Paperjam

Following a workplace discussion the other week on the nature of tramp juice and the entertaining web site dedicated to its existence - I return from holiday to find two cans of something special lurking in a dodgy tesco carrier on my desk.

On perusal I find the surprise package contains two fine examples of the bench-dwelling connoisseur’s reason for waking up each day. I am now the owner of two fairly intimidating cans of super strength lager from the possibly legendary Amsterdam brewery, proudly proclaiming (perhaps unnecessarily) in big gold letters “Imported from Holland”.

Firstly, tipping the scales at a socially/morally/spiritually irresponsible 11.6% is the terrifyingly named “Maximator”, sounds like a villain off a kids cartoon, doesn’t it?

The second can is entitled “Navigator”, presumably because at a relatively paltry 8.4% you can happily enjoy a few before discharging your duties as a scout leader, taxi driver or co-pilot.

I drink the Navigator while dozing on the sofa listening to the smooth drone-rock of Electrelane (do check the link, ace song), probably a first for this particular tipple – it’s not bad but when I stand up to go to the toilet I do feel a bit woozy and suddenly feel the need to shout something like “yaaaaa fukkkkennnn basssshhhhtard copppppers ahhllll wankerrrrssss”.

Could it be the Electrelane?

A day later and I’m drinking the Maximator as I’m writing this and to be honest my fingers are going numb with each, surprisingly tasty, gulp. In essence it is an entire night out in a can. I am scientifically observing (in real-time) the following results:

- My nose has gone red
- I want to write to all the women that have ever rejected me to be slurrily apologetic, then aggressive and finally start crying. Somehow. In text. Via e-mail.
- I feel like singing something by Sinatra, or maybe, Sinitta.
- I definitely want to have a fight with someone, ideally a middle aged alcoholic lady wearing a shell-suit and preferably in a bus shelter
- I want to go to Kelsey’s (bit Leamington that, sorry)

Check out the Amsterdam beers web site, two things to note: Firstly, you can’t buy it in the UK and secondly, they do another one called the “Explorator”. Hmmmm. Think yourselves lucky I didn’t get hold of that.

No, really, I'm done, it's a school night, thank-you. Is it your round, really? Oh well, I suppose I could sink a swift one.

Now, Paper-jam doesn't usually do beer reviews. We have zero technical know-how of beer, beyond our near-encyclopedic knowledge of where to buy the stuff. And we can't reach the near orgasmic verbal heights of a Jilly Goolden or an Oz Clarke (yes, we know that's wine) - but as I manfully dredge through the end of my sister's very thoughtful (and jealously guarded) birthday present of 30 bottles of ale, felt I should stand up and shout for an American beer.

Those last words feel like a strange thing to write, but that's only because of the ubiquity of the global piss known as Budweiser. As I was growing up - imagine fields, roads going in circles, West Midlands buses, and the quavering buzz of my tiny Casio keyboard - well, beer wasn't really an option. I was a kid. Come on, this isn't France for God's sake.

Well what I meant to say there that after a brief dalliance with Hofmeister - purely 'cos it was a pound a can in Silvers, I graduated to bitter, and became an old fart, before my time.

Cutting a rather dull story short, involving steam cider, beer festivals, the inevitable John Fucking Smiths, and more recently to weissbier, and the evil of Belgian Trappist beer (those monks? no need for a vow of silence after one too many bottles of Judas, speech is barely physically possible), we arrive at the wonder of Brooklyn Lager.

Calling it a lager rather sullies it, to my mind. Lager I associate with tasteless pints of nothing, designed to give the average John Bull type a big head about how many they can sink of an evening, the dull "session" pint. Brooklyn (5.2%), apparently a Vienna-style beer according to the ever-unreliable internet, reminds me of another US tipple, Goose Island IPA - a fruity, dense pale ale that can't be drunk in vast quantities. Goose Island seems rather unpopular with the locals round here - a manager of a nearby hostelry once offered me a case of the stuff, claiming that I was the only one who was drinking it.

Brooklyn seems easier going than Goose Island, more floral, and rather easier to sink - better for the summer, I'd venture - rather than the more autumnal flavour of the pale ale from the windy city. I'd love to bang on about the hue and nose of Brooklyn, but it never touched the side of a glass - it was thrown down in a hurry, just before I chomped through a homemade feast of noodles and chicken.

Where can you buy Brooklyn Lager? Well, I saw a couple of bottle lurking in the 70s aisles of Cannon Park Tescos earlier, and I'm sure you could bag a brace at Alexander Wines in Earlsdon - or if by some quirk of fate, you don't actually live in Coventry, I'm sure your local boozer could be persuaded.

Drinking beer and etiquette are not things that have mixed all that frequently in my life up till now. In fact politeness during pub visits for me thus far has extended to:

- Only looking down the barmaid's top for a maximum of ten seconds after she has noticed that you are looking down her top. Up to tens seconds: respectful, more than ten seconds: twisted pervert.

- Trying to get most of the sick outside of the door.

- Not arm-wrestling Tom ever, no matter how much he pleads.

But when northern shoplifter "Jane" (possibly her real name) was kind enough to nick a bottle of uber posh Deus beer for me, I knew I would have to try and change my uncouth ways.

When offered advice on how to open a bottle of Deus beer

DO: Listen carefully, accept any help offered and have a glass handy to pour the beer straight into.

DON'T: Say something like "Yeah, right. I do know how to open a bottle", followed by "Oh, I can't get the cork out". At this point under no circumstances should you let the cork fly out, followed by half the beer, while you stand there like an absolute tit.

When choosing food to accompany your posh beer experience

DO: Go for something light that will compliment the delicate taste of the beer, or should I say, biere. How about some subtle anti-pasta with a light salad?

DON'T: Get a stodgy as fuck, meat-feast pizza containing more grease than a James Dean look-a-like competition.

When sampling the beer

DO: Slowly sip the drink, allowing your taste buds to explore the various hints of flavour created by the master brewers of Belgium.

DON'T: Say "I'm not really sure about this, I'm going to like, really glug some of it down to see if it makes it any better". Glug down a load of the beer. Belch. Conclude with "Hmmmm, well I reckon it'd get you pissed anyway". Then drink the lot to prove the point.

You can find out more about this unfeasibly expensive beer at the website for Bosteels brewery. Allow me to direct you to the "Sound Off" button at the bottom of the page. They also do one called "Kwak" which I am definitely going to have to get hold of.