All for one and none for any

Akin to the Three Musketeers, but significantly older and less nimble with our cutlery, 3 good friends and a dog (yes the dog joined in too) set off on Brew Mission....

Stuffed to the gills with leftover Shepherds Pie, and homemade Apple Crumble, the tantalising strains of Andre Rieu stirring from the stereo, and wives vacated for the evening to avoid our inevitable flatulence, our faithful glass tankards at the ready, we began. For this was sampling night. 
 
Contrary to our usual tipple, we decided to sample and taste your everyday run of the mill lagers and beers that you can source in every supermarket, pub, bar and club across the nation and beyond. 

Dear Gods! You say. What on earth for?

I shall tell you. 

We just wanted to know and understand how and why these lagers and beers are still considered superior, even in this time where Real Ale and Craft Beers are so popular, and every Tom, Dick and Harry are jumping on the bandwagon.

In a rare moment of pure genius on a recent Real Ale Trail, Sid, AKA Athos, decided to set a challenge for us to review a selection of the big brands and see how they fare in comparison to our preferred quaffing liquor.

It had taken us just one trip to the supermarket to collect the ten lager beers for us to try and, making rudimentary scorecards out of an old napkin we went about our way and opened the first can...

This lager - apparently favoured by Australians for reasons known only unto themselves - on first glance resembled an effervescent urine, perhaps of the genus Macropus. One quaff was enough for us to confirm that indeed the contents of the tin were practically unfit for consumption, however, we finished our glasses and pressed on.

The second lager, a cheeky number brewed with tequila and citrus was an ungainly hue and smelled of the limeade pop we were all fond of as children . Whilst we were sure that this brew would be a hit with the youth and ladies, we concluded that we'd all have to be desperate in the extreme before supping on this offering again. Undeterred, we continued on this godly mission, positive that we would find a redeeming tipple.

A few lagers later and Pete, AKA Porthos, was complaining of nausea and Athos had donned a trilby and was threatening to order kebabs from the takeaway. This suddenly became an almost impossible task.

The dog, AKA Dogtanian, made an appearance half way through our lager and kebab fuelled haze and even he looked disgusted at the resultant scraps left in the takeaway cartons, but bravely we slogged on....

We discovered the perfect compliment to doner meat, a beer affectionately known to the young men on my estate as 'wife beater'. We concurred that the dirty penny like flavour and fizzing mousse cut through the heaviness of the minced cat strips we were throwing at our faces.

Burping and belching we finally threw in the towel, 3 lagers short of our full quota, as we could take no more.

Athos and Porthos were wildly out of control and arguing loudly over the merits of mayonnaise with chips, whilst Aramis here, had Dogtanian in a headlock professing my undying love for the faithful hound as it slobbered all over my face.

Our good lady wives returned, aghast at the state of their worse halves and the kitchen which was strewn with empties, polystyrene cartons and perhaps even a casual vomit in the corner.

Then and there, we took a solemn vow to never again repeat the night and to leave the mundane to the young with their sweet and equally mundane palates. Athos and Porthos sauntered off into the night, surfacing late the following morning with thick and thumpy heads. Aramis promptly vomited and then fell asleep  on the bathroom floor, rattling the house with snores and bottom burps.

All for one and one for all....