Right, so. Picture the scene. It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, the pub garden is calling your name, and you’ve got a solid six hours to kill before you need to be anywhere else. You fancy a pint with some proper flavour. Something hoppy, citrusy, maybe a bit piney.
You want an IPA.
Here’s the problem, though. That beautiful, hazy double IPA on tap is 7.8%. Delicious, yes. But after two of them, you’ll be trying to pay for your crisps with your house keys and telling your life story to a confused-looking dog. Your session will be over before it’s even begun. For years, this was the great dilemma of the craft beer drinker: flavour or longevity?
And then, like a sensible, practical hero arriving in a sensible, practical hatchback, the Session IPA appeared.
The idea is beautiful in its simplicity: take all the aromatic, flavourful hops that make a modern IPA so brilliant, but brew it into a beer that’s a more sociable 4-point-something percent. All of the grapefruit, mango, and pine, but with none of the impending doom. It is, in its own way, the perfect British compromise. A sensible answer to a loud American invention.
Now, some people.. the sort of people who take beer a bit too seriously.. will tell you that a Session IPA isn’t a ‘real’ IPA. And technically, they’re right. The original India Pale Ales were strong and heavily hopped to survive the long sea journey to India from Burton-on-Trent. A 4.5% beer wouldn’t have made it past the Isle of Wight.
But that’s completely missing the point. It’s like complaining that your iPhone can’t be used to hammer in a nail. That’s not what it’s for. The Session IPA isn’t for surviving a six-month sea voyage.. it’s for surviving a six-hour session with your mates.
Here’s a secret, though: making a good one is one of the hardest things a brewer can do. This might be talking complete bollocks, but it’s probably a tougher balancing act than making a massive imperial stout. In a big, boozy IPA, the alcohol provides sweetness and body, a thick canvas for the hops to be painted on. When you take away that alcohol, you risk leaving the hops exposed and the beer tasting thin, watery, and harsh. It’s the brewing equivalent of trying to make a pot of decaf coffee that doesn’t taste of disappointment.
Getting that perfect balance.. enough body from the malts and oats to support the hop flavour, without it becoming sweet or bland.. is a proper art form. When you find a good one, you should treasure it. It means the brewer knows exactly what they’re doing.
Verdant’s Lightbulb (4.5%) is a brilliant example of getting it right. Proper tropical hop punch.. mango, passionfruit, all that.. but with enough body that it doesn’t taste thin or harsh. You could happily drink three of them and still remember your own postcode.
So next time you see ‘Session IPA’ on the bar, don’t think of it as a weaker, apologetic version of the real thing. Think of it as a clever, technical masterpiece. A beer designed for modern life. A beer that lets you have your flavour and drink it, too. And another one after that. Fair play to it.