Everyone has, or had, an Auntie Hilda. Even if she wasn't really your auntie. And wasn't called Hilda. And had an Adam's apple. Auntie Hilda was the relation or friend who, on hearing it was your birthday and knowing you liked a beer, went to the supermarket and pciked out some interesting bottles for your pressie.

Which is why, if Hilda was alive in the UK in the 1980's, you ended up drinking Hobgoblin or Fiddler's Elbow.

But what if Hilda's shaky grasp on reality extended far enough to remember you liked beers called 'IPA'? If she went shopping today and plonked three beers into her trolley, what are your chances of getting a decent beer?

There's only one way to find out.

We sent someone - for argument's sake, let's call them Hilda - to a large supermarket close to where they live. The only stipulation was to buy the first three beers with the words that featured 'IPA' on the label.

How well did Hilda do?

Beer number one was Greene King IPA. Cue wailing and gnashing of teeth (mine, not Hilda's. Not with the state of her dentures). But, here's the thing - it wasn't bad. It wasn't game-changing, but market leading food and drink products rarely are. That's why they're popular. It wasn't vile, it wasn't fermented from dead babies injected with botulism. It was a mildy hoppy, reasonably carbonic, inoffensive bottle of beer. I would never have dreamed of buying it myself. Not even in one of those technicolour dreams I have after eating too much cheese. But I've drank worse. And would go so far as saying, if I were offered it again at a barbeque, I wouldn't adopt that face that suggests the host has just asked you to have sex with a horse.

Next up - Brewdog Punk IPA. With its Equity for Punks collar. Bringing share ownership to the supermarket masses. Jello Biafra must be shitting himself that he didn't think of that one.My relationship with Punk and Brewdog is like that I have with the pair of collared doves that perch on my garden fence. Most of the time, I love them; predictable, content, reassuring. Sometimes, I wish they'd shut the fuck up. Sometimes, I wish a passing hawk would rip their innards out and arrange it across next door's lawn to spell out 'LOL'.But I'm on an upward slope with Punk at the moment. This bottle was two-weeks fresh, nasally orgasmic and relentlessly fruity. Hilda did good.

And last - but by no means first - was Meantime IPA. So either her Irish national lottery numbers coughed up last week or she was hitting the value gin on her way around the aisles. Not the cheapest bottle on offer, but it is 7% and a 75cl job. And it was strangely un-nerving. I've known it to be dusty and lemony but this was all rather meh. Orange marmalade with a slightly metallic tang. Wet twigs. Old Cointreau. Obvious alcohol and a smear of green apple.

So, in summary: surprised that Greene King wasn't bad; not surprised Brewdog was so good, surprised Meantime wasn't better. And for Christmas, Hilda would be better off spending her heating allowance on Punk.

This post was brought to you in the spirit of supporting IPA Day. Because anything that gets brewers and consumers and writers excited about beer is a good thing, yes? You don't have to buy into the the bullshit of IPA being the "pinnacle of brewing innovation". You may feel that the individuals and organisations behind it are self-publicists who see it as no more than free publicity.

Do me a favour. Grab a beer, drink it down and take it easy. IPA Day is what you want it to be.

Because: IPA isn't a style. It's a declaration of intent. Whether the intent is to say: we're traditional, we're bleeding-edge.

Drink IPA. Don't drink IPA. But do keep an open mind. >

You may have a lawn the size of a paddock or a postage stamp. You may edge with sharp shears or a clumsily-wielded strimmer. You may ride upon your mower or push the recalcitrant bastard up and down a slope that makes Carolina Cherry seem like a bowling green.

And you may ask yourself: why do I love mowing?
And you will tell yourself: lawnmower beer.

Sticky grass still on your fingers. The sun fading over next door's fence. And a cold beer straight from the fridge, probably not making it as far as a glass before you guzzle three greedy gulps. And then, sigh. Beery contentment.

This year's lawnmower be for me is Brewdog Punk IPA. Yes, it ain't what it used to be and it ain't as bitter and it's alcoholic Um Bongo blah blah meh. I know all those things. I've said all those things.

And I don't care.

In the way that when I spot a clump of stubborn grass that's sprung back up in the lawn's far corner, I don't jump up to scythe it down. It lives to be mown another day. >

I have a fractious relationship with Brewdog Punk IPA. I've bemoaned the inconsistency of recipe and level fill. I've been caught up in the keg v cask 'debate'. I've winced slightly at the homage/straight steal from Stone of the bottle's wording.

But I know this much is true. It sits in my fridge eternally, the loyal and faithful retainer of hop promise, the dependable Labrador of beer that welcomes me home.

Tonight could have been the night when I compared Punks old (6%) and new (5.6%). It could have been the night when I lined a Punk up next to Thornbridge Jaipur and Marble Dobber. Instead, it's going to be the night when I stop prattling on the tinterweb, go the fridge and Just Drink Beer.

This bottle of Punk IPA, bitter and floral, was chugged down in the time it took to type this post. I now have to go and recover the next bottle from the freezer - 15 mins should do the trick- and then repeat, lather, rinse, repeat...

... but not forgetting today's Today's Obviously Made Up Fact About IPA:

East Kent Goldings hops were used in IPA not only for their preservative qualities in stopping the beer from spoiling on the long voyage but also because they stopped the beer drinker from contracting syphilis >

It only produces 0.7 per cent of the world's hops. Two varieties that have been barnstorming the British beer scene make up less than ten per cent of that crop. So how the hell did New Zealand begin to punch way above its weight in the hop world?

Hops have been in-country since arriving with European settlers in the mid-nineteenth century. Nelson province on the South Island became the industry's cradle, benefiting from a temperate climate, high number of sunshine hours, regular rainfall and relatively wind free conditions. The imported varieties were moderately successful, but the industry was transformed by the introduction of an West Coast American hop in the 1920's.

'Late Cluster', known in NZ as 'Cali', offered better growth and greater yields and became the hop crop of choice. But twenty years later, Cali was crippled by a soilborne root rotting disease, phytophthora, and the country's hop industry was in dire straits.

The response was the establishment of the Hop Research Station at Riwaka in 1949. Tasked with breeding new high-yield varieties resistant to phytophthora, three cultivars were developed (Smoothcone, First Choice and Calicross). By the mid-sixties when these hops were well established, the industry faced a new challenge.

Lager's growing popularity boosted the worldwide requirement for seedless aromatic hops. Whilst Europe was busy eliminating the seeded male hop plant, New Zealand took a different tack. They developed a virtually sterile seedless plant that still retained the aroma and bitterness characteristics of its lineage. The varieties produced (Green Bullet, Harley's Fullbright, Sticklebract and Super Alpha) became the world's first commercially produced triploid hops (ones having three chromosomes).

Further developments saw New Zealand carry out extensive research into aroma cultivars that were adapted to the country's growing conditions. Out of that program came New Zealand Hallertau, currently the most-produced hop in the country at 42% of the total acreage.

Hop production trebled through the eighties and nineties, and today over 80 percent of the crop is exported. But it's still responsible for less than one percent of the world hop trade. Perhaps the true value of its contribution can be found in two unique offerings.

Less than four percent of New Zealand hop production is of the varietal Nelson Sauvin. But, what a hop it is. Released in 2000, it offers an unmistakable aroma of gooseberries that's almost identical to that of the Sauvignon Blanc grape (hence the varietal's name). It's used by British brewers such as Brewdog to enhance the complexity of pale hoppy beers such as Punk IPA. Thornbridge showcase the hop to incredible effect in their South Pacific Pale Ale, Kipling. It's a hop whose impact can only widen as more drinkers experience it and fall in love with it.

There's also major potential for the production of organic hops. With typical viral and fungal hop diseases not an issue and the only significant pest (the two-spotted mite) controlled by a predator, no pesticide use is needed. Nor are herbicides - instead there's a well-engineered solution that both clears foliage around the hop bines whilst depositing natural organic fertiliser at the same time. It's called sheep grazing.

Unique varieties and organic credentials ought to make New Zealand an expanding player in the world hop market. The cost of freighting the end product out internationally may be the major obstacle to rapid returns on export. But when it results in beer that offers a real 'wow!' factor, perhaps it's a price well worth paying. >

A long morning of pushing a broom around the driveway, shifting leaf mulch and wet moss, builds up my appetite for beer. So I fancied the ninety minute troll up the River Derwent to call by at two Derby brewpubs in search of strong ale.

The Brunswick is a given in the hunt for strong ale in winter. Usually, I'd be slavvering over a pint of Black Sabbath, unfeasibly ABV'd at 6.66%, black as a black thing that's been stuffed full of damsons and twigs and liqorice and sourness (in a good way). But this is Rambo season; Rambo being an old Everards recipe resurged at this brewpub into a deep, viscous, fruity brew. Truth be told, the first few sips were difficult, perhaps as I'd worked up a thirst and satiating it with strong ale wasn't the keenest move.

Like one of Victoria Wood's flapjack, you just need to work it around your mouth a bit. The turning fruit and itching malt works better as the beer warms. To be honest, sitting in the parlour where the only sound was the head of my pint popping and forming has been one of my finest beer moments this year.

Upriver for a palate cleanser. There's one downside to the Smithfield in Derby - when the river's running high, the pub stinks. But there's nearly always a dog in the bar that's mad as a box of frogs, great tunes on the perpetually self-selecting jukebox and at least six handpulls full of light, hoppy beer. It's unusual for me to not be drinking Whim or Oakham in here - when the alternative is BrewDog Punk IPA, perhaps I can be forgiven. Full of fat fresh fruit salad flavours. Dang tasty.

Last stop was the Flowerpot. Often tricky drinking here on a Sunday; being a popular music venue, fans may have given the beers a hammering the night before. The upside is availability of their own brews; five of theirs on today including their winter ofering, Zymosis. Vaguely golden, bitter pine to the fore, lurking alcohol with licks of old pineapple steeped in gone-off glue. More drinkable than Rambo, deceptive with its strength. In cinematic terms, it's Jason Bourne by comparison - subtle, understated.

Back home with a smile on my face and a Three Counties jacket potato to look forward to - Double Gloucester cheese, Worcestershire sauce and Herefordshire perry. Nom cubed. And a glass or four of BrewDog Zephyr to chase it down - but that'll be another story... >

Many things have been said about BrewDog Punk IPA:


"It's one of those IPAs that actually tastes of something."


"Punk IPA takes the edge off. Punk IPA drops me a mental gear."


"Punk IPA tastes fuckign good".



Yeah, bang to rights, guv. I said that. But the beer's so good - today I enjoyed several bottles at the Kean's Head, Nottingham - that I thought I'd say those things all over again. >

Now, I like Brewdog beers. One the one hand, Punk IPA is chock full of enticing hops. And Punk Monk IPA has the allure of Belgian yeast. But which is better? There's only one way to find out.... FIGHT!

Looks: Punk has a hophaze about it, Monk positively breathes out light. Both have been in the fridge for weeks. Monk looks incredibly appealing, so it delivers an uppercut to Punk's frosty jaw. 0-1 to Monk.

Aroma: Punk explodes with fat, juicy citrics. Monk sees those citrics and raises with ground spice, wafting brine and a sustained sugary goosegog tang. Spices to the solar plexus make it 0-2 to Monk.

Flavour: Punk rides a crescendo; those fat hops deliver gorgeous tropical fruit flavours, a smear of caramel and biscuit lifts the balance. Monk takes the fruits and yeasts them up a bit; spices itch away around the edges but the esters fall away too soon. A slightly thin feel there means that Punk punches back to the midriff: 1-2.

Palate: Punk pulls off the kind of trick that the very Devil couldn't do; drying hops vie with warming alcohol to turn out a well balanced finish. It seems too good to beat... but Monk responds with that late surge of spicy, yeasty, fiendishly moreish-ness. 1-3 to the Monk. And, laydeez en geentelmeen, we have got ourselves a winner!


Punk folds, albeit not like a 'cheap hooker who got punched in the stomach by a fat guy with sores on his face'. Monk triumphs; if only it could sustain those full-fat estery notes in mid-bout, it could be a contender for a world crown.

Put it this way; in jazz terms, Punk is indeed John Zorn (off the wall, transatlantic influence) but Monk is pure Theo (tight, unorthodox, idiosyncratic). If you gottem, crack open the bottles, listen up and decide for yourself:



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Back from holiday to find a beer box lurking under my desk. Beermerchants.com send me the occasional selection box and this eclectic mix promises to liven up this summer's thirsty Thursdays.

Some, ahem, 'interesting' lagers in there from around the world, so it looks like I'll have a frozen pizza night at some point in the near future. The Bayreuther Bio-Weisse looks interesting. The Punks; well, I've something special planned for them. The Keizers will get shoved into a cobwebbed corner to be enjoyed at Christmas. As for the Mega Blend Geuze - There Will Be Indigestion.

This week, I'll mostly be having a gaggle of Slags. Appalling puns will be mandatory. You have been warned.

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The Portman Group, the drinks industry's humour-bypassed regulatory body, have provisionally upheld their decision to force the removal of three Brewdog beers from retailer's shelves due to the 'aggressive marketing' used by the brewer.

The complaints begger belief. Hop Rocker is marketed with the phrases “nourishing foodstuff” and “Magic is still there to be extracted”; the Portman panel said that implies the drink could enhance mental and physical capabilities. Er, WTF??? Rip Tide, being a “twisted merciless stout” – is associated in their eyes with antisocial behaviour. And one of my favourite beers, Punk IPA, which is described on the small print of the back label as an “aggressive beer”... Portman say that the use of the word aggression “is more likely to be seen applying to the drinker rather than the drink”. FFS.

This was supposed to be a blog about a great bottle of beer. But now it's got far, far more important things to say. You want to know the truth about Punk IPA and Brewdog? Can you handle the truth?



I can tell you all about Punk IPA. About Punk IPA chilled in the freezer for 45 minutes. Or Punk IPA cooled in the cellar. Or Punk IPA straight off the shelf. Punk IPA with fish and chips. Punk IPA takes the edge off. Punk IPA drops me a mental gear. Punk IPA makes me wanna Photoshop.

It's one of those IPAs that actually tastes of something. I'm a lover of Thornbridge Jaipur as well, but Punk is subtly different; a duskier colour, sweeter malts, aromas more fruit bowl than citric cocktail. As it's stocked in the Asda superstore I happen to walk past on my way home every day, it's become a bottle I keep a regular stock of. Indeed, I bought a dozen bottles last week to hand out around my colleagues in a moment of pure beer evangelism/altruism. It goes with fish & chips better than my usual bottle of swirly-handed Sauvignon Blanc from M&S and knocks the harshness off a chilli con carne.



And for a brewery that's only been in production for eighteen months they have a reputation for innovation and quality that exceeds many established brewers. Beer bloggers declare their love for it. The brewers are rightly proud of it. It's a high quality product sold to a discerning customer base. So, what's Portman's beef?



To be honest, they seem to act like a third-quality firewall. Words used in marketing - in the small print on the back of a bottle - are being taken wholly out of context and deeemed to be offensive or inciting. I'd love to know how many complaints have been made about Brewdog. And how many complaints have been made about supermarkets actively marketing cut price canned beers. I'd pick apart all the logic and language faults made by Portman in relation to the Brewdog case but Brewdog have already done this is the most eloquent fashion.



Let's let the Portman Group know what we think. Mail to info@portmangroup.org.uk. You may want to call their guy in charge of complaints about beer marketing, David Poley, on 020 7907 3702. And show some solidarity on the Brewdog blog.

As for whether the brewer ought to change their wording - I'd be tempted to ship 'Censored' stickers to retailers and generate more debate, but that's a cost that Brewdog could probably do without. And where will all those 'inappropriate' bottles end up? Perhaps the USA or mainland Europe, who don't sem to have the problems that Portman have.

All beer lovers need to kick up a stink and raise the profile of this pointless ruling. The Portman Group cannot be allowed to bully more microbrewers in this way. I am appealing to any Code of Conduct signatories to make it clear to Portman that enough is enough. The key word is responsibility - that responsibility works both ways. Brewdog are not encouraging irresponsible drinking; Portman ought to take responsibility for their heavy-handed and short-sighted approach to policing the code.

And if you're reading, you buyers for Asda and Tesco - if you're happy to mass-discount cheap cans, where's the problem in stocking Punk?

This is thin-end-of-the-wedge, beer lovers. Don't let Portman ruin this industry.
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