You have to be a man.

There is also a girls’-only night, featuring tapas and sangria. So by way of being equal, presumably, their notion is to exclude two sets of people on two different nights. Evens Stephens (or Stephanies, depending on the night).

But wait ... that’s just what the ad says. A quick phone call to organiser Jim at Ravensthorpe, Albion Park, and the truth is tapped - everyone is in fact welcome, which is cool, because last time I looked, beer appreciation required tastebuds, not testicles. Jim says a woman bought her hubby a pair of tickets and asked him: “Please take me!”

It’s only fair that women be included in the revolution taking place in beer around the place. A wonderfully named group in the United States called Barley’s Angels has been formed to enlighten accordingly (the Sydney chapter’s motto is “Ladies, it’s time we got our malty mojo back!”)

In beer’s early years - its history is longer and every bit as noble (and ignoble) as wine’s - most brewers were female. Priestesses were revered as deity, endowed with some or other magical power to conjure this divine drink which seemed to make the scary ancient world from Peru to Sumer a better place. They were in charge - in a beatified sense - of mashing up the almost porridge-like concoctions which could have been flavoured with any sort of herb or root.

As all households brewed their own before the industrial age began, making ale was the domain of the lady of the house.

But for all this, the bunkum factor brought to us by cultural conditioning and the world of advertising is strong; its message is that beer is for men and the other half of the world’s population can please itself.

These stereotypes stem from the same mindsets which once contended that matters such as voting and rugby league were for men only. And while we’re at it, pink is for girls and blue is for boys ... Last week’s banning of a woman from a homebrew contest in New Zealand indicates there is still much work to be done.