Bensoir! It's me, Benjamin. I like to eat and drink. And cook. And write.

You may have read stuff I've written elsewhere, but here on my own blog as Ben Viveur I'm liberated from the editorial shackles of others, so pretty much anything goes.

BV is about enjoying real food and drink in the real world. I showcase recipes that taste awesome, but which can be created by mere mortals without the need for tons of specialist equipment and a doctorate in food science. And as a critic I tend to review relaxed establishments that you might visit on a whim without having to sell your first-born, rather than hugely expensive restaurants and style bars in the middle of nowhere with a velvet rope barrier, a stringent dress code and a six-month waiting list!

There's plenty of robust opinion, commentary on the world of food and drink, and lots of swearing, so look away now if you're easily offended. Otherwise, tuck your bib in, fill your glass and turbo-charge your tastebuds. We're going for a ride... Ben Appetit!

Tuesday, August 11, 2026

But is it beer?

One of the many things that irritates me these days - as an increasingly irritable middle-aged man who finds lots of stuff irritating as he gets older - is going into a pub and being confronted with lots of beers that are very similar to one another.

Sometimes I'll go for a long session consisting entirely of beers I've technically never had before, but which seem suspiciously familiar.

Drinking mostly cask, as I do, this will typically take the form of a 4.2% pale golden ale, moderately hopped with New World varieties. Accessible, easy to drink, and, to borrow a phrase from my late Grandmother, common as muck.

I don't dislike them - they're generally good beers from good brewers. But they really are hard to tell apart at times. Given a choice between sticking to a formula or taking bold risks, the brewers chose the option that involved minor tweaks to an existing recipe and possibly having to come up with a quirky name!

 

Same old story 

This isn't a new issue, nor is it confined to cask ale in England. If one looks at global beer production in its entirety, the vast majority of the stuff is Pils- or Helles-style lager, pale yellow in colour, almost always force-carbonated for kegging or small-pack. It's what the global palate wants and expects. (Well, it's definitely what they expect!) Like it or not, this is what 'beer' means to most people in most of the world.

Can beer be blue?
It's about strength as well as style. The alcoholic content of beer can range from zero to 'batshit insane'. A massive 67.5% ABV if you believe the, err, lies. But almost all the beer that actually gets brewed and consumed falls within a small and 'sensible' window. 

How is it that I've tried 1366 different cask ales at 4.5%, but only 39 at 6.3%, a mere six at 2.9% and none at all at 10.3%? (And I'm in the demographic of drinker most likely to choose something new, interesting or different, so I'm really trying - for more conservative drinkers the numbers would be even less varied.) 

In Germany the brewers that stick to the Reinheitsgebot  command respect for following tradition, but it's another example of the inherent conservatism in the brewing industry, probably designed to match that of the drinker, who, most of the time, just wants 'a beer'. 

However...

There is undeniably far more genuine experimentation in (certain parts of) the brewing industry than there once was. I always welcome the opportunity to choose from a broader range of stuff, particularly in cask where there seems to be more resistance, and we're arguably living in a bit of a golden age. Well, a less golden age, literally!

A Quadruple IPA that racks up IBUs for fun? An Imperial Dessert Stout that contains more Tiramisu than an actual Tiramisu? Yes please! Push those boundaries! Give me something challenging!

And that then begs another question: how much does a beer have to deviate from the core concept of beer that we can no longer consider it 'beer'? 

 

...or possibly not? 

Think about it for a second.

We all think we know what beer is; what makes it beer and not, say, cider, or wine, or whisky, or an alcopop. You boil up malt and water, add hops and let it ferment. Tweaks to the process and adjuncts or substitutions are broadly accepted, unless you're German, and it's still a beer. But at what point does it stop being a beer?

Champ Ale?
If you go really strong and then distil it, and age it for 15 years, and you didn't use any hops in the first instance... I'd suggest that you've made yourself a whisky there. Definitions can be challenged and envelopes firmly pushed, but there must be a logical horizon, beyond which something isn't a beer otherwise everything in existence would technically be beer!

Last week at Le Gothique's Summer Beer Festival I got to sample Chorus from Baynham's brewery, apparently based in the New Forest. They don't appear to have brewed anything else, ever, at least not under that name, so there's no 'core range' to compare it against. Perhaps this is deliberate.

And it's undoubtedly interesting stuff. Comes in a champagne-style bottle. 12%. Served in champagne flute glasses. Drinks like an English sparkling wine or perhaps a high-end Prosecco but a little more complex. Made with 'Chardonnay yeast', apparently. (I know, I know. Chardonnay is a grape.) I detected a hint of the sort of funky rustic fruit that one might expect from a spontaneous fermentation, but I was assured that no Brett was involved in the production.

It's fruity. Not really hoppy in any noticeable sense, except maybe a hint of the estery overtones you sometimes pick up in a strong IPA, Belgian Trippel or Barley Wine that has had a bit of ageing. But essentially it tastes and smells and drinks like a sparkling wine. So what makes it a beer? 

If it was served to me blind and I was told it wasn't a wine, my second guess would be one of those strong, over-sophisticated sparkling bottled ciders or perries that were briefly in fashion in the late 1980s. Merrydown. Country Manor. Remember those?

More fruit than beer
I certainly wouldn't bank on it being a beer. (Obviously, having been informed that it was a beer, there was a part of me wondering what it would be like in cask!)

Another example is the trend for 'Smoothie' sours from breweries like Azvex and Vault City. Typically extremely fruity, highly delicious, and 'so thick it clogs up the lines', according to staff at The Hope.

I've enjoyed many of these beers, usually from keg, though the texture means they're not exactly 'fizzy', and I keep wondering if they're really, truly beer. 

If somebody told me it was just a fruit smoothie, with a bit of alcohol added prior to serving, I'd not be surprised. What makes it a beer when all the evidence of traditional brewing, conditioning and fermentation isn't really there any more? 

Buying yourself an Innocent Smoothie and adding a shot of vodka would be magnitudes cheaper and you might not be able to taste the difference. 

Has anyone actually been to the brewery to observe these 'beers' being brewed end-to-end? Is there a secret room out back, with a load of empty Innocent bottles?!? 

Look, I enjoy these drinks, I'm not here to keep gates or to try and impose a 21st century Neorheinheitsgebot on the industry, and I really appreciate and welcome innovation in beer. In whatever form it might take.  

There's just a part of me that can't help but say 'hang on a moment... is it really beer?'

Really? 

Really and truly?

Beer?

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