Dodging bouncers was our profession then, at 27 and 11/12s it seems I’ve merely exchanged hunca life burly men for ample checkout assistants.

So back to the lashing rain, water running across my smooth chin (the smoothest it’s been since I paid £5 for a fake college identification which still required begging to work); the smell of wet concrete, frenzied wipers, the 11 mile drive to a more price competitive supermarket, where a dash of common sense prevailed and I left with heavy bags: pizza, beer, cat litter, mushrooms, milk, rosé wine – and other victuals that a trip for just two things inevitably ends up becoming.

And the beers?

Old Empire, Old Peculiar, Old Speckled Hen and Old Thumper. 4 for £5. Just to prove a point.

…my true love gave to me a delicious homemade lasagne. It really was absolutely scrumptious, but not particularly in-keeping with the season.

So to accompany this feast and herald a climax to the Yuletide festivities, I brought a centuries old recipe back to life in the form of wassail.

This winter warmer is a heady concoction of dark ale and spices fortified with a splash of something a little stronger. It’s a bit like mulled wine for real men.

Various versions of this traditional English beverage are described, many based on cider, some on wine, others on ale. Many recipes involve mixing raw eggs with hot beer rendering a rather bizarre form of eggnog, but I fancied something a little more palatable.

Thankfully – and somewhat miraculously – I still had a third of a barrel of home-brewed stout left over from Christmas. The perfect base for my wassail was at hand!

Wassail and toast

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We saw the New Year in with Asti, barley wine and a drop of whisky. And cheese. And board games.

And in suitably reflective mood this morning, here’s a little celebration of the year we’ve just waved adieu too.

These are a small bunch of highlights of a 2011 that was action packed, even though it meant blogging was harder than ever. Rather than awards, these are people and places we’d like to buy a drink for, for enhancing beer during 2011.

(For more Golden Pint Awards, search Google…)

Best Draught Beer:

The selection of imperial stouts at the Dial Arch near Woolwich Docks for the launch of the Baltic Adventure was one of the best draught beer experiences: 15 dark, strong baltic porters, cask conditioned and ready for their journey. We didn’t make notes but just dived in, so which ones we enjoyed is lost to memory, but the sensory experience was a real treat. In a similar vein, visiting 57 Thomas St in Manchester, where Lagonda IPA (amongst others)  sat in casks on the bar. But the most poignant draught beer this year occurred as  I sat with a friend drinking a perfectly conditioned pint of Tetley Bitter just days after the doors to the great brewery in Leeds shut. Brewed in the Midlands for a few years now, it pained to drink such well balanced bitter, hints of fruit merged seamlessly with ‘you will have another sip’ bitterness. Simple, wonderful – but mostly ironic.

Best Bottled Beer:

In the depths of the Fullers Brewery in Chiswick, Past Masters Reserve straight from the cellar will never be forgotten. From the shops, both Williams Caesar Augustus and Williams Good Times were perfect post-work refreshers.  But the my favourite bottled beer? BabyFaced Assassin by Tom Fozard. Because it was brewed at home, yet it would easily be in my top ten beers drunk in 2011. I drank it thinking of the members of Gomez inadvertently creating a Mercury Prize winning album in their garage. “Bubble Gum Beers” wouldn’t quite do Tom’s efforts justice.

The famous Fullers Wisteria

Best overseas draught beer:

Jever  is always brilliant on draught,  but didn’t quite alter my perceptions in the way that unfiltered Pilsner Urquell opened my mind to how simple beer beer can be yet deliver such pleasure.  Both are however are pipped to the post by De Garre Tripel, the house beer of the eponymous beer bar in Bruges. It’s a beer almost life affirming in its magical properties: light, warming, strong as hell but mystifyingly drinkable.

Best overseas bottled beer:

Rugbord Rye Ale was a splendid big brown beer to see us through the autumn months, De La Senne’s Taras Boulba helped make a hot day in Brussels just a little more hazy and a little more tasty. If I had to pick one though is would be Zona Cesarini – passionfruit positively bursts from the neck, as does the beer if care isn’t taken when opening. Italian brewing, naybrewing, at its best.

Best overall beer:

Ouch. Really? Ok hows this: “Beer I’ve come back to most often in 2011′. That would be Fullers Bengal Lancer.

Fullers Bengal Lancer

Best pump clip:

It could have been a tie between Magic Rock (fresh beautifully woven design) and Brasserie de la Senne (with all their hidden meanings) but nothing compares to Uinta’s bottle designs for their Crooked Line range. The Double IPA and Porter are two of the most exciting beers I’ve seen and drunk in 2011, and a bottle of porter is ageing day by day in my beer cupboard. Thanks to @GhostDrinker for the pics

Uinta Crooked Line Double IPA

Best UK brewery:

Wow, so many to choose from and so many not sampled. For consistency of beer quality, and given the size of the operation, Kernel.

Best overseas brewery:

So many to choose form, so many ne’er drunk from. If the award is based on tours, De Halve Maan in Bruges wins this year. Based on beer, Mikkeller, for consisting breaking boundaries (though of course that also means breaking wallets).

Pub/bar of the year:

We found wonder at Worship St Whistling Shop, and we found country dining of the highest quality at the Hare & Hounds in the Lakes. Craft in London is  now my favourite place to drink beer in the capital (in the evening). And special thanks, for continuing to be a home from home, to North Bar in Leeds (and for looking after lost notebooks and science books (and Foley’s for hosting great events and helping me cancel lost bank cards!))

But the pub that was most fun to be in this year? That’s the Faltering Fullback in Finsbury Park. It’s an eden of laughter and merriment, even if there’s just the one handpump (London Pride, naturally). A garden of gaiety, three rooms of rowdy celebration, and beautiful barmaids. We’ll wish you never told you about it.

Best festival:

Belgian Beer Weekend in Brussels. Helped hugely by the inexplicably good weather and the beer blessing ceremony beforehand.

Belgian Beer Weekend

Supermarket of Year:

All the major supermarkets have a good beer range. Let’s face it, they do. Beers from around the UK, tick. Beers from the continent, tick. Beers from North America, tick. For the ambitiious there’s Hardcore IPA, Flying Dog. For the traditionalists there’s Shepherd Neame. For bravado there’s Meantime IPA, for the conservative drinker there’s Black Sheep. For the collector there’s Fullers Vintage. Things aren’t so bad, are they?

But… though from a consumer perspective things are interesting, the supermarkets aren’t all good for beer. So no award, but plenty of food for thought.

Independent Retailer of The Year:

The only one I’ve used for beer this year is Beer Ritz, who I may as well set up a monthly direct debit with. But for the personable service, independent advice and reasonable prices, my glass is raised to Morley Home Brew Shop.

meat and beer

Best Beer Book or magazine:

I’ve not read any of the new beer books this year, but if you fancy a damn good page turner, Deborah Cadbury’s Seven Wonders of The Industrial World is a joy to learn from. And for honourable beer and football mentions, Paxman’s The English.

Best Beer Blog or Website:

Because it’s a personal outlet, because here this person writes for themselves alone,  for the ebbs and flows and brilliant use of punctuation, it can only be Called to the Bar. Honourable mentions to Pints & Panels for the illustrations, Three Sheets for the beery instagrams, BeerLens for the amazing pics, and Beer & Life Matching for a concept that rarely tires.

Best Beer Twitter:

No one beats  Simon H Johnson’s scoops for satire and slapstick.

Best Online Brewery Presence:

Black Isle Boy and Summer Wine chaps for tweeting. Website? Hmm, room for improvement required methinks. Why not Marble  for bucking the trend with their entirely “post-modern-broadband” web experience.

Marble Beers

Beer and Food pairing of the year:

Meat and beer at Meat & Liqueur wins out as the best gastronomic pairing of the year, even though the specific beer was largely irrelevant compared to

the beer style (it was Meantime Lager and Old Scratch, which were fine partners to the juice of the burgers). Also sublime was Alice Porter with passionfruit cheesecake at the BGBW dinner, and at home, jerk chicken and ginger beer.

In 2012 I’d most like to:

Well I never get round to doing these things, but I hope things are different this time around! So, in 2012 I pledge to actually write about things in a timely manner (our trips to Bruges (April), Brussels (September), Bratislava (November), Lakes (October), London (May, December) are merely notes in a notebook!). And as always here’s to visiting more pubs, more places and more people. Oh and practising brewing so I can brew a beer for my wedding in 2013!

The made up award:

“Most frustrating moment when I couldn’t have a beer in 2011”

After soon-to-be-Mrs Monkey said ‘Yes’ to my marriage proposal. And then I had to drive us back to the hotel, only 45 minutes away. It was a happy drive, but sweet Cambrinus (or is it Gambrinus?!) did I need a beer!

There are so many other people doing great things for beer, apologies that there isn’t space or time to mention you. For all those who we’ve shared beer with in 2011, whether it was over football, on a visit to London, in Belgium, in Slovakia, in breweries, at festivals, thank you and cheers. Beer, ale, whatever, all the best for 2012!

Jerk chicken isn’t just tasty to eat, it’s a joy to make. The honey and coriander marinade is messy and sticky, the chicken succulent with a crispy skin – lots of kitchen mess and fun. Juices of bird and salad mean this a meal best served sans cutlery but with plenty of, well, Plenty.

For a ginger beer Robinson’s Ginger (brewed for M&S) is a dark and syrupy affair, quite different from a can of Barr’s or Old Jamaica. It’s strong with a treacly bitterness, but it’s sprightly too, cutting through the runny honey, the chargrilled corn and complementing the rustic spice of nutmeg.

Everything comes together bringing something different to the dish – the rocket and natural yoghurt cleanses and calms, the rice a fragrant bedrock. The beer simply wraps everything up in a tongue tingling finale.

The beer on its own is quite a ride, but with food it’s elevated to an essential role where it fulfils more than it does individually. The recipe calls for rum (which isn’t a staple of our cupboard, therefore omitted) but perhaps next time a dash of strong ginger beer might be called for in the pan, to ruffle the feathers and add a ginger tang to the fiery kick of the chillies.

Killer jerk chicken with a killer beer combo = lots of finger licking and a sticky glass!

Frederic Robinson's Ginger Beer brewed for M&S

Bone Knawin' Finger Lickin' Ginger Beerin' Good!

Sides of corn, rice & peas, and lime & coriander dressing

The original recipe is from Jamie’s 30 Minute Meals and you can find other examples of the recipe at The Little Welsh and Recipe Rifle

Some beers demands attention through garish pump clips, whilst others scream from ad campaigns and yellow and red shelf edge labels.

Some beers don’t bother with all that, they say all they have to say on the inside of the bottle. Such is Coalition, a celebration of brewing jointly created by Thornbridge of Derbyshire and Dark Star of Sussex.

£7 – one for each percent of alcohol by volume – means you’ll want to savour every last one of it’s fifty centilitres. Probably won’t be hard though…

Its richness is visible when poured, it settles majestically in an over sized wine glass with a thick, mustard head. Booze cuts through the herbaceous aroma of roots and spices, cloves and fresh tobacco.

Maybe a Belgian chalice should be the glassware of choice – this could be a caliginous callow tripel with it’s raw incense of sugar cane and a potent, plant stalk bitterness.

But there’s little coalition between the fascinating flavours: this bottle is green, premature. Its brothers from the same gyle are in the beer cupboard and will be laid down for another years to develop and mellow in the bottle, because even this rough version shows signs of becoming something very special indeed.

You wait for one bus, then three come along at once. Or ten pregnancies, eleven babies, four proposals, five weddings, one transfer of equity and career change.

And as ever with every momentous moment there’s an excuse for thoughts to drift to beer (although letting my thoughts drift to football on the day I became an uncle did not go down to well at the time…) and I find myself in a supermarket picking up two bottles of Fullers Vintage to lay down and open this time in one year or ten years, or eighteen or twenty one years. And the next week I’m back, buying another two bottles for another future birthday or anniversary or milestone.

And I find myself clinking glasses in celebration, toasting the future with sparkling wine and wishing it was the bottle of Adnams Celebration Ale that’s still sitting quietly, patiently in it’s elegant silver box for a day like today. But there’s champagne, bucks fizz and cava, all sorts of appropriate alternatives, and my beer ages, lonely and unfulfilled.

And now I’m dreaming up homebrew recipes for my own wedding reception, as well as window shopping diamonds and favours and child saving funds and opening up bank accounts for this person’s coming of age, that persons stag do, this persons honeymoon fund.

But I’m not complaining. I want beer to be with me to toast all these wonderful things that we’re lucky enough to be part of the celebration for, and I love the chase of finding the perfect beer for the occasion . I’m already looking forward to the moment I bring out the hidden beer stash and present it to someone special with words like “This beer is older than you, but only just”.

And so back to venue hunting and bridesmaid dresses and external catering and mortgage paperwork and thinking about the future… and to help me out along the way, of course, is a beer in my hand.

A normal one.

Just as the fire starts to reach what might be a peak – and that’s without one of my best friends throwing one of our six garden chairs on it – there’s a cold snap in the air and a damp feeling on our collars.

“There’s rain in the air” someone shrills in typical British fashion, and the next hunk of wood gets chucked into the wood burner in typical British defiance.

It’s a week after the clocks changed, and standing in the garden it’s the first night of the year that stirs thoughts of winter beer.

Nights like this conjure all sorts of comforts, marshmallows and mittens, fireworks and fairgrounds, bonfires and Bovril. We’re on the cusp of the year, a blend of autumn and winter, darkness and bright lights, cold bodies and hot remedies.

So what is the quintessential winter comfort beer?

Creamy milk stouts or deep smoky porters? A beery cup of tea in the form of dark mild?

Autumn ambers, chestnut bitters? Spicy Christmas beers stronger than Nana’s Snowball Surprise, or decadent, thick chocolate stouts sweeter than a year’s worth of Quality Street.

Or for sustenance there’s dark ?erný pilsners, roasted best bitters, coffee bean ales, strong Baltic porters, extra nutty specials or filling oat stouts.

Or perhaps the perfect winter beer is simply the beer that gives the most joy, that warms you without you ever noticing, and the one that you can afford to keep well stocked in case of unexpected snow days.

As the winds pick up in the garden, and the flames turn to embers, we swig back our mulled wine, our Corona’s and limes, our celebratory sparkling fizz, and let our booze jackets wrap a soothing arm around us.

Here’s to winter, and the home comforts of whatever our favourite winter warmers may be.

Me enjoying winter beers

A little winter fire

Wouldn't be a winter garden party without sparklers

Sparkler Fight!

Orval is the sort of beer spoken about with reverence. I like to think the same goes for North Bar.

It should have been me and my friend Tom sat there, dissecting Leeds United’s yo-yoing fortunes, laughing at the Howson Is Now blog and deliberating the creaminess of the Orval cheese whilst sat on the classroom chairs and the well leaned on tables.

But it’s my brother partnering this trip due to Tom’s tight schedule as a relatively new father, North being one place us siblings have a record of sharing together, along with a sense of adventure and an intuition for getting pissed. And brother Fletch is not going listen to me rabbit on about the brettanomyces qualities of the difference between yeast-in and yeast-out, or how the bitterness of this anti-quintessential Belgium beer cuts through the cheese (which it does) …

And so I’m drinking one of my favourite beers with a cheese I’d actually craved (made by the brewers) and I’m chatting about Leeds United’s yo-yoing fortunes, laughing at the Howson Is Now blog, and… generally forgetting about the beer and cheese North’s manager had so kindly put to one side for me because I couldn’t make Orval Day earlier in the month.

That North Bar had enough bottles of aged Orval to reserve some is very kind. That they could even get some of this coveted cheese let alone put some aside for me speaks of their customer service ethos. That I scribbled a hasty one liner on my smartphone as my only tasting note is just plain disrespectful to their efforts.

But here’s the thing. Sat in the dimly lit confines of North, veiled in conviviality and that twilight between sober and drunkenness, the yellow light of North illuminates a certain truth about beer.

So the two-year aged Orval tastes good, and is probably worth waiting to experience. So the cheese is rare and barely seen outside of Belgium. And not to mention the bread – so luxuriously soft and cleansing – which is to die for. So what? Is beer not meaningless if not enjoyed in a place that’s bright with conversation, buoyed with gesticulations, rich in the patchwork diversity of people, and splashed with beers of colours Yates or Lloyds or Scream could never imagine.

If an evening spent extolling the virtues of Ken Bates leadership of Leeds United could be improved in anyway, it’s surely by the creamy monastic cheese paired with the musty, peppery Orval and all its always-changing quirks of character. Does it matter that I thought the end of the bottle shared the same earthiness of the bottom of a well made mojito?

No, because it was a good night out with great beer. We saw the hygge, we tried aged Orval, we put the world to rights, and we liked it.

Cheese, beer, chat. Football optional.

Elbow are the kings of soaring melancholy, masters of poetic northern introspection.  Let Elbow’s albums flow over you and you can be mesmerised by their beauty alone. Put in the time to listen, to soak up the poignancy, the humour, the extraordinary manifestations of the ordinary and their albums become life affirming tributes to the everyday.

Conversely, it’s quite easy to stick an Elbow album on and realise thirty lethargic minutes later that time – and the music – has flown by virtually unnoticed, Guy Garvey’s drawl caressing one’s ears so gently it barely registers. He even swears with care for the ears, a remarkably sophisticated trait few can master.

Nutty and fresh to smell, Build A Rocket Boys! is Elbow’s first foray into brewing, a collaboration with Frederic Robinson’s of their native Lancashire. It’s an unpompous beer, utterly enjoyable without ever shouting too loud. It’s underpinned by a coy bitterness spliced with fleeting glimpses of sweet fruit (freshly dried prunes?!) and a largely sweet barley finish. And much as Elbow can sometimes fade into the background, Build A Rocket Boys! can be knocked back with apathetic ease: it’s easy on the eye, quaffable; it’s a quiet no-fuss pleasure with which to lubricate conversation without becoming more than a footnote in the minutes of an evening at the pub.

But on closer consideration – like many of Elbow’s songs – it’s also something greater, it pays homage to the art of everyday brewing in the UK. Poured slowly it’s a understated shrine to the allure of the pint, a glowing amber hearth topped with a soft cushioning foam; it’s subtle flavours and traditional malt-heavy backbone are typically British, designed to provide sustenance in the most typical of British settings.

Build A Rocket Boys!

It’s a shame it’s limited edition and that my sample is in a bottle, but hey ho, modern life is rubbish, eh? Here’s to assuming that the live version is every bit as heightened experience as seeing the band get in the flesh. Oh and ours was sent to us, so we’ve donated a fiver to the Oxfam East Africa fund, for which Build A Rocket Boys! profits will be helping.

Over the last few months the Sainsbury’s Great British Beer Hunt has been taking place providing a welcome opportunity to try some different beers from the familiar supermarket shelves.

And in October Bad King John from Ridgeside Brewing was crowned winner of a six month national listing in 300 Sainsbury’s stores. Bad King John beat beers from around the UK to the throne via four regional heats (120 beers), a three week stint in Sainsbury’s stores (16 beers) and a grand judging final in London (final 8 beers). Spearheading the competition was Caesar Augustus by Williams Bros of Clackmannanshire which clinched a listing across 150 Sainsbury’s stores.

From ginger beer to wild hops...

...to all the great leaders?!

This year’s 16 finalists were:

Flying Dutchman Wit Bier, Caledonian Brewing Co, Alva, Scotland

Orange peel and a herbaceous twist make Flying Dutchman easy to identify. Intriguingly, caramel and liquorice offer something the average wit beer might not, and something syrupy-sweet mops everything up. An interesting start!

Golden Seahawk, Cotleigh Brewery, Somerset

An aroma of freshly cut garden weeds (those sticky buggers that find their way onto the bottom of shoes, gloves, the seat of your pants); flavours of wholesome cereal doused in honey. A nice golden ale.

Frederic’s Great British Ginger Beer, Frederic Robinson, Stockport

Perfect with fish and chips it says. Well I’m late home from work, sore from five a side and soaked through with autumn rain. The (award winning and only nearby late night) chippy was shutting but let me jump the chairs blocking the doorway to pick up fish cakes and scraps. Perhaps any beer would have done but Robinson’s Ginger Beer cut through the sweat of the chips like no other: spicy, tongue tingling and sweet. Still, I couldn’t help feeling I’d rather just have had a Ben Shaws…

Wild Hop IPA, Harviestoun Brewery, Clackmannanshire, Scotland

A beery lemon marmalade on just-golden toast, with a contradictory bitterness – sharp but simultaneously mellow. The hops might be wild but the beer isn’t: its gentile, moreish and gulp-able – beautiful with undercurrents of sex.  In a beery kinda way.

I lust this beer.

Full Bore, Hunter’s Brewery, Devon

A whopper at 8%, it’s a shame Full Bore smashes toffee and not a lot else at me (a left hook of honey perhaps?), thus feeling like an opportunity missed. But drunk after three other Sainsbury’s Beer Hunt beers it feels like I missed the opportunity to give it a fair crack of the whip. Now to find a bottle left on the shelves and give it a fair trial…

Two Hoots Golden Ale, Joseph Holt, Manchester

Through the clear bottles it’s a vibrant golden ale but poured and tasted it’s flat and sun kissed to the point of no return. Crystal malt is about the only flavour discernible behind disintegrated hops. Unfair to pass judgement except on the colour of the glass.

Stronghart, McMullen & Sons, Hertfordshire

Strong and ruby-tinted brown like creosote, Stronghart packs the a bitter punch and a wallop of brandy-seeped raisins. Sweet and tart like opulent plums and just a tad balsamic. Don’t let it knock you out – it’s strong enough to.

Bishop’s Farewell, Oakham Ales, Peterborough

All Oakham’s ales (that I’ve tried) are citrus influenced and this is no different. A decent beer to sup on an evening but nothing makes me want to wax lyrical on the joy on hops like some of Oakham’s ales do.

Churchill Ale, Oxfordshire Ales Ltd, Bicester

Toffee apple aroma introduces a strong malt backbone perfumed with citrus hops. Far from your typical strong IPA this is a gentle and very English pale ale. A soft spot for Churchill (because I used to work not far from them) was enough to make me go back twice for more, but the first bottle remained the best.

Ivanhoe, Ridgeway Brewing, South Oxfordshire

If the label takes you back in time then it’s a warning that pale ale in this context might mean ‘paler ale’ (compared to what was available in the days of Ivanhoe, anyway). Harvest fruits and English malt make for a pleasant beer drinking experience. We’d be lying if we said we bought it, we saved a few pounds by remembering this bottle.

Bad King John, Ridgeway Brewing, South Oxfordshire

Spent cocoa beans and a boozy Bailey’s aroma, perhaps a dash of vanilla. Dark, dry, sweet and roast: a cacophony of intriguing characteristics emerges from the depths of nowhere. Bad King John must have been a complicated fellow. Thick without cloying, the King has soul and a long bitter aftertaste. It’s Ivanhoe’s nemesis and it’s even more memorable.

Worcester Sorcerer, Sadler’s Ales, Stourbridge

Toffee apple and raisin nose, and smells just a little like my Burton Ale home brew. The flavours defy this initial bouquet, revealing a muskier side, molasses and burnt grain. Call it Worcestershire Sauceror and serve with roast dinner. Strangely likeable.

Caesar Augustus, Williams Brothers, Alloa, Scotland

Wowser. Now this is a good beer! Caesar’s honey gold complexion and medicinal Saazy nose tingles nerve endings (perhaps helped by 24 hours in the fridge the first sip hits my front molars with a scintillating pulse!). Caesar Augustus is boundlessly refreshing. An innovative lagered IPA? Come on, the result is a crisp and vibrant pilsner, surely? A joy to behold.

Profanity Stout, Williams Brothers, Alloa, Scotland

A vodka and vanilla nose, followed by reams of bitter Green & Blacks mellowed by a lingering smoked coffee bean dryness. Sophisticated but living on a thin line: its ABV may deceive you.

Golden Summer, Wold Top Brewery, Yorkshire

An old favourite from one of the most consistent brewers in Yorkshire. I tend to buy Wold Top’s beers from the most charming farm shop near Bradford, on the road between Halifax and Keighley, usually alongside strange vegetables and local cheese. Against The Grain was unremarkable to many, but as a gluten-free beers go I think it was a triumph. And Golden Summer is no different, on the face an unremarkable beer but it’s incredibly perfect in too many situations to be called average. As HopZine say, a great bridging beer, and in my mind eminently versatile. You can find grapefruit and lemon if you try, but it’s the cereal backbone that I love. A summer beer that genuinely shines.

Wye Not, Wye Valley Brewery, Herefordshire

…because the other beers are probably more enjoyable. Weighted in the favour of its malt ingredients, it never quite lives up to its biscuit billing. Should malt be your thing though, you could do much worse.

Bad King John, good 'king beer

And if we’d been picking the winner? Well Wold Top’s Golden Summer and Harviestoun’s Wild Hop IPA were stand outs, whilst Bad King John fought the corner of the darker beers and Stronghart offered something a bit different. But for sheer brazen excellence, Caesar Augustus provided the most enjoyment and refreshment. It’s exactly the sort of beer I’d pick up regularly in the supermarket, and for that reason, we’re firmly sold.

Topping a line up of strong leaders, Caesar Augustus