If you know anything about... well, anything, then you'll recognise those obscene scrawlings to be the work of the great Ralph Steadman. Most famous for his work with Hunter S. Thompson in illustrating his book Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas, Steadman has been one of my favourite illustrators for close to a decade now, ever since I saw this little beauty:
That illustration was included as a folded up poster with my dvd copy of Withnail and I.
Withnail and I, incase you are somehow insane/unaware of it's existence, is Bruce Robinson's paean to 1969, a counter-argument to the commonly held view of the '60s as being all sunshine, light, hope and peace.
I won't get into the movie TOO much, since I'd keep you reading for an hour if I did, but Withnail and I is often mistakenly seen as just an invitation to imitate it's elegantly wasted eponymous characters, reduced to a student drinking game in some circles.
True, it does contain a HEROIC amount of booze consumption and general drunken hilarity, but watch it 30+ times (I had a very boring adolescence) and you'll see so much more to it.
ANYWAY! That illustration, with it's scraped out lines, disgusting unidentified stain of a colour scheme and depiction of living in utter filth blew my tiny teenage mind. So the point is, I've always had a soft spot for Steadman.
So when I saw a collection of beers packaged in this awesome insanity, I didn't hesitate to try 'em!
The geniuses behind these beers are Flying Dog Ales, who I think are based out of Baltimore? If you want to know more, read up at their awesome site here http://flyingdogales.com/
I'll confess, this isn't the first encounter I've had with these beers, I'd actually sampled one of the varieties a few days previously after a trip into Peckham's Deli. When paying for the bottle I bought that day, the cashier got talking about the new arrivals to their stock, the unusual names, asking if I'd ever tried them before.
As I leave, she hollers after me "COME BACK IF YOU EVER WANT TO HAVE A RAGING BITCH!". Which is a weird thing for a girl to shout at you in public, especially when you're there with your girl.
Without any hint of innuendo, I took her up on that offer, and went back to buy as many of these beers as I could carry.
First of the evening is the, yep, you guessed it, Raging Bitch!
Usually when I open up a bottle, first thing I do is take a long, hard, Hannibal Lecter-esque sniff of it, and this one had a REALLY overpowering reek. I mean that in the nicest possible way. It was almost fruity, really quite a nice smell, so I was a little skeptical as I'm not really a huge fan of fruity beers.
Luckily, this was nothing of the sort, and upon the first swig it's true taste hit me like a sledgehammer. A very small, liquid sledgehammer.
It has a really strong, dry taste, or at least the first gulp did. My first thought? I don't really like this. I was gutted. I really hoped it would turn out like a lot of other beers, if I gave it a chance it might surprise me. So I persevered, in the name of science! Or just being a drunken git.
Swig after swig goes by, and it never QUITE hits the enjoyable stage. It has a taste, I'll give it that much, I just never really warmed to it.
Next I go for the Old Scratch, which is the bottle I tried previously.
It says on the bottle this is a lager, so I take the first sniff n' swig combo thinking I know exactly what I'm gonna get from this. It's everything I expected and... less? I don't know if it's the fact I'm drinking it after a VERY overpowering-tasting beer, or if it's just a very smooth lager, but this doesn't really pack a punch at all! Two disappointments in a row? Nooooo!
I wonder if it's one of those beers that goes really well when you're stuffing your face with a gigantic pepperoni pizza? I endeavoured to find out. Turns out it is! Probably doesn't need to be QUITE so specific in your choice of accompaniment, but this was a real tasty, smooth lager to take a gulp of after a few famished bites. I'd definitely have this again, just without any overly-high expectations.
With two beers down, and a pizza devoured, I'm more than ready to take on their classic pale ale, the eponymous Flying Dog.
Now THAT'S more fucking like it! The second it hits my tongue, there's a good frothy texture, genuinely delicious taste, and I think I've finally found my weapon of choice.
It's not a sour taste, but it definitely has a real robust bite to it, nice n' zesty, but still goes down smooth. I'm getting through it pretty quickly by this point, maybe slightly influenced by the fact I've actually decided to leave the house for once and go for a coupla drinks out there, in the... OUTSIDE WORLD!
I blame the two beers I've consumed before the invitation arose for my foolish decision to go out. Anyone who knows me (or has read any of my other terrible so-called 'reviews') knows that I cannot handle my beer. The myth that the Scots all have ironclad stomachs and can drink anyone under the table? I'm the exception that proves the rule. Give me a bottle of whisky and I'm fine, I'll sit quite content, slugging through it for hours. But give me more than 3 beers in the space of an hour? I'm useless.
So with that moment of self awareness and deprecation, I'm off out to the pub!
postscript: I managed to work my way through a further 3 bottles of Newcastle Brown and a couple of Jameson that night before wandering home and falling asleep fully clothed. I'm a real class act.
