The Europeans know the value of a place name in creating a brand. It’s been more than 10 years since a deal with the European Union lead to Australian winemakers surrendering the use of geographical indicators such as burgundy, tokay and even sherry to describe their products, while the French have been trying to restrict the use of the word “champagne” to describe sparkling wine since the late 19th century.

The beer tasting paddle at Tallboy and Moose bar and brewery in Preston. Credit:Pat Scala

(The Comite Interprofessionnel du Vin de Champagne, which represents the region’s winemakers, goes to extraordinary lengths: they once warned Apple not to use the word “champagne” to describe the colour of an iPhone, and they took legal action against German supermarket Aldi in 2012 for selling a champagne sorbet that actually contained champagne, claiming the use of the name on ice-cream cheapened their brand.)

Australian winemakers may soon be have to surrender “prosecco” (a grape variety that the Italians have cleverly back-formed into a geographical indicator) as part of a free trade deal with the EU, and I imagine we won’t be able to call a pasty “Cornish” (if anyone still does. And does anyone still eat pasties?). But we aren’t going to sit around and whine about Eurocrats and their bendy banana rules spoiling things for us, are we? We are making our own place-name traditions. Starting with beer.

We have always enjoyed Carlton Draught, which has floated free of any association with the suburb where it was originally brewed. More recently, Brunswick Bitter channelled the vibe of Melbourne’s original cool neighbourhood, a hip take on VB (which had already become a hip take on itself anyway), while Coburg Lager offers drinkers a hint of made-over RSL club and bare-foot bowls.