Opening Lines

THE eyes have it. Blear. The previous night could be described as having been ‘a heavy one’.

Some drinking took place but not a ruinous amount. Those days are long gone. It was just a night of good company and talk. Although, according to the World Health Organisation standards, it was technically an episode of binge drinking but, sure what would they know? How could you go on a session with one of them lads? They’d be there in your white coats looking at you judgementally with their binge-o-meter. How do they expect Irish males to progress a conversation past “Did you see the match last night?” if we’re afraid of tipping into binge territory as soon as we get warmed up? Gah! World Health Organisation — WHO do they think they are anyway? After a bout of self-delusion, I remember something that immediately makes me feel better. I was drinking craft beer.

This put a whole new complexion on things. A hangover after a night on one of the multinational brands makes you feel dirty. You’ve once again been manipulated by their insidious advertising campaign involving a man-child doing a silly dance or running down a snowy mountain. But drinking craft beer? That’s practically an act of patriotism. Since each pint takes one person a year to hand-carve, you are creating a whole job by drinking it. Contrast that with the non-craft variety where a tree is cut down just for the sheer badness of it.

Craft beers do give you hangovers but because it’s so artisan the pain is more rustic like the ache you’d get from hours spent digging for truffles on a hillside in the Auvergne.

Where it was once the province of bearded pubs, craft beers are slowly colonising the traditional locals. Somewhere, a publican — the kind who would wipe the knife used to butter the white sliced pan (and level the top of a pint) off that back of their trousers — is looking suspiciously at a bottle of ‘Devil’s Collar-bone’ ale. “We’re just after getting this stuff in. (They bought six bottles.) Would you try it? It’s supposed to be all the go above in Dublin.”

As well as the craftsmanship and the ingredients, another key element is good design. The labels look folksy, Victoriana or Mad Men. It makes you feel good about doing bold things.

The same principle is applied when a restaurant serves a burger on a piece of slate. You’re not stuffing your face — you’re in an art gallery ‘redefining our perception of Burger’. Or when they serve chips in a little wire basket as if to saying “Look at our fresh wild chips, just caught this morning.” I’ve seen mashed potato in a little saucepan. It’s only a matter of time before the bread arrives inside a small oven.

Artisan beer-makers will know that they have truly arrived when their bottles are found dumped in bags at scenic locations. In order to make serious money, your product has to be bought by ar*eholes as well.

Either way, I will continue to sample them — responsibly, of course. You don’t know WHO might be watching.