Cans, lovely cans. Much can be said about a Sesh and a person by the Cans they possess. As a Student, you’re broke. Sometimes Aunt Susi will only pay for so much and so you’re left having to buy the Scaldiest of cans. On Friday the 15th of April, the MU Times’ resident Scaldologist Malachi Kane Shine accompanied two beer snobs (Snobs meaning they still drink a lot of cheap beer, they just have some concept of standards), James Keogh and Conor J Murphy (A UCD Student who was with James at the time) through their tasting and reviewing the scaldiest cans that they could get between Dunnes and the Offy at The Roost.
Learn from their mistakes.
Bavaria: Surprisingly okay. Struggled to come up with anything strong to say about it. Bavaria has a nice gold brown hue much like the urine of a dehydrated sailor. Beneath its scaldy exterior, it has light fruity undertones that would go well with your choice of rollies or a spice bag. Bavaria tastes much like a salt substitute given to someone whose cholesterol levels are above and beyond what should be medically possible. Even in a glass, Bavaria simply smells like an aluminium can. The real question is what a Bavarian would think of this – it’s not exactly something to phone home about. But at 1.38 a can this is probably the best it’s going to get, so brace yourselves if you think this is awful. Bavaria has a distinctly different flavour while being chugged, in that it tastes like it is attempting to murder your brain cells.
Best Consumed: In multipacks. 
Tuborg Green: Much paler than Bavaria, but frankly you’re not going to be drinking it out of a glass anyway so that won’t matter. In fact, we strongly recommend drinking it straight from the can – the nicest thing about Tuborg is the can, which is the overriding flavour in its otherwise flaccid taste. At 1.25 a can, you’d wonder why you didn’t spend more – or less. Tuborg is a completely neutral experience, with its defining characteristic being the fact that “Jesus Lads, it’s only 1.25 a can”. Tuborg Green laughably claims to be a Pilsner. The last time I’ve been blatantly lied to that hard was when January 1st, after exams, when I promised myself I’d stop drinking Tuborg. Despite the hard time we give it, it’s still probably not the worst tasting thing we’ve ever put in our mouths. Its packaging design at least is an achievement, as in a dark room the radioactive glow of the Tuborg Green can makes it easy to identify, and then avoid. Chugging Tuborg Green feels like an ethereal experience. Without shape, form, texture or flavour, the flow of Tuborg Green down your throat manages to confuse, disorient, and distress the consumer, making you question whether this beer is potentially trying to fight back.
Best Consumed: In a King’s Cup. Whatever else is in there might add flavour.
Prazsky: At €1.25, this is a contender for the lucrative spot of scaldiest can. Prazsky has one up on Tuborg for having a flavour, that flavour being the taste of a Junior Cert play – everyone involved thinks it’s pretty passable, but outside observers would beg to differ. Prazsky is a can that prominently displays the banner of Prussia, which makes sense, given that it tastes like it was brewed sometime in the 1600s, and was opened, and then left to settle for several hundred years. The other option is that it tastes exactly like Eastern Europe during the Cold War, in that Soviet propaganda has convinced its population that it tastes good, but western observers claim that it is unnatural and repulsive. Upon pouring it into a glass, Prazsky appeared to react with the atmosphere causing it to glow a fluorescent yellow.
Best Consumed: In a field. Prazsky is beer you drink for nostalgia, and little else besides its 4% weight per volume, and its weighted can makes it perfect to chuck at the Gardaí when they try to break up your bonfire sesh in a public park.
Germania Premium Pilsner: Calling this beer premium feels similar to being back in an all boys secondary school bragging about your sexual conquests over the weekend. Superficially it seems plausible, but on closer inspection the holes in the story begin to show. Germania smells like wet dog, but don’t let that fool you. Behind its pale exterior, lies a fermented homeless man dipped in yeast. It seems like an insult to Germany, something concocted as a vague attempt to discredit Angel Merkel following the Eurozone Crisis. This is made even more apparent by the poorly drawn Starbucks logo on the can, resembling Lord Voldemort, or perhaps an image found on ancient Greek pottery. Chugging Germania is not a pleasant experience, but neither is Germania, and frankly if you’re drinking this all night, you might as well get it over with quickly. It does however, have the highest w/v at 4.8%, of all beers reviewed tonight, and at €1.15 a can, the third cheapest beer we reviewed. Given that, we have nothing but praise for it. Drinking Germania is a once in a life experience, in that you’ll probably be dead after too much of it. Germania is considered a war crime under the treaty of Versailles, and is probably the worst thing to come out of Germany since Eurovision.
Best Consumed: After vomiting, just in case you haven’t gotten it all up yet.
Dunnes Value LAGER : With a crack, LAGER unleashed a mediocre foam similar to when you tried the Mentos and coke experience, only to find out that youtube magic isn’t what you imagined. It tastes and feels like dental surgery – an aftertaste that can only be described as blood and medicine. Value LAGER is probably an accurate description at just €0.98 a can, which is a small cost to feel like your mouth is being assimilated by the Borg. It comes with a serving suggestion of “Served Chilled”, which is close, but we would recommend you serve this frozen, so that the taste of the beer and your own blood mix for a homemade taste. The beer comes with the words “Quality Beer” prominently displayed, which provokes the same confusion and frustration as trying to explain quantum physics to a sleep deprived arts student.
Best Consumed: At a party full people you don’t like, and don’t feel like drinking at. This is a can to give away to mortal enemies, or people you want to provoke into physical confrontation.
Galahad: Galahad’s taste can be best described as the taste of the inside of your own mouth. The only way to differentiate it between sparkling water is the fact that it has a thicker consistency, and at least some small reason to exist. At 75c a can, it is hard to argue with the fact that yes, this is scientifically an alcohol, and there is some merit to that. In a chug test, Galahad went down worryingly smooth. It is the easiest drink to swallow, which also makes it the, along with the cheapest, most dangerous drink we reviewed.
Best Consumed: On Maynooth Christmas Day.
Druids: Do you remember your first shift? Suffocating? That sweet, sweet, noxiously sweet lip-gloss? Well, Taste the Magic friends, because Druids brings you straight back to that horrible moment in a sweaty teenage disco where you thought cider was your friend. Druids, at €1.70, is the most expensive drink we reviewed tonight, and is probably what middle class people drink to feel scaldy. And scaldy you will feel. The fermented apples that Druids is made from could probably be used to kill Snow White, and yet, our greatest concern is the bacteria used to convert the sugars into alcohol, which have clearly evolved into some kind of super germ poised to wipe out humanity, or at least, all those not strong enough to handle sorcery of Druids Cider.
Best Consumed: Before being sacrificed in a pagan ritual. After all, you’ve nothing left to lose.
Apple Tree Cider: It smells less like apples and more like the fermented hobo we mentioned early stumbled his way into a vat of ambiguous fruit. It has odd undertones that can only be described as cheesy, and our patented chug test led us to believe it was actually liquid cheese. Apple Tree Cider can best be described as drinking gone off apple juice through a lead pipe. It’s serving suggestion, “Over Ice” led us to believe that we had made a mistake drinking it out of the can, and in fairness to the company behind this heavy metal poisoning, it does taste better iced, in that it’s been diluted to a sufficient amount that the lead ions in it are far less likely to accumulate in the body. It is almost drinkable. Being significantly cheaper than Druids, we can only conclude that this in fact is Cider’s final form, and we welcome our new Hobo Overlords.
Best Consumed: In body shots off a homeless man’s surprisingly toned torso.
Cullen’s: Cullen’s is a deceptive cider. It pretends to be Kopparberg. It’s sweet. It’s gets on with your mother. It tastes better out of a glass, making it seem sophisticated and respectable. However, the scaldiness of Cullen’s comes not from its taste, but its marketing. Prominently displayed “Produced in Ireland”, as if anything so palatable could be produced in Ireland. This is the country that invented Noah’s Ark. If any native apple trees are actually left in Ireland, we will eat them bark and all. This was a Cider meant for 2L plastic bottles, and probably contains more sugar than your average 12 year old Irish child. The obesity crisis is alive and well, and its name is Cullen’s Apple Cider. Also comes in pear.
Best Consumed: With a crate of caviar just before a revolution.
Rosie’s Dew: Crisp and refreshing is a phrase we’ve read quite often tonight. However, the coagulated gunk that is Rosie’s Dew is as refreshing as a glass of phlegm, and as crisp as a fresh leather strap across the face. Rosie’s Dew is by far the most confusing Cider we have ever tasted, and in fairness, that’s rather unique. We’re not sure it was meant to be cider. Perhaps it was your father’s microbrew gone horribly wrong, or a prison toilet brew. Regardless, there is little good to be said about Rosie’s Dew beyond its percentage – 5.5%, and its price point, just 5c under the bourgeoisie influenced Cullen’s, at €1.30. This cider is rock bottom. There are no opinions to be made on it. It is almost drinkable, but somehow eludes the necessary requirements to be worth drinking, even at its price point.
Best Consumed: On death row, to lessen the pain of being executed. God rest your soul.
Tyskie: Tyskie is a bit like bread dissolved in alcohol. Not even alcohol made from bread, but bread dissolved in alcohol. The only way to improve this beer is by adding garlic, and butter. There’s nothing left to be said. At its price point, €1.65, it’s probably not worth it. This is more of a solid than it is a liquid, and Jesus himself would say “Ah here now, give me a challenge” if you asked him to walk on it.
Best Consumed: With garlic bread. Just fucking do it already.
Bavaria seems to have a mild nerve toxin in it, which upon mixing created a paralytic effect on one of our researchers. We pray for him and his family in this difficult time. Still tastes better than Tuborg.
 At this point one of our researchers had to take a break to eat and try and lend any solidity to his stomach. Despite the physical implications of being made a liquid, he soldiered on until we reach Galahad, when he was vaporised into a diffuse cloud. It appears praying had no effect.