There is something inherently hard wired into baby palates that creates an aversion to tequila barrels. The initial prospect always generates this close minded revulsion amongst a cadre who were drinking Rogue offerings just two years prior. This is yet another release from Voodoo that seeks to challenge these prejudices. The entirety of their recent releases were novel riffs that are iconoclastic and exceptional in execution. Notwithstanding, sometimes being an excellent brewer is not enough to overcome the challenges attendant to the flavor profile itself. Voodoo unquestionably has a magnificent barrel program, but can they turn the tides on this controversial style?
The answer is a resounding “ehhhh kinda?” The beer looks pleasant enough, has billowing carb that clings lovingly. The nose has wafts of agave nectar, a sort of honey sweetness, and intense waves of pencil shavings, shop class, sawdust and lingering oak. Sometimes you read “super aged” bourbon reviews like elijah Craig 23, old blowhard, etc and bloggers will get all achy and sad complaining of the wood profile. Them entry level tastebuds want the sweet, the predictable, easily apprehendable caramel and vanilla.
This is very much not that.
Low counts won’t convert stubborn NECKBEARDS with preconceived notions of taste.
The taste is challenging and the sweet elements clang noisily against the resounding wood aspects. It is far from the less that was Roble Blanco and is even far from offensive. Brewers walk a fine line with attempting to push beer into those tequila pokeballs. It isn’t a harsh or firey scratchiness, and it even has elements of balance between the honey sweetness and dry toasted wood.
That being said, most of those dinero nuevo ballers will operate on their preconceptions make a pussy face with a 1 ounce pour. It is well executed but takes a swing at huge opposition.
A girl can date the most interesting pen tester ever, but in the end that off putting antisocial undercurrent shows through and no one can take a counter programmer is sessionable doses.
lines in the water, predatory clickbait engage
DDB is in the running for the best beer blog in the entire world of gourmands. If you know what MOLECULAR GASTRONOMY IS, then you probably have such a fat throbber right now.
I would ask you to vote for old subbydoo, but since you have to log into Saveur, and I know my readerbase doesn’t even buy conditioner, so there’s no way that is happening.
DDB as a site is nothing but a pile of self-aggrandizing stinkbait
Behold, the shittiest beer that Crooked Stave has ever released. Look upon it in solemn contemplation and reflect upon cherry mixed with stale coffee grounds.
If you are already on the fence regarding dark sours, bail now. This is like the optional dungeon hunt that will tear you limb from limb. I am talking Demon Souls difficulty curve.
It is bone dry, nimble and opens with intensely sour cherry skins that tingle along the gumline like those acetic caged and corked la folies from the 2000s. That dryness paved the way for this acrimonious coffee ground flavor running in tossing Semtex and leveling what is left. Finally when the tastebud residents are crawling out of the tart bitter rubble, cocoa nib bombers firebomb the back palate with a bitter chocolate sweetness. Palate war never changes.
I don’t understand what this was going for, it starts off like consecration and closes like Chocolate Rain, ne’er should the two be wed. It isn’t a poorly made beer in the way that Jackie Brown isn’t a poorly made movie: there is evidence of genius and mastery that bungles all the details. The end result is a low point in an otherwise stellar lineup of offerings.
To be fair two other “normal” people (ie no man tits, not obsessed with sugar water) loved this beer. Like a mimosa sipping Lululemon undergrad, I JUST CANT EVEN
Don’t Act like you aren’t buy curious.
Such a fantastic beer and gosh darn it if it isn’t the same pedigree as the regular HF lineup.
Oh sorry it is a golden sour. Not like it would matter, it’s your basic well done exceptional borderline awa, and then with a certain grassiness on the finish.
Thinkin out loud, I must have a hundred new ticks in the cellar right now.
Crooked stave suffering from consistency and predictably tasty beers albeit cloistered within the confines of that porsche single stunning genre. If you drive a four door porsche you are probably an asshole, if you want a crooked stave stout, you are probably an asshole.
17.5 same color t shirt, sippin stouts in that black and orange charger call that a trick or treat
It strikes that impeccable balance of drinkability, complexity, light cheesiness, and faint acidity that only the likes of Ann, Art, older tomes and top tier Saisons hit.
This may be the best saison made on the west coast at this time.