Yebisu is named after the Shinto god of fun. What better to associate with such a deity than a range of alcohol?

As with other major Japanese brands such as Asahi and Kirin, Yebisu produces a range of recipes, but only its figurehead beer is typically available to the wider world.

Which is a great shame because, while standard Asahi, Kirin and Yebisu are all fine drinks, the brewers have much more to offer to the discerning palate.

Case in point: Yebisu Black. Japan is known for taking European booze (Scotch, wheat beer, etc) and often making it just as good as, and sometimes even better than, the original. Yebisu Black is their answer to Germany’s dark lager tradition, and for my money, is the best I have tasted in this alcoholic “sub-genre”.

I have never seen Yebisu Black for sale in my native UK; I discovered it on the latest of several trips I have made to Japan, and I was an instant fan. Unfortunately I was last in the Land of the Rising Sun some two years ago, and had been craving this beer ever since.

So I was a most grateful recipient when my girlfriend returned from Tokyo recently armed with a four-pack of Yebisu Black.

While a little was lost in translation by drinking it in a basement flat during a grey London autumn, rather than the intoxicating cultural experience and sweltering heat of a Tokyo summer, it was nevertheless a satisfying hit; bitter yet moreish, robust yet refreshing.

If this is a beer of the gods, as the name suggests, then this agnostic writer has been given as good an argument as any as to where and how to worship.

If in doubt, go with a gimmick. It works in music, movies and sport, so why not beer?

After all, if you’re trying to get into the Mexican market typified by light, zesty lagers by introducing a … light, zesty lager, then you need to stand out.

So what does Salitos do that neither Sol nor Corona do? It eliminates the need for a bottle opener!

Because each Salitos has an opener built in to the bottom of the bottle. Simply open your next Salitos with the end of your previous one. Ingenious, eh?

Particularly clever when you realise this built-in bottle opener only works on other Salitos bottles. This makes it the sole brand suitable for impromptu outdoor drinking for those without the means to open their beers.

We’ve all been in that situation – searching for a hard edge with which to prize open our brews. Let’s say you’re at the beach – sand isn’t much use in this department. So take along a case of self-opening Salitos and worry not.

And thankfully the beer lends itself to session drinking. It has a light, slightly sweet, refreshing taste. Much like Sol and Corona then, although Salitos is a shade more citrusy, eliminating the need for its counterparts’ gimmick of a slice of lime in the neck of the bottle.

Salitos – a tasty, satisfying beverage which eliminates the need for not only a bottle opener, but the addition of fruit, too. What more could you ask for?

Myanmar is all-but closed to the rest of the world. Sure, it’s possible to visit, but only on the government’s terms – where and when they say. You’d almost imagine they had something to hide…

And a hidden gem which I have never seen anywhere else is the country’s imaginatively-titled Myanmar Beer.

My time in the union formerly known as Burma was limited to a paltry two hours in a ramshackle border town, during which I imbibed a couple of glasses of one of the best beers I have ever tasted.

The experience was too long ago for me to be able to recall the taste in any precise detail, but a couple of factors helped me file the memory into the “happy” department.

First of all, the setting: Myanmar evokes a true sense of adventure, especially when you call it by its traditional name of Burma. However I was not catching some R&R is sweat-soaked fatigues, nor did I somehow stumble across a couple of bottles deep in the steamy jungle. I was on a somewhat less glamorous “visa run” from Thailand and was sitting in a cheap cafe taking respite from the claustrophobic attentions of the local hawkers.

And what welcome respite it was. Thailand is considered a “developing country” but compared to Myanmar, it is like a vision of the future. The town was utterly poverty-stricken, chaotic and filthy. I’ve been told the border towns are the most presentable, too, as the Myanmarese government does not wish foreigners to see the state of the country elsewhere. And maybe it was just psychological, but I could have sworn it was a good five degrees hotter once I stepped over the border! Add to this heat, dirt and chaos the unwanted attentions of dozens of dogmatic hawkers, and you can understand why I sought sanctuary in a watering hole.

Secondly, my expectations played a part. They were low. What, after all, is Myanmar good at making, besides conflict? Turns out it is very good at making beer, although the experience may have been enhanced by my expectations being low. When you expect something good, and get something bad, the disappointment is underlined, and vice versa when you’re expecting something bad.

So when expecting a poor beer and getting a good one, and drinking it with a palpable sense of relief in a boiling hot, exotic country, the result is majestic.

I’m not the right person to comment on Myanmar’s political situation, but I do hope some agreement can be worked out which sees this beer widely exported . I have a wonderful memory of Myanmar Beer and I’m keen to see if it tastes as good on an identikit High Street under a grey British sky.

‘Gold’ – one of the most evocative words in the English language. It’s up there with ‘silk’, ‘paradise’ and ‘virgin’ – suggesting something very special indeed.

Why, then, in the name of all that is coveted, does this atrocity of a drink have the word ‘Gold’ proudly emblazoned across it?

Well, the colour of the drink could be described as golden, but then so could any lager in the world not prefixed by the word ‘dark’. Is Castlemaine XXXX Gold’s hue so unusual as to automatically give the tipple its name? Hardly. But then the manufacturers can hardly be trying to describe its quality – unless they are either practical jokers or outright liars.

There are two situations when even the most discerning beer drinker is likely to care less about the taste of a brew. One is at the end of a hot, muggy day when just about anything cold and wet will suffice. The other is when you’re many beers down the line and your taste buds can no longer be bothered processing anything more than the most basic information.

I’ve only had XXXX Gold twice; once each in the above scenarios. The first time, when the drink was deemed so unpalatable as to be poured on the floor rather than down my throat, despite the heat of a Western Australian summer, told me enough.

The second time, in which my request for “a pint of Old” was unfortunately mistaken for “Gold”, was well past midnight on a World Cup night, and the beers I had consumed were getting close to double figures. I shrugged off the honest Old/Gold mistake, figuring it didn’t matter much what was in my glass at that stage, but even then it tasted truly awful – water and cornflakes were the only “notes” I was getting.

Castlemaine should be investigated by Trades Descriptions for this atrocity. Gold is won by elite athletes and worn by royalty, not poured on scorched earth and shunned by the dangerously inebriated.