Beavertown - Black Betty

Coincidences just happen, that's why they're called coincidences, but there have been too many concerning Black Betty for me to not suspect that something sinister is afoot. Throughout the last year I have heard mention of Black Betty by Beavertown, either on the wind or through the grape vine. I was even recommended it several months ago but I opted for something more traditional, more austere, let's face it, something much more boring. So it was that I ended up, sitting on a bar stool which jabbed two steel bars into my upper thigh, resting my arm on a reconstituted barrel, in St. Pancras station, drinking something that, at the time, was the most welcome thing I could have found. To put this in context I had been on my travels, as you would expect when one is at a station, and I was doing what I normally did; sifting through the human traffic with my headphones on like a salmon would gracefully swim up stream. I was, however, starting to tire but then I spotted it, a deli/bottle emporium (Sourced, a definite recommendation) with a modest range of exquisite bottled beauties from around the globe, a selection that included the likes of Partizan and Orkney, Kernel and, of course, Beavertown (...ok that's just London and Scotland but there were more!) They had a decent range of Beavertown but my eye was drawn to Black Betty, the beer that had been stalking me, haunting me, the beer that had finally confronted me out in the open. It would've been rude to refuse, especially after all this time.

I did my usual critic thing of sniffing at the glass like a blood hound, momentarily arousing the suspicion of a man to my left who was reading the The Telegraph and drinking a pint of Old Thumper, obviously a man of limited taste, and what I got was a bitter sweet, citrus, hop that was both mellow and imposing. It was the kind of smell that just stuck with you, but not the bad kind of sticking like a stalker or accidentally super glueing your hand to a bucket of mad porcupines. No, this is the good kind of sticking, the kind wolves experience after they have sex. Then I looked the glass up and down, firstly mourning the lack of one of MY glasses, but then appreciating how pretty Black Betty was, you might say she was a Black Beauty... If you were a dick. It was at that point that I mused to myself whether there was any better style of beer than the black IPA.

Not that I can think of.

I took a sip of this smooth and bitter mistress, enjoying the subtle sweetness that shot around my mouth as if the beer itself was toying with me. This, I realised, was a beer that was both refreshing and warming but no more than any other beer is either of those things; what this beer does better than any other I've found to date is mend the battered spirit.

Maybe I wasn't quite telling the truth earlier when I described my experience with London. I wasn't the majestic salmon swimming gracefully up a crystal stream; I was a lump fish bumping into angry molluscs and getting lost and stranded in muddy puddles. That all changed when I got to St. Pancras and had a bottle of Beavertown's Best, the bubbling behemoth that is Black Betty. I chugged her down in a matter of minutes and I was a different man, I was confident, I walked with a strut, I marched to my hotel like a man possessed before promptly passing out after a session at the bar. Granted this may have had more to do with the generous 7.4% of the beer but I swear that the taste of the beer reminded me of something special, like a love once lost... Or finding a 20 in your pocket.

There is no such thing as an elixir of life but if I had to pick a substitute, I'd pick this.

Food Suggestion: Stop thinking about food! Can't you just enjoy the moment?!

Drink this if you like: Dalston Black by Brodie's or Scanner Darkly by Kernel/Brodie's. I've not had the latter as yet but if you like black IPAs and you like craft beer then a mingling of minds between Kernel and Brodie's has to whet your whistle a little. Drink Black Betty if you like singing to your beer. Whooooo-oa Black Betty, Bam-a-lam, get in my face, bam-a-lam.