Snakebite: A facetious name for a cheap drink, drunk by drunk Aussie backpackers in the UK, typically made from the blandest lager and sweetest cider; often served in jugs, with complete abandon as to the well-being of those who consume this apogee of expat libation.
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A couple years ago, rogue winemaker turned brewer, Ashley Huntington of Two-Metre-Tall Brewery in Tasmania, had served his own version of Snakebite to those willing to pay the $485 per-person degustation cover charge to dine at the Australian pop-up version of NOMA - regarded as one of the best restaurants in the world. It was hailed as a triumph by the well-heeled and lucky diners who were greeted with an on-arrival glass of this wild, slightly sour, cloudy amber beverage, which was indirectly inspired by drunk Aussie expats drinking at a Walkabout pub on a Friday night.
"When one of the best restaurants in the world said they were looking to me to create the opening beverage to serve to each and every guest who walked in the front door, it seemed logical that I should honour it by naming it after a drink with one of the worst reputations in the world," Huntington says.
After the success of Snakebite, it seemed logical to Huntington that he should follow up this paradox of haute brassage and try blending a three-year-old dry cider with a freshly brewed black ale.
"Given my experience to date, I had an inkling it would work, as the richer, darker flavours of the black ale would be refined, acidified, and lengthened when blending it with the cider," Huntington says. "My thought was that the result might be similar to a red wine, in terms of complexity and ability to be pair well with food ...
"The freshness of coffee, malt and biscuit notes inherent in a freshly brewed dark ale are lifted and made more complex when blended with the mature cider."
The result is Black Snake.
A dark and precisely wild variant of the original Snakebite; confronting for the uninitiated, though, less facetious than its predecessor, more finessed.
Confrontation is a signature of almost all of Ashley Huntington's fermented beverages. His beers wield a heady sensorial set of aromas, flavours and textures - especially when compared with most beers. At first glance, they smell strange, they taste odd, and they feel weird. Yet, an archaic resonance sounds somewhere in the mind.
"The key here is the qualifier, 'confronting, when compared with most beers'," Huntington says. "We, the broad church of drinkers, have had the real flavours of fermentation eradicated from our collective palate experience over many decades now ... But the historical knowledge still resides somewhere in our brain. These 'strange' flavours, however, are written into our DNA."
Venomous critics dismiss Huntington's Snake-like brews too rashly. Innate or not, there is no doubt we have a maverick in our midst. One who brews beer by instinct, with help from a few million beneficial microbes and some encouragement from one of the best restaurants in the world.
