Somewhere in deepest, darkest Kent sits The George and Dragon, a pub that feels as though it belongs as much to folklore as it does to the modern beer map. Beneath it, quite literally, lies the engine room: a cave-like cellar where Caveman Brewery conducts its experiments.
This is not brewing as a routine. This is brewing as a concept.
The Common Ancestor: One Mash, Two Futures
At the heart of Caveman’s approach is the idea of the 'Common Ancestor.' From a single mash, two distinct beers are born, one a stronger IPA, the other a lower-strength session pale.
It’s a technique with long-standing roots in brewing tradition, but here, it is not simply employed; it is embraced. Elevated. Made visible as part of the brewery’s identity.
Where others quietly use the method, Caveman foregrounds it. The process becomes part of the story, part of the drinking experience itself.
The Evolution Series: Beer as Ongoing Experiment
Layered on top of this is the Evolution range, a sequence of beers that feel less like fixed products and more like stages in an unfolding idea.
Each numbered release carries with it an implication: this is not final. This is iteration.
And this weekend, it was Evolution #7 that found its way onto the bar.
First Impressions: Bright, Zesty, Uncontained
From the outset, Evolution #7 announces itself as lively and inventive.
The flavour profile is almost excessive in its range, tangerine cutting through first, followed by an unexpected softness reminiscent of sponge cake. Honeydew melon adds freshness, while crystallised ginger introduces a sweet, spiced edge.
Then, almost playfully, more notes begin to surface: banana, grape, even a faint echo of nettle pop.
It becomes a kind of sensory collage, layered, shifting, and slightly surreal.
Too much flavour? Perhaps. But then again, perhaps that is precisely the point.
The Palate: Complexity with a Curious Edge
As the beer develops, it moves into stranger territory.
At the back of the palate, there is a subtle antiseptic astringency, unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. It sits alongside crab apple sharpness and a cooling cucumber note, adding a slightly medicinal clarity to the mix.
Floral elements drift in and out, wild meadow flowers that soften the sharper edges, briefly grounding the beer before it moves on again.
It is a constantly shifting experience, never quite settling into one identity.
The Fade: Where It Falters
And yet, for all its inventiveness, Evolution #7 reveals a limitation.
The finish lacks staying power.
What begins as bold and expressive gradually dissipates too quickly. Flavours refresh with each sip, but they do not linger. During pauses, those moments between sips when conversation takes over, the memory of the beer fades faster than expected.
There is a fragility to the aftertaste. A sense that the beer promises depth on arrival, but does not fully sustain it.
It leaves behind not dissatisfaction, but a curious sense of incompletion.
Appearance and Structure: Precision in the Glass
Visually, the beer is composed and elegant.
A pale golden body catches the light cleanly, topped with a deep white head that clings persistently to the glass. Each sip leaves behind a delicate meniscus, marking its progress downward.
At 4.7% ABV, it sits comfortably in session territory, but drinks with a slightly greater presence than expected. There is a moment, somewhere halfway through the glass, where everything begins to align: the flavour, the strength, the intention.
It does not resolve entirely, but it begins to make sense.
A Beer of Ideas Rather Than Conclusions
What defines Evolution #7 is not perfection, but ambition.
From Caveman Brewery’s cellar beneath The George and Dragon, this is a beer that prioritises exploration over resolution. It experiments with flavour combinations, challenges expectations, and embraces transience.
It is not designed to be definitive. It is designed to be part of a process.
Final Thoughts
Evolution #7 is an inventive, zesty, and at times bewildering pale ale, full of bright citrus, soft sweetness, and unusual herbal and floral notes.
Its weakness lies in its finish, where the promised depth gives way to something more fleeting. But even this feels consistent with its identity: a beer that moves quickly, changes often, and refuses to settle.
In the end, it is less about what remains and more about what happens along the way.
And in a cellar beneath a Kentish pub, that feels entirely appropriate.
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