Cooper's Sparkling Ale hangover review
Sparkling Ale
Sparkling Ale is a cruel temptress indeed. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve forgiven her abuses and welcomed her back, only to be left a broken, mumbling shell of a man once more. She’s a good-time girl; I always believe she’ll change but inevitably wake up in the morning wrapped in a mate’s curtain, without even so much as a note, feeling cheap and used. And very, very ill. With that in mind, I decided to go out on one last bender to review for you all the miracle of toxicity that is the Sparkling Ale hangover. Enjoy.
I remembered very little of the night before. When I woke up, I was under a hedge. I raised my head and bits of dry leaf and bark clung momentarily to my cheek before dropping off, leaving a distinct imprint. I rolled my tongue in my mouth, and noted with satisfaction the furriness of it; fine in texture yet robust in construct. I took a few experimental puffs through my nose and caught the delightful bouquet of garlic sauce and digestive juices. Too many hangovers are heavy handed in their scent and cover the memory of burgers consumed the night before while swaying on a Pultney St Hungry Jack’s table. Not this time. Top notch.
I moved my limbs one at a time, and my head exploded quite satisfactorily with every twitch of my muscles. I was getting the leaden thump we all expect from today’s advanced production processes, but the hand-brewed Sparkling still retained some of the classic charm of electric stabs behind the eyeballs. I employed the Hansaard-Quimby method of attempting to get up immediately, and Sparkling Ale came out with full marks as my body got a mere three inches from the leaf litter before crashing down once more. Perhaps you will memember my scathing review of the Cougar Bourbon hangover, where I managed to not only get up, but remain upright long enough to promise I’d ring her. Sparkling leaves that worthless piece of shit waaay back.
The critical test of the first eye opening was a pleasant surprise, with my eyelids glued shut by a gritty crust of mucus and bile. I finally cracked the left eye first and a shaft of late morning sunlight penetrated my retina with the most exquisite burst of pain I have felt in a long time. I was getting saddle leather and tannin, with just a hint of mulberry.
Then I moved to the recollection stage, whch is where many lower quality hangovers fall down. The icy feeling of regret was definitely there, and I did feel the initial waves of depression far back in my cerebral cortex. However, the Sparkling was just too high voltage for me to get the flashes of idiotic behaviour that really gets the piecing-together phase going. I was somewhat disappointed by this; the Ale quite cruelly left me with the conviction that things were said and and done I should be able to capitalise on, without the blurry recollections you need to truly wallow in self pity.
Fast forward to the stumbling into McDonalds, and the first sip of orange juice made my stomach turn in a manner reminiscent of the fearsome El Toro. I successfully swayed at the counter for a full five minutes while deciding my order, which was surprising given the fact I was reviewing an Ale rather than cheap spirit hangover. The screaming kids made me shudder like any good hangover should.
I had decided earlier in the review that Ale had failed the belch test, but directly after my first mouthful of Bacon&Egg a belch reared up like a rampaging stallion and flooded my sinus with the most wonderful scent. It was rendolent of curry, sulphur and oxidised iron, rounding off a most pleasant hangover experience.
In all, the Sparkling hangover is a miracle of modern technology, while still managing to hint at the hangovers Grandad used to have. I fully recommend them, but I would caution that it is not for the uninitiated, nor those from the US where their Budweiser hangovers are the most insipid pieces of crap I have ever had the misfortune to review. 9/10
