Cream Coloured Pony's Crisp Apple Strudel IPA

The opening gambit. Before you can bore the arse out of someone with tales regaled of obscure limited edition bottlings enjoyed in rustic courtyards, they ask you:

"So, then. What's your favourite beer?"

To which you are duty-bound to answer:

"Ah! I don't have one favourite. It all depends on so many variables, of seasons and mood, of company or solitude, of desire and necessity. For instance, I recently sat in a rustic courtyard with a vertical of a dozen obscure limited edition bottlings..."


You know what your favorite beer is. You know the one you'd claw through walls to reach. If you're about to meet your maker, your future mother-in-law or the firing squad, you know which beer you'd want in hand.

It's just that few beery people dare to admit it. Why? Fear of offending someone?

Screw that. I have a favourite beer.

I can drink it in the depths of a deep midwinter. I can drink it at the height of a roaring summer. I can drink it from the bottle, from the fridge. I can drink it from a glass, from the shelf, in all its pomp.

I can drink it alone, with friends, among enemies, in a tub full of strippers, in a pub full of sadsacks.

I have drunk it at the best of times, at the worst of times. And I will continue to do so.


... Orval.


  1. That's cheating: Orval is at least five different beers.

  2. Mine changes all the time but Orval is always up there...suits just about every occasion.