By Jonathan McNamara
I've been told by several family members and friends that the number of drinks one should consume when looking to have a good time is three. "Thou shalt drink only three," they would say. "No more...no less." I was told not to drink four drinks or only two unless I then proceeded to three. Five, they said, was right out.
There are many drinks I would consume three of; Monty Python's Holy Grail Ale is not one of them.
After tasting this brew, it's not hard to imagine Importer Eurobrew, buying up case after case from the discount bins of UK liquor shops with aspirations of taking advantage of the well-documented weakness Americans have for British comedy and pushing this swill on us to make a tidy profit.
Tastes: like drinking a loaf of bread. I'm not a brew master; nor am I a baker, but I do know that a beer that tastes of activated yeast is not a good thing. Imagine slurping a loaf of Wonder Bread through a straw and you're about there.
I had mine: at Duck and Decanter while watching Lappy Hour mutts find new homes. My bartender assured me (when I asked) that Monty Python's Holy Grail Ale is more than just a novelty beer.
There is a certain level of excellence I would expect from anything with the Monty Python name stamped onto it. Maybe I should have only been expecting comedic excellence because the joke was certainly on me. While in possession of a brilliant label design (complete with a crossed out "G" and "R" in the word "Grail") it crucially lacks a decent tasting drink within its shapely brown bottle.
Goes with: Spam, spam, spam, spam, baked beans, spam, spam spam spam and spam and spam.
Verdict: The best thing about drinking Monty Python's Holy Grail Ale is calling up your friends to inform them of your discovery. No, really! It's Monty Python's Holy Grail Ale. And then like a curious wizard on the Bridge of Death, the excitement is hurled into the void and you're left only with the knowledge that you bought into a novelty beer.
