Little Fat Lamb has personally victimised more residents of North Dunedin than the cold, Health Science, and a drunk Caitlin Barlow-Groome combined.
I opted for the classic ginger beer, a sour, vinegary-sweet concoction that would probably taste better if it still had a dead snail in it (shoutout to all you LAWS101 kids).
Leith Liquor hooked us up with a free Rigger Holder, which is pretty much like student allowance equivalent of winning lotto.
The first sip is a confronting bitch-slap from hell, but it does soon mellow out once you get used to it. But if you push on, by the time you’re four sips in it no longer has a taste.
Then you are quarter of the way into the bottle, and your face will get very hot and red.
Around the middle of the bottle it settles into a firm but comforting rhythm. Like a bratwurst on a cold winter’s night, or daddy’s hand wrapped tightly around your throat. It’s lots of fun. So much fun.
And then you have to finish it.
As you come down from the high that is the middle of the bottle, it soon hits you that you still need to get to the bottom. That’s when it gets hard. The bottom of the bottle tastes like the dregs at the bottom of the pong cups from last night’s party, perhaps spiked with malt vinegar. It’s a mission that only the strongest can overcome.
Overall, Little Fat Lamb left me with three main points:
1. For a ginger ale, it’s not great tasting ginger ale.
2. It burns the nostrils like study drugs. A medicinal overload.
3. Closing notes are dusty. Like how you will feel the next day, like you licked an ashtray or a sweaty ballsack.
Taste Rating: 3/10
Froth Level: The fourth night of O-Week, when you’re dusty but driven by adrenalin.
Pairs well with: A lot of goon beforehand to mask the taste.
Tasting notes: Acid, vinegar, daddy issues, brief euphoria, lingering regret.