I drank and rated every beer in Falmer Bar

I did it so you don’t have to


A while back a Tab Sussex reporter drank every beer in East Slope. He enjoyed the experience so much that he thought someone should attempt the same feat at Falmer Bar. As a fresher and a moron, I put my name forward.

To recap, I had to down every beer and cider on tap, rating each pint along the way. My ego said I could do it. Logic said I couldn’t. Seriously though, how hard could it be?

The lining of the stomach phase

On the advice of my far more intelligent house-mates, I cooked a biblical amount of pasta to line my stomach. This would be a gruelling, hazy marathon, and I would need every ounce of my Dolmio and fusilli masterpiece to guide me through it.

The first pint: Blue Moon

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Strolling towards the bar brimming with misguided confidence, I began my quest towards chronic liver poisoning with the pump on the far left. Thankfully, this is the sweet and light Blue Moon craft beer, with the rating of 7/10. It can be downed scarily easily, which lured me into a false sense of security.

The painful second pint: Symonds 

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Fuck me, Symonds is grim. After the American fairy dust that is Blue Moon, it slams into the back of your throat like a gassy sledgehammer, bringing it in at a 4/10.  This pain slowed my progress a tad but with friends already doubting my drinking abilities, I carried on.

To aid this earnest and comprehensive review, I attempted to take down notes about each pint on my phone. Blurred by the increasing tipsiness, I simply describe my next drink – Amstel – as ‘bloody beautiful’ – coming in at a 8/10.

The last of the summer cider: Somersby

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The Somersby represented the conclusion of the cider phase, where the real damage was done. I smashed it down, which was a mistake. Whilst the 7/10 was lovely and somehow refreshing, even after three drinks, I desperately needed to pee. This, as we all know, is the kiss of death on a night out.

It opened the floodgates and I was now getting seriously sloshed. Unfortunately, it also coincided with the dodgy patch of booze: Guinness, Kronenbourg and Fosters.

The worst export from Ireland: Guinness

I don’t care what you say, Guinness is a woeful metallic mess. However, as I queued in a fit of dread, awaiting the alcoholic kick in the balls that was to come, I discovered that they were running out.  They couldn’t pour me a proper pint but I managed to convince the bartender to give me the shit at the bottom of the barrel. Still disgusting, it’s a 2/10.

The boring drink of the night : Kronenbourg 

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The Kronenbourg was okay, if unexciting. I wouldn’t normally drink it, but after the Guinness it reset my taste buds nicely, so I gave it a 5/10. By this stage, my opinions of each beer blur into one. I was getting seriously trashed, and I can’t recall much about the drinks – or indeed anything. I remember being told that they had run out of a German beer, which struck one off the list.

Fosters.

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The next beer on the list, which is Fosters, is just what you expect Fosters to be like. A solid 3/10.

The gold at the end of the rainbow: Seacider 

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So, with the Seacider in hand I was determined to reach the end and eternal glory. I also felt fucking dreadful. Having packed these pints into a few measly hours, I was becoming increasingly immobile. I can’t recall how I left the bar, but I somehow reached my mate’s flat, still sipping the poetic, Copella-like cider as I stumbled into the kitchen. Seriously, this stuff is beautiful. It’s like apple juice. Really, potently strong apple juice. It deserves 9/10.

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The following scenes though, are vividly burned across my mind. One moment I was bragging about how Seacider was the bomb, and the next I was hauled over a toilet, chucking it straight back up. Grim. Unfortunately there is no photographic evidence of this, because I was concentrating on not dying.

The next morning, I woke up on their sofa, tipsy and defeated. I pushed it as far as I could, and fell in the final throes. As I’m sure the open day families outside Swanborough – who watched me stumble past gormlessly – will agree, drinking every beer in Falmer is really bloody hard.