There's A Cobra In My Curry (Cobra Beer)

Member Name: marandina

Product:	Cobra Beer
Date:	17/02/02 (206 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Smooth and tasty

Disadvantages: A tad spicy

For a few seconds, the author was transported to grander times when the Raj was omnipresent and the British ruled the Indian sub-continent. He pictured elephants washing in the river Ganges, straddled by hard working locals swigging their Cobra beer.

He looked into the bottom of the beer glass and reflected on the events that had gone before. How he enjoyed a nice Cobra but it had been such hard work getting to drink it!

Things never worked out between the author and the girl of his dreams. It turned out that she was a heavy smoker (he wasn’t so keen on smokers) and a somewhat loose woman. Whilst this may have had it's advantages, on this occasion the proliference of current boyfriends present meant that romantic involvement was a bad idea.

In the meantime, the bottles of buds had scooted. An open kitchen window saw them make for the exit and disappear into the night. The author had discovered this as he had reached absently for a bottle during mid conversation with the girl. As he clutched at thin air, he turned to see the last bottle vanishing over the sill.

Things weren't going well at all. Could they get any worse? Of course they could, Barry re-appeared. "Any joy then?" he asked with a slightly lop-sided grin. By now Barry was into double figures in terms of pints and had entered his leering phase.

"No, not really. If I'd have made a move on her I would have been in trouble with all of her other suitors."

"Suitors? What kind of word is that?" asked a quizzical Barry. "It's rather like courting, years out of date. Anyway, fancy a ruby?"

"OK, why not?" and the author reached for his Nokia 3310 (as recommended on Dooyoo) and called a cab.

Standing outside for some fresh air, our heroes awaited the arrival of their flaming chariot. Just as they were beginning to think that they’d been forgotten they heard the screech
of rubber and a Vauxhall Cavalier skidded to a halt beside them. They slid onto the back seat ready to make the short trip into town.

"Hi, my name's Mad Cabbie. Where's it to boys?" The driver proclaimed. Through the murk they could see a fierce looking Celt wearing a cap. He also sported a little gold earring in the shape of a golf club. "Royal Bengal, Bridge Street, please" Barry requested.

The cab pulled away. As they settled for the journey the author could have sworn he heard the faint chink of bottles. He put it down to his over active imagination or an extremely keen milkman.

Barry glanced across at the author and then at the cab driver. "So why Mad Cabbie then?" he asked tentatively.

"I drive a cab and I'm mad." He replied.

"Fair enough." Said Barry as he slumped back into his seat intent on no further questioning of the stoical Scotsman.

The cab pulled up outside the restaurant and Barry settled up with Mad Cabbie (giving him a larger than usual tip). Mad Cabbie pulled away with a steely expression on his face. You were left with the impression that he would pick up more fairs before the night was out.

"Wouldn’t want to catch him in an alley on a dark night." Barry reflected.

The Royal Bengal was a cut above your normal curry house. Full-length pictures of tigers adorned the walls suggesting a typically eastern scene. Tasteful arches separated the tables, which were close to capacity being their busiest time. Not just your ordinary flock wallpaper here.

The boys were ushered into their seats. It was a typical curry house scene for that hour. Laddish revellers that had had too much to drink occupied several tables. The occasional reference to "Gungadin" and other passé comments filled the air as the stags enjoyed the traditional end to a boy's night out. In one corner was the obligator
y couple that looked like a mass of arms and legs as they discovered their carnal pleasures without being put off by an audience.

One of the waiters eased over to our heroes and beckoned them to order. "Just a chicken madras for me, mate together with Pilau rice and kheema nan. Oh and can I try the house beer?" ordered the author. "I may as well have the same. I’ll try your beer as well as long as it’s not Budweiser." Implored Barry.

A few seconds later and the traditional starters were in front of the boys. The waiter returned with a couple of bottles of beer along with glasses in which to pour them. Barry grabbed the bottle and looked long and hard at the label.

"Cobra…what’s that then?" He asked.

The waiter looked at him pensively and replied "It’s an extra smooth, premium lager from India. The beer originated in Bangalore and is brewed to an authentic Indian recipe. It’s made from maize, hops and rice. As you can see from the bottle, it’s a healthy 5% alcohol by volume and comes in a distinctive brown bottle with a gold label. As the name suggests, the beer is characterised by the picture of a Cobra on the front of the bottle with a further label on the neck proclaiming the beer to be extra smooth."

"Don’t tell me, I’ll bet it’s got it’s own website too?" Suggested the author.

"Funny you should so that" came the reply. "It does, indeed, have it’s own site. The main page is flash enabled with an interactive menu. It’s entitled "Lessons in lager" and includes sections on Geography, Fizzics, History, Chemistry, Art, Economics, Biology, Homework, English literature and Social Studies.

An example of one would be Fizzics which deals with the science of bubbles in beer explaining how Cobra beer minimises the amount of gas for a smoother pint. Each option i
s in a book format giving out a school type of feel to it. There is an arrow pointing at the books suggesting that one of them should be chosen.

You could learn all about the history of the beer from the site should you so wish. You’ll find it at cobrabeer.com."

At this juncture one of the revellers from the adjacent table lent backward to add "Cobra beer was invented by Karan Bilimoria. It seems that a chance introduction to Indian Army Messes gave him the opportunity to develop his Indian beer. He persuaded the brewery to develop his brand solely for export. In June 1990 the first consignment arrived on these shores having been blessed by Indian priests. It is now one of the fastest growing beer brands in the UK and available in major outlets like Tesco. You can buy a 660ml bottle for £1.99."

For a few seconds the tables went silent after which a raucous cacophony of laughter could be heard throughout the restaurant. The laddish crew had launched into a series of drink induced barbs that combined to humble the interloper who wished he hadn’t spoken.

The lads looked at the interloper and then at the beer. This seemed like much more detail than they wanted. The author wondered whether he would actually get to drink it.

"You may as well tell ‘em what it tastes like while you’re at it." Suggested one of the other revellers.

"Well, its kinda stout-esqe with a hint of spice. I guess it would make a perfect accompaniment to an Indian meal. It’s certainly not a mainstream lager yet but becoming something of a cult amongst curry eaters. On the whole, yeah...I'd recommend it."

By now the boys really were thirsty and they reached for their respective bottles. Before they had chance to pour their prizes, Barry felt a tap on the shoulder. He arced slowly around and found himself looking down at a pair of Doc Martens. As his eyes slowly panned up
, the weather beaten face of a Scotsman came into view. It was Mad Cabbie.

"I believe these belong to one of you." He stated simply, parking a carrier bag onto the table. The bud’s filed out sheepishly.

"Where did you find ‘em?" The author asked.

"Only in ma boot!" Mad C replied. "I assume they’re yours as one of ‘em spoke to me in the cab."

At this point Barry had had enough. He jumped to his feet and legged it out of the front door.

"What’s up wi' him?" Asked the Scotsman.

The author looked on as the soles of Barry's shoes disappeared out of sight leaving scorch marks on the flooring. He looked up at the genial Scot and said "I think he’s decided to go teetotal."



Editors note: No bottles of beer were harmed in the making of this opinion.

My thanks to Ken John for being the inspiration behind the character "Mad Cabbie". The name is where the similarities begin and end as Ken is a true gentlemen (please don’t sue me, Ken).

Summary: