I rise at 7:30. After a very good sleep. But still feel a bit knacked. Hopefully breakfast will liven me up. Plenty of coffee should do the job.
The breakfast buffet is pretty impressive. Except . . . no real bacon. Just weird turkey bacon. They do have fried eggs, though. Two types, even: over easy and sunny-side up. I get one of the latter. Along with some cheese and a slice of wholemeal toast. Plus orange juice and coffee. I only have one mouthful of the fake bacon. Not very nice. I won't be bothering with that again.
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The judging room is right next to the restaurant. Which is handy. It saves so much time and effort. The latter being very important for oldies like me. We’re supposed to kick off at 9. It’s actually 9:30. Which isn’t bad. In Brazil we once sat on our arses for three hours because of computer problems.
I’m not table captain. Yippee! I love dodging responsibility. Someone else can do the hard work
We’re quite an international bunch. Our Australian captain aided by judges from Germany, Singapore and Vietnam. And me, obviously. I’ve never been on a table of five before. Usually, it’s three.
We kick off with International Pale Lager. What fun. All but one are crap. Not such a surprise. At least we get through them quite quickly.
Witbier next. A much better set. A couple of them I rather like. Especially one with a touch of acidity. Like Hoegaarden had back in the day.
Achieving consensus between five judges is trickier than between three. But, as none of my fellow judges are arseholes, we can work things out. With a bit of give and take. Judges make or break the judging experience. One opinionated twat can suck out all the pleasure. Get a pair of twats, and judging is complete torture.
American Pale Ale is the last flight of the morning. With some pretty decent beers. Hops can cover up a whole load of nastiness. In Pale Lagers, there’s nowhere to hide.
We're running a bit late in the morning session. It’s almost 2 PM when we get done and break for lunch Which is a buffet in the restaurant where we ate breakfast. Just next door. No pissing around travelling somewhere else. Which I appreciate.
It's way more varied than Brazilian buffets. Lots of different types of Asian food. With a whole section for Indian curries. As well as western stuff. The range is both enormous and impressive.
All sorts of fancy stuff. Like large prawns, mussels and other shellfish. I get some mussels, beef rendang and deep-fried chicken. Tasty.
My afternoon table has another inspiring mix of nationalities: Indian, Belgian, Vietnamese and German. Should promote healthy discussion.
I’m not very optimistic about the first flight, English Pale Ale.
“I don’t have very good experiences of judging this style.” I tell the others. “They’re usually all crap.”
Which, indeed, most of the beers turn out to be. But there’s one really good beer. Making the process worthwhile.
American IPA, which is next up, is an improvement. There are a couple of pretty decent beers in the set.
.
One of my favourite categories follows: Low-alcohol beer. Only joking. It is better than alcohol-free, I suppose. Not as awful as I feared. Some are just about drinkable.
We end with experimental beers.
“I always suspect that some brewers call beers ‘experimental’ when they go horribly wrong.” I remark.
“That’s rather cynical.”
Cynical? Moi? I’m such a positive chap. Despite what my kids say.
Thankfully, a lot of the flight isn’t that out there. In fact, mostly quite in there. Just an extra ingredient or two to add an accent to a standard style. A few are really weird, though. For example, Irish Stout with orange juice. So strange, that it’s really difficult to judge. What were they aiming for? Have they achieved it?
We finish just after six. Leaving me a bit less than an hour to chill in my room before we go out to eat. And to make sure that my duty-free whisky hasn’t gone off while I’ve been judging. I have to check twice, just to make sure.
No bus, this evening. We walk to a Chinese restaurant. When we're almost there, I recognise where we are. As we walk past the Magpie. Where I drank with Andrew a few weeks ago. It's a weird feeling. Like suddenly waking up. While walking down the street.
We sit outside the restaurant and plates of food keep arriving. As well as big bottles of Tiger. Everyone digs in enthusiastically. I’m relieved to drink beer without needing to think about it. I knock back a few. Just to be polite, obviously.
The food highlight is chilli crab. Which, being undressed, is a challenge to eat without changing the colour of your shirt. Someone asks the Vietnamese women next to me if it's spicy. "No." they say. Not my impression. I suppose they have a different concept of spicy in Vietnam.
I leave with a couple of the other older judges a little after nine. I don’t feel like staying out too late. I’ll leave that to the young and the reckless. I’m still feeling a bit knacked. And I’ll need to be up fairly early again tomorrow. Still time to drop by the Seven 11 on my way back.
I watch some YouTube in my room for a while. Before bludgeoning myself unconscious with duty-free whisky. Finding sleep isn’t a problem. It’s right there in front of me. Just looks a bit blurry.
Por Kee Eating House 1996
69 Seng Poh Ln,
#01-02,
Singapore 160069.