Virgin Mary (with a nasty surprise)

There’s nothing inherently wrong with Beck’s Blue. If you don’t think of it as beer, but instead class it as a nice hoppy, malty drink, it’s OK.

But.

The bar was bustling. It had been a micro brewery before re-opening recently. Before that it was a police station, perhaps that was an omen.

There was a pretty good selection of gin and all its friends. I had hope.

“What have you got non-alcoholic?”

“Er, we have Beck’s Blue?”

Shit. It’s almost always an instant filter that excludes a venue from succeeding in the challenge of The Mission. It’s like a huge flashing neon sign that says “We read Stock Your Bar for Dummies and it works for us!”

“All these lovely beers and you serve Beck’s Blue? Do you not know of the enormous selection of near indistinguishable alcohol free versions of big brand…” I thought better of it.

Big Anks just wanted to order and get drinking and I was about to start waving my hands around like a street preacher in Hyde Park. That would irk both barkeep and colleague.

“Fuck it; I’ll have a virgin mary.”

The ritual began. Mysterious plastic bottle of red stuff. Celery. Something I couldn’t see.

And then.

Bacon.

Fucking bacon.

In my drink.

In a pub.

This was a terrible thing to lay on someone about to face a night with five professional drinkers. A drink with bacon lying on top served in cocktail glassware was too far over the precipice of acceptable things to drink when not drinking.

I skulked off hoping I could pull off a giant bowl of tomato juice with fried pork and celery poking out the top. It didn’t have the same style as my trademark double single malt in a straight sided tumbler with one ice cube. It didn’t really resemble a Virgin Mary either. I blame Jaimie Oliver.

Verdict – fail.