Sam McPhail has narrated this article for you to listen to.
Four years ago, Madrí didn’t exist. Today, the faux Spanish lager is sold in a quarter of British pubs, which makes it one of the fastest-growing beers of all time. ‘Madrí’ is the historic name for Madrid, which is peculiar for a beer brewed in Tadcaster – or Tada as the Anglo-Saxon mead-drinkers called it.
Madrí has never been brewed in Spain, let alone Madrid. Yet it shares the same sanguine-red label of the real Spanish lagers, such as Estrella Galicia, Mahou (pronounced Mao) and Estrella Damm, which allows it to blend in with them on pub bars and supermarket shelves. ‘People think they are drinking a Spanish beer but it’s not,’ says Aitor de Artaza, international head of Estrella Galicia. He accuses Madrí of ‘lacking transparency’. It’s not an unfair criticism. Madrí’s owners, the Canadian-American brewing giant Molson Coors, claim Spanish heritage from the tiny Toledo-based brewery they own which gave Madrí its ‘inspiration’. That’s it. No recipe, malt or hops.
Madrí isn’t the first premium lager to have captured a large audience of drinkers very quickly. Peroni did the same here two decades ago, even though it is a fairly bog-standard beer – albeit actually brewed in Italy – and served in a comically tall glass. Part of the appeal of European premium lagers is that they are stronger than standards – Madrí is 4.6 per cent ABV and Peroni 5 per cent, whereas Carling and Coors are just 4 per cent.
In truth, all Madrí has going for it is that it’s the latest thing. Stella is crisper, Fosters is smoother, Amstel is more rounded. Their drinkers, however, are often unfairly cast as grubby pintmen or yobbish yoofs. Madrí hasn’t been around long enough to pick up such negative social stereotypes. This makes it perfect for the main cohort of lager-drinkers – young blokes. Many identify with the beer’s mascot, known as Madrí Man, who is plastered on every can, bottle and tap lens. Madrí Man is an amalgamation of the modern lad: hipster beard, Gareth Southgate-style waistcoat, Peaky Blinders flat cap. Up for a pint or ten. The marketing men at Molson Coors insist Madrí Man is a Spanish cultural figure – a ‘chulapo’, who was a dapper dancer in old Madrid. They’re fooling no one.
Madrí Man has one main rival: Mr Moretti. Birra Moretti is Britain’s most popular premium lager. Its mascot is a slightly slovenly fellow in an old green suit, based on a patron of a sleepy trattoria in Udine from the 1940s. Moretti sells twice as much as Madrí, but Madrí has it in its sights: its sales increased threefold last year. How could Madrí Man lose to such a foe? Madrí Man is a modern lad; Mr Moretti is an old boozer who probably supported Il Duce.
However, Madrí already faces a new competitor called Cruzcampo, which was introduced on draught in April and has sold 42 million pints since. Cruzcampo is owned by Heineken and brewed in Manchester, but unlike Madrí, it has also been brewed in Spain for 120 years. Heineken has spent £10 million advertising Cruzcampo’s pedigree: ‘Even if you don’t come from Seville, you can choose to live the Sevillian way.’ It’s a clear dig at Madrí’s dodgy credentials.
Estrella Galicia has joined the inquisition. ‘Don’t fall for fake brews,’ says its new campaign. Under such pressure, how long does Madrí have before punters ask for a pint of Spanish over Spain-ish?
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