Passing the taste test
Is the UK ready for a low-alcohol version of one of its favourite drinks? Phil Dixon gets to grips with Carling's new C2 lager
You just never know what fortune holds when you answer the phone. "Phil, is that you? Derek (Longstaff) from Coors here. Would there be any chance of you doing a continuous set of serious legal seminars through the afternoon at our trade fair at the Molineux next month?"
I clear my throat and am about to embark on a high-pitched, tonal, transvestite impression stating: "The mobile you are calling may be switched off," when Derek adds: "All our sales force are BII (British Institute of Innkeeping) members and looking forward to seeing you. They'd love you to try a new super- beer and take away some samples."
"I'd be delighted to do it," I acquiesce quickly.
At the fair, having bored the attendees rigid with three seminars in three hours, I made my way to the bar.
"Derek, can't wait to try the new beer. Let me guess - is it Grolsch Super?"
"No, Carling C2. It's our new super low-
alcohol lager."
Now, when it comes to lagers, I'm a closet Belgian. I prefer my beers like my first girlfriend: strong and blonde. However, as someone who has played (and still does play) sport at weekends, I do have an understanding of how a nice, cool beer with a low abv would go down well. Indeed, I have felt miffed with Mr Rob Marijnen of Heineken for abandoning the Whitbread version. This was a lager that almost tasted like a beer you could drink three or four pints of (slowly) and probably still be able to drive home under the legal limit.
The first impression of C2 is that it is a rather fine piece of merchandising, available on draught or in an attractive bottle or can. It is an innovative - but not unique - product.
I have to inform Coors that Tesco "super- value" lager has been around for a while and is also a 2% abv offering.
Time for some blind testing: standing in a queue behind people buying Tesco value lager at 86p for four cans creates one of those therapeutic moments. It's a powerful reminder that life could be so much worse.
As I approach the checkout I am reminded of the time I bought my mother a Neil Diamond CD and spent 10 minutes trying to convince the checkout person that it was a present.
"I'm just buying the lager for an article in the Morning Advertiser," I explain to the Tesco lady.
I detect she is not convinced. "He protests too much," she must be thinking.
On arriving home I decide to conduct the experiment immediately. I call upstairs to the beloved one to find a blindfold.
"It's not your birthday until October," is the immediate, firm response.
"It's to taste some low-alcohol lagers, actually," I retort.
"I hope you're getting paid for this!"
Ten minutes later we're sitting outside on a sunny day under the shade of a buddleia tree. Two glasses arrive; the blindfold is removed and the test commences.
Glass A looks good, but tastes a bit weak. It reminds me of mid-range stuff the Aussies made the "Barmy Army" drink at stadiums during the last Ashes series.
Glass B does not look as golden or have as good a head; it also tastes weak and is slightly perfumed.
Ideal for slug traps, is the Dixon verdict.
A lifelong relationship with Carling (Coors) hangs in the balance.
"I prefer Glass A," I announce. "So which one is it? The Tesco cheapy or the multi-
million pound C2?"
The beloved one keeps me on tenterhooks. "It is...the C2!"
Phew! Relief for all concerned.
But there is one slight problem with C2 - and that lies with British consumers. During the past 25 years, have they ever been comfortable posing with weak lagers? Remember those awful Barbican adverts? There is a party and everyone is laughing and fooling around - except the boring, miserable person in the corner who is wearing a tank top and drinking Barbican.
So I have to conclude that I remain uncertain about the future of C2. Great name, terrific support and, theoretically, a sound proposition - but will the demand be there and can a nation overcome its prejudices in a short period of time? I doubt it, but I would be happy to be proved wrong.
phildixoncmbii@aol.com
Scandinavia - not qUite such a healthy role-model
Once smoke-free Britain has finally come of age, there is a general view that the health lobby will descend upon the sector like a ton of Hogsheads! No doubt, Scandinavia will be held up as a shiny example of where we should be going policy-wise with its attempts to curb alcohol-consumption levels.
Now, despite being relatively well-travelled, I have never ventured north of Hamburg, mainly for two reasons: firstly, because I felt confident that one day Carlsberg would finally get around to fulfilling their 1981 promise : "You must come and see the beautiful city of Copenhagen"; and secondly because of the three words that often follow the mention of Scandinavia: "bloody expensive beer".
It is a fact that many in the health lobby highlight Sweden as a model country of controlled alcohol distribution, high taxation and, therefore, prices. It was while reading the British Beer & Pub Association's (BBPA) annual statistics for 2006 that I discovered that Sweden's taxation levies are something of a myth. Beer: 30.6p per pint of 5% abv (UK 37.7p per pint). Wine: 121.5p per bottle compared to our (at the time) 129.1p. Spirit taxation is, admittedly, higher.
As for the effect of the policy, I offer an extract from a book by the distinguished and very funny travel writer Tim Moore.
The book - Frost on My Moustache - retraces the travels of Lord Dufferin in 1856 around Scandinavia. Its title is derived from an old joke about a man whose car breaks down in the remotest part of Iceland. Eventually the Eskimo AA person arrives, opens the bonnet and exclaims: "I think you have blown a seal."
"No, it's just frost on my moustache," replies the driver.
I commend his observations about the result of high prices and controlled distribution, which leads to an adolescent reliance on the dreaded "home-brew" throughout Scandinavia.
"In my nine weeks away, I saw more deeply drunk people - people with no control of their necks, people arguing with seagulls, people so dangerously wayward that everyone weaved out of the way and stared back with horrified intrigue in the expectation that they'd imminently fall off a quay or steal a tram - than I think I've seen in the previous 10 years in London. And they weren't crusties or Scotsmen, just smartly dressed 15 to 17-year-old boys and girls, opticians' sons, travel agents' daughters. In Bergen I saw a terrible, vicious street fight breaking out amongst some very young, obviously well-to-do girls behaving like rival gangs of Tyneside tarts on glue. And it was only 8.30pm."
Not quite the example for Britain (or Newcastle), I would argue.
