The Session #49: A Regular Beer

Thornbridge Jaipur at the Coach & Horses, Dronfield; twenty Imperial fluid ounces of relaxation alongside a burger and the Saturday papers.

Adnams Broadside at the Carpenter's Arms, Dale Abbey; my walking boots steaming, my cockles warmed by the fire, my palate satiated by big fat chewy malts.

Stella Artois at Morley Hayes golf club; crisp, quenching, my not-playing-golf-but-just-sitting-in-the-clubhouse-lazing-around choice for over fifteen years.

Bernard unfiltered pilsner at the Sheffield Tap; when coming straight from standing on a hot, cramped train there's nothing better than a cold pils followed quickly by another one.

Pictish Brewer's Gold at the Kelham Island Tavern; never mind the tick, feel the quality.

Woodforde's Wherry straight from the cask at the Three Horseshoes, Warham. Sublimely balanced, helping me drop down the mental gears at the start of every North Norfolk holiday.

Augustiner Edelstoff from the bottle at the Ship & Mitre, Liverpool. I know it's in the fridge, waiting.

Harvey's Best at the Royal Oak, Southwark. Because it's the best damn-tastiest bitter I know of.

Marble Dobber at Marble Arch, Manchester. The first beer I ever drank there and would be happy it were the only one I ever drank there again.

Fuller's London Porter on keg at the Old Joint Stock, Birmingham. The seasons change, the view through the plate-glass windows moves from suits in overcoats to strappy-backed crop-topped students but the malts remain the same.

Bass at the Cooper's Tavern, Burton-upon-Trent. Nothing salves a tired mind than twenty minutes spent with a sulphurous brew and some idle rocking of a treadle on a table that once housed a Singer sewing machine,

Brewdog Punk IPA in my fridge. White Feather in the Brunswick brewpub. Whim Hartington IPA in the Smithfield, Derby. The list goes on.

I spent several years chasing the rate, looking for the beer I hadn't had before. I've spent longer enjoying the beers I love in the places where I first fell in love with them.

Some day, I may find a bar serving a barrel-aged double imperial gooseberry hefeweizen that keeps me coming back for more. Until that day, I have my regular beers in sometimes-irregularly-visited places. As long as they are still standing and still serving, I'm still drinking there.



Props to Stan at Appellation Beer for hosting this month's Session and for being all all-round splendid chap. Blogs *should* make you think. Thinking is so important. Right, Baldrick?