Few drinks have cultivated as much lore as Guinness. Sure, Champagne has its ancient appellation rules, but pints of plain are in a different league.
A two-stage pouring ritual that makes its drinkers wait, wet-lipped and gasping as it settles on the bar. Then, once it’s ready, self-proclaimed connoisseurs tip the pint to observe the structure of the head, the dome and its creaminess; others spend their spare time splitting the G (in which one attempts to land, first sip, on the horizontal line of the G marking the glass). In the past few years, Instagrammers have made their name on the love of the stuff, and books have come out dedicated to it. Then there’s all the merch, and the fashion collaborations with the likes of JW Anderson.
This isn’t just stout, it’s the gateway to a burgeoning boozing subculture. The gamification of drinking? How Gen Z is that.
Now there seems to be a new wave of young Guinness fans ordering a so-called “skimmed” or “semi-skimmed” pint.
A what? Well, a pint of semi-skimmed, as it might be called, is a mix of Guinness Zero and the real deal. Why? It’s arguably healthier, being less alcoholic. The mix gets a glass of Guinness down from 4.2 per cent to 2.1 per cent or less, perfect for those conscious of their intake.
Lara Rogers, general manager at Soho’s Devonshire, where both zero and regular are on tap, told the Standard: “We don't do a half-and-half, but can top up the Zero with regular Guinness if someone asks; that makes it about one per cent we reckon. So we do full fat, skimmed or semi-skimmed.”
The trend is nothing new: it is in effect a shandy, but with lemonade swapped for Zero. Shandies have been around since the Seventies.
Shandy Bass and Top Deck, both low-alcohol examples, were once commonplace — the latter so much so that its name became shorthand for adding lemonade to beer (ever asked for a lager top? Now you know). Even Guinness shandies, while rare, have been seen before. But popular? Not really. Lemonade's sweetness doesn't make it a natural bedfellow for the trademark richness of a Guinness, and it’s too fizzy to boot. The state of the head doesn’t bear thinking about.
Lemonade's sweetness doesn't make it a natural bedfellow for the trademark Guinness richness, but Guinness Zero makes much more sense
Other Guinness mixes have also existed for a while: the famous Black Velvet, where Champagne and the black stuff are combined, and the slightly more dubious half-and-half, in which Guinness is layered on top of Harp lager.
Martyn Cornell’s award-winning Zythophile blog, meanwhile, recommends mixing the 7.1 per cent Foreign Extra Guinness with Zero for a pint where “the head you end up with is so thick and stiff, it’s actually biteable, almost like clotted cream”.
Cornell, a founding member of the British Guild of Beer Writers, adds: “The beer, now halved to a light 3.75 per cent alcohol, is, perhaps, what an old-style Irish porter might have been like: a long after-taste for its medium-full mouthfeel, hints of sour tartness and earthy umami, a very pleasant drink that was certainly vastly more interesting and multi-dimensional, even at its comparatively low strength, than canned Guinness normally is.”
For a more usual taste, the Guinness Zero and Guinness blend makes more sense. Zero matches regular in both texture and taste, and with a Zero poured, topped up by the normal stuff, this could be the best way to give your liver a break in the run-up to Christmas. Guinness TikTok will never be the same again.
