1 – Ale and Lager are indeed very different – something I had to learn rather quickly. Obviously, the brewing processes are most certainly not the same. The yeast is not the same. The conditioning is not the same. The serving is not the same. Most importantly, the acceptance of each is not the same. I had to learn fairly sharpish that even if the lager you serve is a premium bohemian Pilsner, all spicy saaz, no fruity esters, perfect malt balance, crisp and clean and the most perfect representation of a brewing style ever – you serve that to a man in a purple jacket and a CAMRA guide under his arm and you have single handedly declared war on all that is good and pure in this world.

2 – In England, when pouring a beer, listen closely to the accent of your customer. The general rule of thumb is that if they sound like they’re from above Birmingham, you pull them a proper beer – one with a head about the width of you thumb. If they tend to lengthen their vowels and your mind immediately pictures them singing sea shanties or drinking cider, make sure you all but ruin their beer by filling it right to the brim – failure to do so will result in vehement complaints of being ripped off. It’s fair to note that this is perhaps the only evidence I have so far come across that suggests that southerners are more stingy than northerners.

3 – If you don’t know what the beer you are serving tastes like, make something up! Usually the name will give it away (most Brewers will choose a name from the hops they used to make the beer, you can usually tell if the beer will taste spicy, piney or like tropical fruit i.e. British, American or Antipodean hops) but if not, you can simply tell someone it tastes quite hoppy, has a good ‘nose’ on it or has great malt character and that, due to psychological trickery, is what they will then taste.

I looked into his eyes, took a deep breath, mustered every scrap of sincerity and said “Yes, of course I love beer!” He looked back at me and grinned. This was my first meeting with the General Manager of my new workplace – The Beer Bar.

What I hadn’t counted on with that first breath of insincere arse-kissing was that within just a few weeks I would be able to pronounce those words with what would almost pass as heartfelt sincerity. At the time I was just trying to land the job – a job as an enthusiastic beer lover who could reel off 100 facts about beer in the first minute of waking in the morning, in that groggy half sleep where most people struggle to find the edge of the bed, this beer lover would gladly jump to and trill happily all the way to work, singing the praises of what I could (at the time) only see as a bitter and gassy pint of brackish piss.

I got the job.

My first shift was positively bewildering – mainly due to the sheer number of people who seemed to genuinely enjoy drinking beer. It also didn’t help that I was expected to know which beers came out of each of the 30 odd taps, what they were, how they tasted and even which customer would enjoy which one! I mean, they all looked, smelt and tasted the same, how the hell did these people even tell the difference?

I resigned myself to a life of insincere servitude; to beer and to the people who love to drink it. I would smack my lips and nod convincingly and spout all kinds of bollocks and they would never know my dirty secret. 

What I hadn’t counted on was the incomprehensible way in which beer can take hold, flirt, tease and tangle a person. Before I knew it, I was completely enchanted. 

It took me a single night to fall in love. And this is just the beginning. 
Bottoms up!