The Facts:Style: Stout
Brewer: Carlton & United Brewery
Tagline: It keeps you fit!
Number of beers consumed: 6
When I was kid there was this guy living in town called Homeless Bill. I don’t think that was his actual name, it’s just what people yelled at him while throwing rocks and spraying him with the hose so he’d stop pissing on their shop fronts and trying to kidnap their pets.
Nobody really knew where Bill had come from or why he’d taken up residence in our town. Some people said he was a former Prime Minister who had ended up becoming a drifter after he was caught buggering cattle. Other people said he was a sophisticated sex robot sent back in time to change the future for one lucky lady. People in my town were fucking weird.
We’ll probably never know the epic story of Homeless Bill’s life, but whatever the case – he wasn’t a well man.
The one enduring memory I have of Bill is that whenever he’d end up passed out in the main street he’d always be clutching a king brown of Tooth’s Sheaf Stout in his grimy hand.
Ever since those days this particular beer has held an almost mythical appeal in my mind. I haven’t been able to work up the courage to try it… until now.
I can see why Bill turned to Tooth’s Sheaf Stout in his darkest moments of self loathing. The truth of the matter is that you’d only ever offer this beer to somebody you truly despise.
It pours a murky, almost black with a foamy cream head. The smell is something akin to white board markers and ashtrays mixed together in a bucket of turpentine and shoe polish.
If you can make it past the atrocious odor then you’ll be treated to a rich, complex array of flavours that most beer aficionados might describe as chocolate, burned oats, fruit and coffee.
What you’re actually tasting is despair.
Somehow Cartlon & United Brewery have distilled the very essence of hopelessness into liquid form, mixed it with grain alcohol and are marketing it as stout. I like it.
Stouts universally give me awful hangovers. I don’t know if it’s theÂ tannins or if the beer gods have cursed me to have an achilles heel so that my raw power doesn’t cause the universe to implode, whatever the case, this morning was no exception.
It feels like my eyelids are making grinding noises whenever I attempt to move them. I also feel a strange urge to walk around barefoot and shout at people in the street.
I can see why this particular stout is the brew of choice for vagrants and miscreants everywhere.
This beer turned my poo black. I give it a respectable 2.5 out of 5.