Quilmes Cristal

Brewed by Cerveceria Malteria Quilmes SAICAY (InBev)
Style: Pale Lager
Buenos Aires, Argentina

Bottle. A yellow pour with an average head. A floral hop aroma. The taste is nice, crisp hops. A light bitter finish. Better than some lagers, but still not great.

Well, I quite like it. Crisp, malty lager with a pleasing bitterness leaning towards a (Belgian) pils. Pale gold with a rapidly vanishing head and skunky aroma...but could happily swig another. 355ml can from a Spanish Carrefour.

Sweet, watery, soapy pale lager. Not interesting but certainly thirst quenching. Go Argentina Go!!! (WK 2006)

Golden amber with white foamy head. Sour grassy hop aroma. Sweet tangy malt with little aftertaste.

Bottle. I drank this too long ago and forgot to rate it. I’ll come back and re-rate it as son as I try another!

It sounds obtuse, but the nose is extremely, well, lagery. Pours very clear straw colour. The taste is thirst-quenching and has a slightly distinctive bitterness, but the lingering finish is yeasty and unpleasant ad proves this beer for what it is - yet another lousy South American macro lager.

Bottle Cold Lager Glass. Very light aroma, light yellow color, with little head, taste primarily of water, followed by subtle sweetness of corn but mostly water, Very light and watery mouthfeel, between this and water it is a toss up.

For Scots of a certain age, the name ‘Argentina’ evokes a single searing memory: the national football team’s wretched World Cup campaign of 1978. For reasons that ignored our dismal sporting history, Scotland travelled to Argentina with dreams of glory. The national coach, an amiable buffoon called Ally McLeod, convinced our modest nation of five million souls that we were contenders to win the tournament. A collective madness gripped the nation. The team song, which included the lines, “We’ll really shake them up when we win the World Cup, cos Scotland are the greatest football team”, sold by the truckload. Harsh reality dawned with the first match, against Peru, when our ‘world-beaters’ were exposed as imposters. The great Teofilo Cubillas thrashed two majestic shots past our poodle-permed goalkeeper to complete a 3-1 rout. Worse was to follow: in the next match it took an Iranian own goal for Scotland to salvage a 1-1 draw against one of the tournament’s minnows. Our humiliation was total. It was then I realised I would have to take up the national hobby of drinking heavily to cope with the burden of being a Scottish sports fan. However, redemption of sorts came in the final match. The Scots could still qualify for the final stages of the tournament if they beat the highly-fancied Holland by three goals. The Dutch took an early lead. Yet there was hope. Scotland played with a flair and purpose that had been absent from earlier games. Dalglish equalised, Gemmill converted a penalty and Scotland were ahead. Then in the 68th minute came what many jingoistic Scots regard as the greatest goal of all time. Gemmill, a short bald man who looked like he knew his way around his local pie shop, collected the ball on the edge of the penalty box, dribbled past three defenders and insouciantly chipped the ball over the Dutch keeper. It was a goal in a million and suddenly Scotland were one goal from qualifying for the next round. The euphoria lasted three minutes, until Johnny Rep, one of several impossibly talented Dutch midfielders, scored with a thunderbolt from somewhere near the halfway line. Final score: Scotland 3, Netherlands 2. And so Holland and Peru advanced to the next stage and Scotland slunk home. This Argentinian lager is as pale as Ally McLeod’s complexion after Peru’s third goal and as headless as the performance against Iran. It smells as stale as McLeod’s game plans and as sulphurous as the editorials in the Scottish press. It’s as corny as the team song, as bitter as the memories and has as much guts as the defending against Peru. It finishes as poorly as the Scottish attack. That’s enough football similes for now - there’s a World Cup to be watched. Come on Scotland! Oh hang on - we’re not there. Ah well, perhaps it’s for the best... (330ml bottle from Purvis Cellars, Melbourne; bb 2/2/07)