Head barman Sean-Lee Soon: “My favourite right now is Boulevard Brewing Single Wide IPA and Sazerac Rye six year. They have mutual citrus and caramel flavours, but the spiciness of the rye cuts through the heavier, hoppier IPA.”
Reach for them when: A package addressed to you splits open in reception, revealing to everyone a preposterous amount of bulk-bought Minstrels.
Co-founder Andy Kerr: “The boilermaker that stays with me is from eight years ago. I was with a friend, sitting outside a bar in Brooklyn, drinking a cold Brooklyn Summer Ale and a Woodford Reserve. Even now, those two together bring back great memories and for me, it’s the perfect serve.”
Reach for them when: Your “my treat!” trip to Pret becomes someone’s cue to finally try that £8 iced soil and gingerbread frap. “Turns out it’s sh*t!” they crow, gleefully discarding the remaining 99%.
Bar manager Haydn Gelling: “I think boilermakers are perfect for when you’re indulging in an epic burger, especially when you’ve got a Flying Dog Snake Dog and Whistle Pig 10-year-old rye to hand. Snake Dog has a caramel finish which works well with fattier foods, and the whiskey’s smoky butterscotch taste was practically made for BBQ sauce.”
Reach for them when: A group email reveals you’re saved as “The Podgy Nuisance” in a colleague’s address book.
Bar manager Barney Toy: “Without a single doubt, the best combo is Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and Rittenhouse Rye. The flavours combine so harmoniously to bring out a buttery taste that’s dangerously easy to drink.”
Reach for them when: You keep overhearing your job title in sentences with “unexpected Brexit pressures”, “chopping the low-hanging fruit” and “what does that even mean, Russell?”
Head bartender Jemma Baverstock: “Always Bulleit Bourbon and Brooklyn Lager. The sweet vanilla and nuttiness stands out and the caramel malt gives a refreshing bitterness. I do have a golden rule when it comes to drinking it, though: it’s gotta go in one. It’s not a long drink, it shouldn’t be paused over. Get it down!”
Reach for them when: Lunchtime of your first day mentoring the boss’ teenage son sees you wailing at his trouser leg, begging him not to out you as an incompetent, lost-in-the-system chancer.
The skinny-jeaned corpse of 2007 indie is risen and dragging its battered Converse to a venue near you
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