They say I was born deep in the enchanted Wychwood Forest, brewed under moonlight with hops stolen from distant lands and a glint of mischief in my eye. I’m Hobgoblin IPA — an Iconic Pale Ale, if you must know — but titles are for mortals. Legends like me need no introduction.

Glinting gold with fiery orange flickers, I lure you in with the scent of ripe citrus and wild fruit, think zesty orange peel, tropical mischief, and a whisper of trouble. One sip, and the trap is sprung: grapefruit bites first, then a sweet whisper of honey creeps in, before I vanish into the night with a bitter, juicy flourish.

I’m not here to be polite. I’m here to haunt your tastebuds, armed with Chinook, Cascade, and Citra hops, a 5% kick, and a mouthful of complex, hoppy chaos. Drink me if you dare… but don’t say I didn’t warn you.