I'm at home right now. I cracked open a can of Foster’s from the fridge, brewed in a giant brewery plant somewhere in the UK. It's a gleaming gold with a thick head of foam. Not much on the nose, no bread and thankfully no dried fruit. It's a real thirst quencher, light-bodied and smooth, a backbone of distant caramel and an almost absent finish of hops. It's not complicated, it doesn't need me to write detailed tasting notes, it doesn't challenge me in any way, it's just a great drink, a classic to-the-style can of lout, wonderfully chilled and spot-on enjoyable.
There's a certain amount of pride which comes with drinking a can of lout like this. I look around the world and I see glasses of wine and pongy pints of cask ale. I'm sitting here with my lovely can of lout, raising the glass and taking deep, satisfying mouthfuls. I am proud to be drinking it.
It's Cask Ale Week and that means we have an opportunity to ignore this load of toss completly. Sure, we can drink cask ale every week of the year, but that's not the point, this is about not drinking British beer in the pub and celebrating the glory that is a pint of real ale, but having a can of lout instead.
I think I'll have another.
Dredgie, I love you. National cheap supermarket lout week is next week.