Sorry, I must've nodded off there thinking about it. As I was saying, it's entirely unremarkable - it's not awful, it's just really, really bland. Even more so than Moor Beer Co.'s Revival. If it was a colour, it would be beige. If it was an actor, it would be Orlando Bloom. It should be called Kevin. Or Norman.
Anyway, I'm off track here as usual. As I said, I wasn't going to write a review, as there's nothing that interesting to say. It tastes... fine, I suppose. It isn't bad, as I said. I could probably drink a whole can and I'd likely not even realize that I'd finished it. It's the beer equivalent of amnesia. You drink it and it's though it never happened. Although thinking about it, isn't beer the beer equivalent of amnesia??
Oh jeez. I'm not doing so well here with this review. It's just really difficult to make something this boring sound interesting.
Let's start again.
Hi, I'm Andy.
...Too far back. Let's start again, again...
Sorry, I think I nodded off again there.
Look, my major beef with this beer is this; there is nothing more I hate in this world than a blowhard. Well, except ketchup. That is the work of the devil. And pickled beetroot. I mean... why? And the sea. Too many bitey things in there. And, as of tonight, eating out with a 3-year-old. That's just asking for trouble...
So, yeah, there are plenty of things in the world that I hate more than a blowhard. But for the purposes of this review, there are no things I hate more than a blowhard. And blow hard is what Brew York do in the case of this beer.
I understand that if you have a something you feel proud about, you want to tell the whole world. If you have a massive penis, you're going to want to get that thing out and about. Thing is, if you're just a massive dick, you should maybe keep quiet about it.
Somehow this is relevant here. I'm just not sure how. It sounded better in my head.
There's nothing wrong with being proud of something you've made and wanting the rest of the world to feel the same way you do about it. That's fine. If you've poured your heart and soul into something, you feel an attachment to it. But if you make a beer and claim on the can that it uses '5 varieties of new world hops' and 'a six malt combination', then you better bloody well make sure that the end product is a beer of such magnificence that God himself would weep after downing a pint of it. Don't make this claim, then put out a beer that Steve Davis would reject for being too boring.
The thing is, I've tasted beers that use just the one variety of 'new world hops' - M&S Citra IPA (brewed by Oakham Ales) is superb and it uses just (unsurprisingly) Citra hops. Using x number of hops isn't a guarantee that you'll end up with a good beer, as Little Eagle proves. Either Brew York are lying and haven't used 5 varieties of hop, or mixing that many hops together has the same effect as mixing all the colours of Play Doh together (i.e. it turns to shit). The same goes for mixing 6 types of malt. Why would you even do that for a session IPA? And if you did decide to do it, why would you settle for something that tastes like drinking water from the River Lethe?
So Brew York, maybe next time cut back on the ingredients in your beer and cut the bullshit on the side of the can. That way, if I decide to drink one of your ales again, I'll have a memorable experience and won't burst a blood vessel in the process.