(In defence of the brewers of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, I should say that other brews are available in the North, including a browner ale that is more acceptable to the British palate.)
A few years ago, a prestigious international magazine - The Economist - opined that North Korean beer was better than South Korean beer, prompting outrage in South Korea. It would be like saying that English wine is better than French.
This isn't the first time I have drunk North Korean beer - earlier in the year, I tried it in North Korea itself. I went to a crowded bar in Pyongyang, which was magnificent in its roughness. It was crowded with men mostly, chucking it back from rough pots like jam jars which, I remember, had chipped edges that gave a sensual, rough texture on the lips as the cold beer passed. The men stood in circles, the best way to drink beer.
bar in North Korea
When I say it was a rough bar, I mean "rough" in the sense of working class, no frills. Only one man clearly resented a Westerner. He gave me the death stare every time I looked up. But that could happen in any good bar some time into the evening. "Strangers in town" is a common sentiment in pubs everywhere.
Here in Seoul, the bars are now becoming worryingly trendy. Beer is the thing to drink - stronger, more expensive craft beer. The industry has come on in leaps and bounds since it was stung by the criticism that the North Koreans did it better.
There is huge variety. One of the South Korean breweries produces a British-style bitter called Queen's Ale which would give British beer a run for its money. The Korean company already exports Queen's Ale to Australia and Hong Kong. They also want to export to Britain but have been told that calling it Queen's Ale might infringe British rules about royal endorsement. And, one imagines, the Queen is not going to endorse a Korean brew.
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Media captionPyongyang residents slake their thirst at a local beer festival
In the froth at the bottom of my glass, I detect a tale of two economies. South Korean brewing is a vibrant industry. It has morphed and improved. One of the microbreweries here has actually called one of its beers Taedonggang, appropriating the North Korean name - and whisper this - in my opinion, it is better than the original.
North Korea's Taedonggang, though, is a brand which any competent marketer could transform into a global sales phenomenon, such is the thirst for new and exotic beers. Trendies everywhere, their hair bunched in topknots, would sip and sniff Taedonggang's brews delicately. They would discuss and opine about the aroma and hoppiness - if only Pyongyang exported it.
It is a symbol of unfulfilled potential. Just like the country itself.