Sunday, 19 June 2016
And Union. A brewery seemingly designed to make all of my previous English teachers twitch every time I begin a sentence with its name.
And Union, a brewery which for the longest time baffled me a bit with its rather abstract approach to self promotion on social networks. And Union would post a cool picture with a beer bottle, and then maybe another cool picture of a table or something, and this reporter didn't see any long spiels about how their beer was available in a bar somewhere, or a shop, or even (not at first, at least) a clear cut statement to say that Brewers And Union (to give the brewery its Sunday name) was indeed in the business of beering people.
The crashing halt I came to last Saturday when I walked past Glug, a beer shop in Newcastle's Grainger Market and one of my regular haunts, was brought about entirely by the glimpse of some of And Union's beers in the shop window. I tried to press on them twice in quick succession, I tried to "smash that mf heart button", but realised that this wasn't Instagram but in fact reality!
And now it's time, on this rainy Sunday evening, to open a bottle of Sunday Pale Ale, 500mls of Internet Cool.
Saturday, 11 June 2016
I hold my breath like a marksman as the bottle neck clicks against the glass. I don't have the steadiest hands- maybe it's all the caffeine, maybe it's related to spending my days typing, maybe I'm just incredibly uncool. Whatever the reason, I can't mess this up.
A little sediment slipping from the bottle to the glass isn't always the end of the world, but Paella Food Ale is different to most beers.
|Sediment like WHOA|
Brewed in collaboration between Nómada Brewing Co. of Spain, and Freigeist Bierkultur of Germany, this beer comes with more than a centimetre of softly shifting solid matter at the base of the bottle. The label tells us "contains paella" and the ingredients back this up, telling us that saffron, rice and olive oil are in there. None of this heaving field of sediment can get in the glass. None.
Saturday, 4 June 2016
Nothing strikes at a headache quite like a cold beer. Like a keen chisel making the first blow into a virgin cube of aching marble, there's a feeling of a physical jolt as a mouthful of civilisation's foundation, society's great leveller, crashes inside the humming and thrumming skull.
With aching head and thirsting hands, I eagerly grabbed a fistful of Kaffir Lime Leaf Session IPA, a relatively new beer from Newcastle's Box Social Brewing, my mind set firmly on rehdyration and lubrication in the name of beer writing and pain management.