Drop the pressure

pale fire

Recently I went on a date in Stoke Newington with a guy who was the world’s most colossal bell end. I didn’t know this before the date obviously, otherwise I would have written the whole thing off as a near disaster and stayed at home downing red wine and watching Mr Robot instead.

I arrived first, and thought I’d dazzle him with the fact that – EXHIBIT A – I am a forward thinking modern woman and EXHIBIT B I have fucking great taste in beer, so I fired off a Whatsapp being all like hey I’m early what are you drinking BITCHES TAKE NOTE.

He wanted a Guinness, which didn’t give me much to work with in terms of displaying my innovative attitude to imbibing, but I could still order myself something jazzy and start chewing his ears off re Amarillo hops and therefore make him want to declare his undying love and buy me a guinea pig.

I bought myself a Pressure Drop Pale Fire, for the following reasons. 1. Its a Stoke Newington/Hackney brewery so I’m down with the locals, lining their back pockets and generally coming across as the kind of person that shops at farmer’s markets and not at KFC. You have to lie in order to make people love you. 2. Its a glorious pale ale but they don’t always stick to the same hops, so its a bit of a Lucky Dip as to what you’re getting – sometimes its Amarillo and Citra, sometimes its Amarillo and Mosaic – variety is the spice of life and embracing the unknown is good for us, so if you’re not ready to go Deer Hunter and play Russian Roulette yet, then a sneaky surprise hop is a good starting point. 3. I Heart Amarillo Hops 4Eva, so if there’s a chance that they’re swimming around in there, I’ll be tickled pink. 4. The labels looks like the kind of art that people have in their houses when they’re successful but still a bit cool and they ride expensive bikes and own a French boxer dog and grow their own chives.

It’s an American style pale so has that cold, crisp, fresh blast of citrus (I promise I’m not selling you a toilet cleaner), you could drink a fair few of them on the trot without feeling like the Deptford Anchor and they sometimes add in a ‘trial hop’ called Hop X, which is grown in the UK and sounds like it will turn you into some kind of ale swilling super soldier. I’ve tested this quite a few times but I don’t have night vision yet, it probably takes a while for your mutant powers to develop.

Anyway, after all of this forward planning, it turned out I was waiting in the wrong pub, so I had to down my Pale Fire and his Guinness in five minutes (times of austerity are not times to be wasteful and fuck off am I abandoning a £10 round), so he never got to see my awesome beer choice anyway, and when I met him in person he asked me if I was autistic. True story. Pale Fire = Great, top notch, thumbs up. My Date For The Evening = not worth downing a Guinness for.




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