Our server deposits a flight of beers on our table: a bespoke wooden tray holding a number of small glasses filled with varying degrees of amber. I lean forwards in my seat, ever hopeful, lifting the first glass to my nose. I take a long sniff, followed by a couple of sips. Then I sigh; place the glass back in the tray and slump back in my seat. ‘I’d rather be drinking a Kernel IPA,’ I say and not for the first time on this trip.