The thing about Kingfisher Premium is that it has been marketed so well that you’ll find a Kingfisher wherever you go. You’ll find it everywhere in India, of course. You’ll find it in the interiors of India, like Rajasthan, for example. The remote villages of Rajasthan have no electricity, but you’ll find a Kingfisher Strong for fucking sure. KF Strong, which I don’t like, but when a beer-thirsty guy under the scorching Rajasthan sun doesn’t have a choice, KF Strong it is. You’ll find a Kingfisher Mild (the one we’re reviewing here) in other countries, because Indians just can’t do without it. Indians abroad may have better lagers to select from, great ales to enjoy, and world-class stouts to make meals of, but no, they’ll still want a fucking Kingfisher or they’ll live as if their lives are worthless and without meaning. Marketed like no other beer before or after (we’re talking about the largest-selling beer in India, please get some information on the population), a Kingfisher Mild can be found chilling in not only your fridge, but also other cool places like your car, outside your college smoking a beedi, on your bike riding pillion. You can also catch an Indian slut on international roaming and part her butt cheeks, and sure as hell, you’ll find a green pint sticking out of her ass. Neil fucking Armstrong spotted a Kingfisher on the fucking moon, peeping out of a dumb crater, and he tried to slap his forehead for not getting kela ka wafer along but the spacesuit didn’t let him. If a fight breaks out in a bar on another planet and a bottle is broken on an alien’s head, you can guess which beer that bottle contained. Now that you know where to find India’s most popular beer, we can get on with talking about the drink.
Kingfisher Premium, better known as “Kingfisher Mild”, is a very average lager. A 650 ml bottle (keep the pints to yourselves, you wussy other countries) of this lager can leave you totally refreshed, but who wants to go home after just one? Very light in flavour and body, this beer doesn’t have character, but the sluts I’ve suffered the misfortune of knowing don’t have much of a character either. What this beer does have is a personality and a life of its own, just like this blog. There’s one thing people keep telling me: that Kingfisher products have a high glycerine content which give the beers their ‘foam’, but Kingfisher Mild doesn’t even have a decent head, except maybe when you’re having it on tap.
Light-bodied and watery, a few of these 650 ml bottles (or 330 ml pints, depending on your gender) can and will leave you feeling bloated. Not quite sure if this beer can be called malty, but it sure can be called hoppy. And hoppiness is where you are and how many pitchers you’ve guzzled already.
Nearly 15 years since I discovered the joys and benefits of drinking alcohol, and Kingfisher Mild is the beer I’ve consumed the most. Of course, I’ve tasted beer that is much better and far greater, but it’s hardly my fault, for Kingfisher is omnipresent. Those who believe in life after death better hope for a fridge in the afterworld. For Indian summers, and winters, and monsoons, this lager is likely to weather the storm of all the great beers that are introduced to India. While I must be honest and give it the rating it truly deserves, I will be unabashed in giving Kingfisher what it deserves most: respect.