Guinness 0.0 has had a journey. First announced in October 2020, it made supermarket shelves the month after but only briefly — fears of a microbiological contamination forced a recall — and then there was a little silence. More than a year after that debut, it came to pubs and retailers in late 2021.
A hit? That doesn’t even cover it. A smash, a mega-smash; the Taylor Swift of non-alcoholic beers, only with fewer teenage fans. In that time, full-fat Guinness has had its own meteoric rise — it’s thought that one in nine pints sold in the UK are Guinness — and Guinness 0.0 has been hauled along for the ride. While in the Republic of Ireland and in some Northern Irish pubs, it’s been available on draft for some time, in England, Scotland and Wales, punters in pubs have had to put up with the canned version, often tipped in the chaos pour — decanted in its entirety in one go.
Until now. At the Piccadilly end of Soho, the Devonshire has become the first pub in Great Britain to put the de-boozed black stuff on tap. Landlord Oisín Rogers has installed it to run exactly as his regular stuff does, weaving its way through different pipes but around the same cooler, with the same pressure. It’s served in different glasses, those marked with the blue 0.0 logo. “But only so,” says Rogers, “if someone has an allergy to alcohol or is driving or whatever, when four pints are ordered, and one is the zero, there’s no mix up when it gets to the table.”
Mix up? Wouldn’t it be obvious? Here, we test the Devonshire’s kegged Guinness 0.0 against its canned counterpart, and then, in a blind test, against the alcoholic version.
David’s take
When the first two pints arrive — zero from the tap and zero from the can — the difference is beyond obvious. It’s in the look, for a start; Ois has tried to match them as well as he can, but the heads differ dramatically, one a pillow of a thing, the other resembling an uncooked crumpet. To drink, one is creamy, the other watery. To taste, one is rich with that Marmite-like stout flavour; the other is metallic, as if its container has contaminated it. It is almost alarming how different they are: I used to think Guinness zero was the most convincing non-alc going. Now I’m thinking: I liked that crap?
When the next round arrives, both pints in exactly the same glass, I am baffled. They are identical, duplicates, taken straight from the photocopier. I can see why different glasses are needed. The light is coming in the window and passing through the glass: the ruby glow in both is twinned.
The smell is the first giveaway that they are different. One is more potent; I assume this is the real thing. To taste, there again is a difference. One seems fuller, stronger, with bigger shoulders. This one is also a little sweeter. “I think,” I say, “that that’s the proper pint. I think that’s the alcohol I’m tasting.” A wait a moment. I think I feel that alcohol get into my veins, I think I feel it give me a light head.
I’m going between them but it’s hard. The difference is there, but I can’t tell which I prefer, not really. In the end, I go with that first instinct; the big boy, with its sweetness, that must be it. Ois shakes his head sadly. “If Ellis can’t tell…”
And I drink again. That slight boozy warmth from the first sip must have been a placebo. Which is when the horror strikes: it’s not that I can’t tell there’s a difference, it’s that I think… I think… I think I prefer the zero to the real McCoy. What has become of me?
Josh’s take
My first pint ever was a Guinness and my first legal pint, however many years later, was a Guinness. That’s the beauty of being the son of a publican. Which makes getting this taste test wrong all the more painful. I call the Devonshire’s landlord Oisín “Professor Guinness” because he knows his stuff. He fiddles so carefully with his “Argentinian pipes”. Problem is, I thought I knew the pipes but clearly I don’t. I tried the 0.0, and I tried the regular, and, like Mr Ellis, I got it totally wrong. I mean my god. Who am I? Am I unwell?
Perhaps I am. More to the point, we must praise Guinness for producing such a wondrous thing. I commented in the moment: “Were I to come in, have a few, and be given a non-alcoholic Guinness unawares, I’d be none the wiser”. I simply wouldn’t.
Here is my little defence: I had a sip of one, then the other, and so wasn’t wholly considered nor scientific in my approach. I maintain that were I have a pint of one and then the other, I might have a better chance of identifying the real deal. But that’s not what pub pints are about. The whole thing is to simply breeze in and chat and enjoy. Have a cigarette outside in between... Just don't tell Keir Starmer.
Anyway. Everything's fine. And, more to the point, huge congratulations to Guinness. The zero is a noble piece of impressive engineering: the pint is well flavoured; it tastes strong, clean. Everything a Guinness should be. And it brings about the schtick — the creamy foam that clings to the glass — and there's even a decent dome to the head. I've never enjoyed Guinness out of a can and this does away with that entirely.
In 2024, we are all trying to cut down; relax. And this is aiding and helpful. It’s good news, actually, and I’m pleased that we’ve moved past Becks Blue (remember how disgusting that was?) to new ground.
