WA has a love affair with the red can. Whether you are getting intoxicated during a cyclone or appropriating bogan culture in your gentrification den, you have probably seen a 30 block of bush chook around the place.
It’s the taste of WA, that was bought by a New Zealand brewer, moved to South Australia and is currently owned by the Japanese. Nevertheless, after moving from its fancy home on the Swan River, the red can spent 34 years in Canning Vale, and anyone who can last that long in Canning Vale is Western Australian as fuck.
Export is Emu’s most popular brew but its other lines are worthy of note. Emu Bitter is famous for being the beer of choice for grizzly level 5 old mates who would push their own mother down the stairs to get a cold esky after a long day of yelling at greyhounds and sexting a second cousin on Plenty of Fish.
Similarly, Emu Draft should be noted as it is nature’s cruellest mistake. If you do drink it, keep that shit to yourself, each to their own and all that but no one wants to know you.
Traditionally, Export was enjoyed by the working-class of WA. In some parts of Northern WA, it’s officially classed as a blood type. Cold, easy-drinking beer is perfect for the hot Northern climate and even more popular during cyclone season. Did someone say cyclone party?
During cyclone warnings, locals barricade themselves inside their oversized dongas and drink Emu Export until they piss themselves. The demand for the red can is so furious during these events that bottleshops are often required to send for emergency stocks from Perth.
Naturally, the inner city cool crowd saw a perfect opportunity for irony and began buying up the blocks in bulk. However, what was good for the hipster-goose wasn’t so good for the bogan-gander.
With gentrification comes a price hike. You can still see the eye twitching of anyone living north of Cervantes when the price of a block is mentioned: generally north of $50.
Not only do they consider this to be un-Western Australian but they would like to treat every hipster to a refreshing shooey from their boot while they are still wearing it. While they are hooked up to a car battery.
Sure, they may have been late to the Emu party but their passion for the drop is no less profound. It’s not just the sun-crusted hicks of the North that don’t want to live without emu, so do the clean shirts of the South.
Accordingly, Emu has the same passport as Carmen Sandiego and has been seen on plenty of airport conveyor belts en route to exotic lands.
Bet no one’s ever done that for a dirty carton of Calton Draught.