The Drinker’s Guide To Real Ale
Welcome to this Real Ale hostelry,
With sixteen hand-pumps covering the bar.
All the beers are from local breweries,
The town’s biggest selection by far.
We’ve got none of your mass-produced stuff here,
Your taste-buds we’d hate to traduce -
There’s no alcopops or fizzy lagers,
Nor ciders, which we refer to as “tramp juice”.
No it’s all hand-made in back-street facilities,
By dedicated brewers with a passion,
Using old, weird and arcane recipes,
To meet modern taste and the new fashion.
With a single-minded pursuit of excellence,
Artisanal, unfiltered and unpasteurised,
Producing ales of such esoteric taste,
That as beer it’s hardly recognised.
They only use the best of ingredients -
Water, barley, hops and some yeast -
To create flavours that range from the gentle,
Via strong, right through to some beasts.
Take Bodgington’s Skull-Cracker for example:
It comes out as eight percent ABV -
A few pints of that and I promise you,
Next day you’ll hardly be able to see.
Or that Death-Rattle IPA:
So strong you have to drink it in shots.
It’s pure, unrefined and organic,
And in the morning it gives you the trots.
There’s Wazzington’s latest offering:
It’s a double-mocha coffee-infused porter -
Drink three pints of this wonderful brew,
And your legs won’t work like they oughter.
I could go on wittering, about methods of bittering,
Of Black Stouts, and Pale, Red and Brown Ales,
Of secondary in-cask fermentation,
Which makes natural gas without fail.
About top, bottom and late hopping,
How it sings on the palate and amuses the nose,
Its aroma can induce a coma,
But sometimes that’s the way that it goes.
Then, of course, there’s Futtocks’ Dog-Beater,
A session ale that goes down rather well -
It’s a bloody good beer, that makes you feel queer,
And gives you the hangover from Hell.
My favourite, though, is Bowel-Wrecker:
It’s subtle, amusing, and quite Gluten-Free,
But it does smell like a wrestler’s armpit,
And, if not kept well, tastes of stale pee.
Last night we had a bit of a lock-in,
Tried our best to drink the place dry:
I must have had sixteen pints to my name -
I’m not feeling too good – can’t understand why.
So don’t tell me I don’t know about Real Ale -
I’ll drink anything that calls itself “craft”,
I won’t touch water or soft drinks -
No thanks – d’you think that I’m daft?
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