Hold a pint of Directors up to the light and you’ll notice that the colour of the beer matches the colour of the pump clip. There’s no coincidence there, the dark ruby red hue comes from the use of roasted barley in the brewing process. Directors stands as a true stalwart in the real ale world of micro brews, themed beers and seasonal ales. It also happens to be the favourite beer of Steve Coogan’s alter ego Alan ‘A-ha’ Partridge. Don’t let that put you off though, first brewed by Courage in the late 1700s and now owned by Wells and Young’s, this bitter really drinks easily. The 4.8% ABV delivers a fruity mouthful balanced with a strong hoppy finish. It goes down great with a Sunday lunch. The beer itself gets its name from the fact that the directors of the Courage brewery in Alton, Hampshire, used to reserve this brew for themselves as an in-house perk. Rumour has it that an employee sneaked a sample out to a local pub where it was greeted with great enthusiasm. The breweries directors were then persuaded to market it to the general public as Alton IPA. Locals knew what this new beer really was and called it Courage Directors, and eventually that name stuck. Well worth a try, if only to pay homage to Radio Norwich’s finest DJ, and most definitely best enjoyed at the hotel bar of a Linton Travel Tavern. GT

Forget the fact that it’s less Shilpa Shetty and more Jade Goody in origin, Cobra is a fine accompaniment to the UK’s favourite food – the Indian curry. The perfect tipple with which to wash down a late night tikka masala, Cobra was founded in London in 1989 by 27-year-old Cambridge graduate Karan Bilimoria, who saw great potential for a lager that was less gassy, leaving the drinker less bloated and with more room for food. Already carrying £20,000 of debt, Bilimoria sourced a suitable brewer in Bangalore and, from his flat in Fulham, began to import beer and sell it to London restaurants from the back of a Citroen 2CV. The beer quickly became as hot as a vindaloo, and Bilimoria became a millionaire. Now brewed in deepest Bedfordshire, Cobra is billed as ‘the UK’s fastest growing world beer’, and is sold in near-on 50 countries. The ‘less gassy’ factor doesn’t spoil the taste. It’s certainly not flat, more smooth, like all good lagers should be. It tastes clean, without any hint of harshness, and is deceptively strong. But there’s no real ‘kick’ of alcohol in either the flavour or aroma, and the aforementioned ‘smooth’ factor means three or four pints go down nice and easy. There are alcohol-free and low-calorie versions lurking out there, as well as the genuinely interesting 8% King Cobra – a double-fermented lager served in a champagne-style bottle. And of course, it really does go down well with a nice madras. DA

Light and refreshing, and served with a slice of lime in the bottle neck, Mexican lager Corona is a suitably pleasing summer tipple, effortlessly conjuring up images of sombreros, mariachis, tacos, piñatas, illegal US border crossings and Emiliano Zapata-style moustaches. ‘Corona’ means ‘crown’ in Spanish – although labelled ‘Corona Extra’, the ‘Extra’ bit is seldom used, or even noticed. But what’s with the lime? A pub bore might well try to convince you that it is intended to keep away flies, or to sanitise the bottle. Both explanations are myths. The truth is down to Corona’s clear glass bottle. Light makes hops-derived compounds degrade, which is why beer is traditionally stored in brown or green bottles. Clear bottles are cheaper to produce, but beer stored in clear bottles can produce a ‘skunky thiol’, which has a light but musty smell. The lime was originally inserted to mask the smell, and now adds a unique selling point to the brand. From skunky to funky courtesy of a simple slice of citrus. (Miller get around the ‘skunky’ problem in their clear bottles by adding an extra compound to their product – not nearly as interesting.) But what the hell is a ‘skunky thiol’? According to scientists at the University of North Carolina, who someone paid real money to study this question, it’s an analogue of a compound found in skunk glands. Suddenly that cold bottle of Corona doesn’t seem quite so refreshing. Ay, el estomago! PB

Brewed since 1904 and by appointment to no lesser establishment than the Danish Royal Court, Carlsberg Pilsner Beer is supposedly packed with the flavours of hops, grain, pine needles, summer apples and sorrel, whatever that is. Sounds like the perfect lubrication for the particularly Danish concept of cosiness and conviviality known as hygge (pronounced ‘hooger’), which loosely translates as either, ‘Brrr! Pint?’ or, ‘Sunshine! Fancy a couple of cans in the park?’ depending on the season. Carlsberg, when brewed in its native country and to its traditional strength, could well be – as their bold as brass adverts claim – probably the best beer in the world. (Admittedly, for the travelling connoisseur, the first round of drinks in a Copenhagen alehouse usually costs about the same as the flight there from the UK, but we’ll not dwell on that for longer than necessary.) The reality is, however, that the Carlsberg served in the pubs of Britain can be pretty much summed up by using one of the following words: piddle, widdle, wizz or wazz. Gone is the smooth malty dryness of the Danish recipe, and in its place a pale imitation, churned out by Tetley’s, and weakened for the less refined palates and hair-trigger temperaments of the Brits to a pitiful 3.8%. Castrated, declawed and stripped to its underwear, the resulting brew is utterly indistinguishable from the insipid likes of Foster’s or Carling or the contents of a dirty bucket left out in the rain. Now how the hell was that allowed to happen? MJ