Stella - evil in a can?

straight

wings cru
ive really started to enjoy the old stellas, can it really be true in the ads that there are no weird additives. i like how its a beer but it feels like drugs.
 

Mr. Tea

Let's Talk About Ceps
ive really started to enjoy the old stellas, can it really be true in the ads that there are no weird additives. i like how its a beer but it feels like drugs.

There's every possibilty that weird psychoactive trace compounds are made in the brewing process. There needn't necessarily be anything funny in the ingredients, it could all be down to the yeast strain. Little burly, tattooed yeast cells in microscopic string vests. :D

I feel an erowid 'experience report' coming on:

Substance: Stella Artois, 11(?) cans, oral
Setting: park/mate's flat/nightclub/kebab house/brothel/police cell

..........
 

luka

Well-known member
All lager that comes out of a can, and when you drink it straight out of a can, tastes of metal. That is the point! And the gas is far worse. Gassy, gassy, very gross. Glass tastes nicer.

Stella is rotten, though. Carling is more evil, because it's cheaper, and makes you loutish, and causes you to take your jeans off in laundrettes. It induces crazy behaviour, like skunk.

Grosch absolutely reeks of weed, and is extra gassy. I don't know why people respect it just because of its national origin. It's nasty.

Big bottles of San Miguel are bad, bad things.

Indian lagers in bottles taste really wrong, almost have an undertow of fish guts. I can't quite place my finger on that though; could be personal psychosis.

Leffe in a bottle is a bad idea, but a better option, not quite there with the lovely special glasses you get in pubs. Though I once found a bar in Shepherd's Bush thats served Leffe in pints. I'd just been paid 100 euros for talking about Shakespeare to a coach load of South Korean students for an hour as we stalked through thick traffic. I had a date on the other end and, as the bar also took euros, I spent a lot of my wage on food for us, whiskey for her, and pints of Leffe for me. Disaster! By midnight I'd proposed to her, on my knees, on the steps of a Catholic church, as she tried to drag me back to her house for my own safety. Though she did say "yes" so I'd obviosuly got her very drunk too.

The real evil is Alpa red wine, sold as 2 bottles for a fiver in Clapton and Bow by 24 hr Turkish and Kurdish grocers, that I gorged during 2003 and 2004, and saw me through heartbreak and blog writing, but ripped my guts to pieces, and taught me about the seven levels of hangover.

You have to graduate to Rioja at some point, simply for your health. Rioja caused an Italian giallo obssession, weirdly.

My many moments of alcoholic hell; stages of shame and their repercussions.

great post. one of the best.
 

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