21st season has officially arrived, and with it comes the means for celebration. You can’t really do anything new when you turn 21 but you’re officially an adult now. For third-years, this means that you no longer have to compete to be the biggest wounder on Castle Street; you can now drive to the outskirts of town to some overpriced venue and watch your mate do it for you. It’s a sacred New Zealand tradition; it means taking marginal photos on a disposable camera, buying those shitty gold balloons from Look Sharp, your mates sharing your most embarrassing stories to your grandma, and, most importantly, sinking a shit tonne of piss to demonstrate this newfound maturity.
For breathas, of course, this means the coming-of-age tradition of the yardie. It’s a beautiful thing, sinking 2.5 litres of beer in front of Aunt Sharon – even better if it's caught on video and posted on Facebook to really demonstrate to your future employers how much of a hard cunt you are. Having a sub-minute-thirty yardie will really contribute to the workplace culture of prospective employers, especially if you're wanting to be a chartered accountant – then it’s practically in the job-description.
Sinking a yardie is no easy feat. You need to carefully consider what beer to get. So find the shittiest and cheapest possible 4% beer. There’s no chance that this is staying down. It’s moments like these that you wish Danger’s Lager still existed to really commit to the bit but if you’re going down that road, Double Browns or Export Gold will do the trick. The garden’s going to be tasting this more than you anyway.
Once you’ve got your shit-beer, you’ve now gotta make it worse. You want it bland and luke-warm, like a painful conversation with someone you haven’t seen since high school. Pouring your yardie is like preparing to pull a sickie at work: you’ve got to put in the ground work the night before, just to make it go down easier the next day. The longer it sits to get it to room-temperature the better (warm = good). You want a gentle pour down your throat, not a brain freeze-inducing tingly sensation. Bonus points for having to use the free-hour of power because your flat’s room-temperature makes the beer colder.
You’re typically meant to eat before you drink (it lines your stomach or something) but fuck that. No-one wants to witness that spag-bol come up. Make some room, you're going to need it. If anything, use that extra-space for a few cheeky warm-up beers – may as well prep your oesophagus for what's coming. On the note of preparation: like any good relationship, communication is key. Find a good friend to pour it for you. While wet t-shirt competitions are great and all, now isn’t the time – you're meant to drink the entire thing and for a yardie spitting is most definitely quitting. And please, finish it quickly. TikTok has rotted my brain and watching anything over three minutes pushes my attention span to its absolute limits.
Pairs well with: Your parents’ disappointment
X Factor: Do as I say and not as I do
Chugability: 10/10
Taste Rating: 2.54/10 (Shit effort)