Cocktail Clash
One drink, built six ways. The entry is theirs to design, so a small bar can beat a big one on craft alone.
A Clash is a judged competition between local venues, where a score can only be cast from inside the venue.
Some towns want a table to chase; some want a reveal in the room. You choose before it opens: a board nobody sees until the winner is announced, standings only you can watch, or a live leaderboard for everyone.
Whichever you pick is fixed the moment the competition opens, so nobody can switch it on or off halfway through. A live table is the real count, not a guess: it shows exactly what the result would be if it closed that minute.
You supply the venues. We supply everything else.
One thing everyone makes — a Negroni, a roast, a flat white. Six venues is the sweet spot: enough for a real contest, few enough to visit in a month.
The map, the venue pages, the scoring, the window stickers, the table cards and the week's code words. You approve it before anything is printed.
An email address and a six-digit code back. No app to install, no password to invent, nothing for your staff to learn.
Scoring only opens inside the venue, proved by a word your staff hand over with the order. Three venues minimum before a card counts at all.
Keep the standings sealed until results night, watch them yourself, or run a live leaderboard for everyone. You choose before it opens, and it can't change after.
One winner announced in the room. Afterwards every venue gets its own scores, its rank and what judges actually wrote. That report is what makes next year easy to sell.
This is the part that makes a Clash a competition rather than a poll. It's also the part most people get wrong.
| Method | Proves you're inside |
|---|---|
| Phone GPS | No |
| QR code or NFC tag | No |
| Code word from the staff | Yes |
On a busy high street, neighbouring venues are often only 10 to 50 metres apart. Consumer GPS in a built-up street is accurate to somewhere between 10 and 30 metres. The maths simply can't tell one bar from the one next door.
A tag can be photographed and sent to a friend. A QR code on a window can be scanned from the pavement. Both are genuinely useful — they save a judge typing — but neither is proof, and a competition decided by them is one screenshot away from an argument.
A word only your staff know, changed every week, handed over with the order. It costs your team one sentence, it can't be scanned through glass, and by the time it has spread beyond the room the week has moved on. It's the cheapest honest answer, and it's the one we build around.
Six rules, fixed before the first score is cast and the same in every town.
Presence is proved by a word your staff give with the order, changed every week. It can't be scanned through glass or forwarded to a friend.
Nobody wins on the strength of forty friends scoring one place and going home.
Better judgement, and a competition that can't be won by drinking faster than everyone else.
A board nobody sees until the night, standings only you can watch, or a live leaderboard for everyone. It can't change halfway through.
One large mailing list can't decide it on its own, and a panel alone can't overrule a town.
An email address and the scores. No tracking, no location history, nothing sold to anybody. Privacy notice.
The rules don't change. Only the thing being judged does.
One drink, built six ways. The entry is theirs to design, so a small bar can beat a big one on craft alone.
Sunday lunch, judged over four Sundays. The highest-stakes argument any English town is capable of having.
A flat white at every café on the street. Daytime trade, families welcome, no alcohol anywhere near it.
A guest ale or a house pour, judged on the pour as much as the beer. Sits naturally alongside a local brewery.
Christmas windows, judged by the people walking past. Every shop on the street can enter, not just the ones that serve food.
If every venue in your town can make the same thing and argue about it afterwards, it can be a Clash.
A Clash is a package, not a login. Half of what arrives is physical.
Matching, in the window. Six of them along a street is what tells the town something is on.
What the competition is, how to join, and the reminder to ask for this week's word.
A QR, or an NFC tag in a holder that sits on the bar. Saves a judge typing; never counts as proof on its own.
Opens in a browser, works on an old phone, and asks for an email address and nothing else.
The running order, the reveal, and something for the winner to put behind the bar until next year.
Your own scores, your rank and what judges actually wrote — whether you won or came last.
Usually one landlord with a rivalry and five neighbours worth beating. Sometimes a business improvement district or a traders' association buying footfall they can point at. Occasionally a brewery or a council. One person has to own it locally, and it works best if that person is a competitor rather than a committee.
Six venues who have said yes, a category everyone can make, and a date for the results night. That's genuinely it. If you can get five neighbours to agree to be judged, we can do the rest.
Quoted per town, depending on venues and how much of the kit you want printed. The first run in a new town is on founding terms, because the first town takes a risk the others won't have to. Ask and you'll get a number.
We hold an email address and the scores, and nothing else. No tracking, no location history, no list sold to anybody. Thirty days after the results night it's deleted automatically; the scores stay, anonymously, so the result can still be checked. The privacy notice has the detail.
Tell us the place, roughly when, and what you'd have everyone make. We'll come back with what it would involve and what it would cost.
or write to hello@rallyrosette.com