In the good old days, pubs gave you a simple choice between a pint of Tennent’s or a punch in the face, both of which were welcomed like the embrace of an old friend. Then came craft beer, and with it a tsunami of flavours, hues and viscosity levels. Now, in this Jetsons age where everyone’s getting pissed-up from a microbrewery in their garage, even scheme pubs have IPA on tap, and it’s difficult to discuss beer without highfalutin terms like ‘mouthfeel’, ‘sessionability’ or ‘wet hopped’ infecting the conversation. I’m a sucker for trends as much as any drinks reviewer, so let’s sample three craft beers of the pale ale variety and see if they tickle our tonsils.
 

First on the bar tab is Stewart Brewing Ka Pai South Pacific Pale Ale, a light and fruity number that parades the taste of mango with single-minded zealotry. It’s as good as any drink from Stewart Brewing, yet its over-reliance on tropical overtones creates the impression that this pale ale is designed for someone who doesn’t particularly like beer. Although machine-tooled for the populous palate, South Pacific remains a step up from the mono-flavour of its arch-rival BrewDog. Approachability’s part of the point, so think of it as a gateway to purer beer and enjoy yourself.

The same can’t be said for Edinburgh Beer Factory Untitled IPA, a smoky, malt-centred delight that welcomes you into the domain of unfettered booze. Despite a strong malt overtone, Untitled would make a stilt walker jealous for its faultless balance of hoppiness and milder fruity aftertaste. Keep flying the alcoholic flag, Untitled: I love you.

For liver lovers comes the alcohol-free Drynks Unlimited Smashed Pale Ale. It looks like beer, it tastes like beer (a bit), and the label loudly proclaims ‘PALE ALE’ in a doth-protest-too-much fashion. But Smashed’s overall sensibility is like an encounter with a shapeshifting alien masquerading as your lover. This skin-wearing impostor gets the gist, but its Martian touch is woefully unable to hit the pleasure points of the real thing, leaving you with the limp swirl of barley lingering on your unstimulated tongue. Smashed I was not, impressed even less so.