Big Banger theory: Why proper sausages are the cornerstone of any gastropub



...So it's no wonder their perfect partners are full-bodied beers

Fine sausages and good beer. As food-and-drink combinations go, this pairing is in the Premier League, up there with oysters and chilled Chablis, vodka and caviar, burger and Coke.

What more could a man want from a pub than a decent pint and a brace

of plump, sizzling bangers?



They’re the essence of a gastropub, too – the proper, unpretentious places that eschew ghastly foams, fads and flummeries for good ingredients, beautifully cooked.

I prefer to consume sausages alone and unembellished, with just a pot of freshly made English mustard for company

In fact, a gastropub without a sausage (and by sausage, I mean pork or beef, not ostrich and avocado or some equally witless creation) isn’t worthy of the name.



Personally, I prefer to consume sausages alone and unembellished, with just a pot of freshly made English mustard for company.



My only requirements are that the sausage casing is natural and it’s filled with at least 80 per cent free-range porker.



But as to a serious matching of beer and sausage, I had no clue – just take a bite, swill down with pint and repeat until either sated or blind drunk. It took the combined efforts of beer guru Rupert Ponsonby and the director of gastronomy at Hix Oyster & Chop House, Julian Biggs, to show me how little I really knew.

I’m actually sitting down at a specially arranged pre-tasting, where Ponsonby and Biggs will figure out which sausage goes best with specially chosen beers.



The winners will go on to star in a lavish lunch at Brown’s Hotel in a few weeks’ time.

‘A lot of these pairings are experimental,’ explains Ponsonby, ‘and I’m just taking the main flavour of each sausage, and trying to find a suitable partner.



'Generally, as sausages can be fatty, you need big-tasting beers. But the whole point of this is finding a good match, so that each beer brings out and accentuates the best part of the other, without obliterating the flavour of either.’



The first sausage is a hearty wild-boar-and-fresh-thyme, from Franconian, and the first sip is of Ringwood Old Thumper, a big Hampshire ale, which is rounded with a slight sour kick.



On their own, both shine. But mixed, some sort of beery alchemy occurs that allows you to revel in the gamey meat, and the herbal punch of the thyme, without losing any of the beer’s complexity.



The same is true when the sausage is matched with Innis & Gunn Original, an oak-aged Scottish refresher with a whisper of wood and a citrus tang. Again, both sausage and beer support each other, the liquid cutting through the fat but not obliterating any idiosyncrasies of flavour.



Ponsonby looks happy.



‘Both worked well, so that sausage will have two beers. Lucky them.’



And so we move on, first to a Londoner sausage, which is thick with sage, thyme and mace, matched with Fuller’s London Porter, rich, dark and handsome, and full of coffee and chocolate notes.



The sausage smoothes the beer’s soft, heavy edges, while the Fuller’s accentuates the sweet pork. Separately, they stroll across the tongue. Together, they waltz across the palate.



Yet a Meantime Porter, less heavy than the Fuller’s, doesn’t quite manage to stand up against the snag, losing length, depth and body. Both beers are the same style, but only the Fuller’s actually works.



And so the afternoon continues in a flurry of pork and ale. A fat Cumberland sausage is beautifully matched with a refreshing Jennings Cumberland Ale, the beer letting the sausage shine while at the same time cleansing the palate and emerging unscathed.

A Bacchus raspberry beer, on the other hand, is an abject failure, as the berry hit obliterates any hint of sausage.



The mighty Worthington’s White Shield IPA, one of the world’s great beers, glides across the tongue with a mighty beef-and-stout sausage, the honeyed and golden characteristics working in perfect harmony with the bovine concoction.



Both emerge better from their meeting. But a Sam Smith’s Extra Stout just can’t keep up, and all the subtle nuances of the beer are flattened.



The White Shield also works wonders with a fantastic double-smoked black pudding. It cuts through the fat and smoke, but doesn’t lose a modicum of its beauty.



It’s the same story with the Innis & Gunn Cask Strength – they positively crackle together, like some frenzied tango couple.



By now, life seems a little merrier, although my belly is heavy with pig.



‘Basically, straight beers need straight food,’ says Ponsonby, ‘while the complex beers, with all sorts of flavours and layers, need complex food.’



I’m still amazed at how the right beer can really make the sausage sing, and vice versa.



Just don’t try matching a pint of cheap lager with a couple of slurry-filled economy bangers. That’s one marriage certain to end in divorce.

