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@18thstreetbrew Sophomoric Saison, A Categorical Examination of Farmhouse Values Attendant to Reflection

Last week the owner of 18th street brewing and I had a discourse with an undercurrent of hostility and I elected to review another one of their offerings to determine if it was worth the $4.65 for a can of saison, or alternatively, if I am a huge prick.  The two may exist concurrently.  This offering is a collaboration with a brewery that I love, Arizona Wilderness, and I don’t know their interplay and I would rather judge this on its merits rather than throw rocks at trains and make dick jokes, the same tired Mikkeller finger pointing that this garbage blog usually embraces.  Let’s take a blank slate and examine the nature of examination itself in today’s review.

This is what the beer looks like

This is what the beer looks like

18th street Brewery, and perhaps some involvement with Arizona Wilderness, who knows

Saison with lime, 7.2.% abv.

A:  The beer is admittedly beautiful, in the way that anyone with a modicum of perception could decide for themselves.  Perhaps it isn’t beautiful, far be it for me to offer up prescriptive statements about the nature of beer.  To think this site would concurrently hold out a degree of aesthetic parameters and then ridicule the BJCP is laughable and lamentably sad at the same time.  If you enjoy what you see, as I do, then we are both simply damned, our appraisals as worthless as grains of sand worn down in ever cascading waves.

No number of trite references or watered down saison contrasts will ever best the begrudging realities of time or creation,  Not even Shining Force.

No number of trite references or watered down saison contrasts will ever best the begrudging realities of time or creation, Not even Shining Force.

S:  I personally love the smell of this beer, the lime rind, the zest, the muddled citrus and lingering ester waft like a murky Brother Soigne, it easily justifies the price of entry, regardless of format or shithead blogger commentary.  The closer is bitter and dry on the nose akin to grapefruit pith but the entire experience is highly refreshing and never lacks depth like hundreds of words cast daily upon an immutable surface, feeble attempts to avoid the pressing weight of time.

T:  While no manner of validation can appropriate of enhance the value of anything created, the reverberate chorus can unflinchingly agree that this is delicious.  Perhaps one gets a bitter mandarin orange, kiwi, kaffir mint, muddle mojito lime, and a complex bready profile like sweet cornbread is not for this site to say, maybe you taste chocolate.  Who knows.  This entire endeavor is an exercise of futility and false hubris.

Alright, some Sega Genesis RPG references, baiting the readerbase like usual, keep it coming, phoning in the content, that cynical nostalgia carapace as thin as a Socratic discourse.

Alright, some Sega Genesis RPG references, baiting the readerbase like usual, keep it coming, phoning in the content, that cynical nostalgia carapace as thin as a Socratic discourse.

M:  This finishes dry with an intense lingering of key lime pie and slight yogurty creaminess that is very pleasant.  Reading any website to inform you about endeavors of personal experience is foolhardy from the inception.

D:  What is drinkable and enjoyable is an intensely personal journey and it would be futile to arrange a series of statements to tell you how to feel, you will find your own truth about a lime saison.  I can never raise your perception to the sublime nor can i degrade it from the tragic, I am a mere lifeguard shouting inaudibly from the banks with inconsequential gestures, maybe I throw a lime, who gives a fuck.  The very structure of reviews are inherently flawed and favor the creatives over the regressive.  Lena Dunham snowball loads right in your mouth.

none of this shit matters, just so long as 900 words are there.  Self imposed goals adherent to no one.   Same old bullshit

none of this shit matters, just so long as 900 words are there. Self imposed goals adherent to no one. Same old bullshit

Narrative:

The petulant blogger rests the wanting fingertips upon the worn keys of the laptop, lifeblood of existence.  The most recent offering still resonating upon the jawline, and the concepts attendant thereto, resonant and glaring balking for commentary, at least in the mind of that self important morass. While the lime and yeast danced platitudes, the underpinnings of accomplishment and creation were a secondary back biting from outside commentary. Try as one might, it remained entirely evident that the critic contributes nothing but a murky mirror, distorted and filtered, denaturing true art, pulling apart the seams at the expense of the whole garment. It ultimately draws paralells beyond the unknowable concept of “value” in life pursuits namely “can a critic ever serve a valuable purpose? can reflective criticism ever be art within itself? as the saison alludes, is criticism merely the zero calorie substitute for the danger and peril of actual creation?” The last point cuts the deepest and identifies an undercurrent in the shortcomings and feeling the lack of gravitas to one charged with criticism, namely perpetual commentary. The warmth of the farmhouse ale stands in ever more glaring contrast when the hollow shell of a commentator must contemplate ones own contributions, the attendant failures at countless endeavors, the sheer power of anonymity, the invulnerable shroud of caustic biting at the works of others, perpetual sand castle stomping while lacking the fortitude to ever lift a shovel in a meaningful way.

While cascading foam in unambitious circles, anyone can hammer out word counts to satiate the itch on a daily basis, this amorphous concept that somehow the secondary agent is pushing towards a teleological goal but knowingly remaining at the first pistol shot in true development, concerned with accomplishment but never committing to true meaningful assertion, caressing the easy content and swift praise but well aware that in almost every instance, the act of dissection can rarely rise above creation. Every saison sip a testament to the cold fingertips resting in inaction in a world of perpetual development.  In even the most lackluster brown ale lies the existence and essence predicated therein, no matter how bad, it is paint upon a canvas and there isnt the same true grade of value in acerbic dissection, no matter how knowledgeable.

The menthol smoke draped the tired IKEA furniture around the laptop.  All was still except the carbonation dancing mockingly in the glass.  Art and moreover living a meaningful existence predicated on anything worthwhile is, for most people a topic that is either never broached or properly addressed. The aluminum can, regardless of price, was a satyricon of discontent.  It underscored the nature of “contributions” but inspired concurrently with the gauntlet lain at the feet of all to see the shades and gradations of ability. Those who can do, and those who cant, etc., a million tired epithets, and watching the self reflective perpetual drag of uprising bubbles represented a million vignettes into wasted ability, every bursting c02 bubble a testament to the endless drag of chronology and the futility of commentary.

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@degardebrewing Hop Bu, it is refreshing carbonated Powerade. Perfect for winter flurries.

IMG_2928

At 2.3% abv, you know shit is about to get real. Sure we can focus on how the dry hopping presents a fantastic citrus bouquet, or we can talk about the massive crackling carb that makes this beyond drillable, to fracking even.

I would prefer to draw everyone’s attention to the fact that, with a petite frame this beer presents an incredible degree of refreshment and lingering lemon lime goodness. The water profile finishes clean and hard with no residual acid or mineral aspects, further making this beer absurdly drinkable. One fault lies in the fact that this beer will make you look like a raging alcoholic when you destroy a 750ml in less time than it takes to watch an Adult Swim half episode.

When you compare the flavor profile and price point, Jester King’s petite Prince comes across as a massive rip off by contrast, and I really enjoyed that beer. I can only assume this is a second runnings beer, either that or Trevor is extremely wasteful, either way this is phenomenal and it serves an almost nonexistent market of SUPER SESSION beers, like for when you need to both drink and chop firewood for hours on end. A very Oregonian consumer market is being targeted here and I can only shake my head that there is no readily available analogue off the shelf.

THOSE GOD FORSAKEN TILLAMOOKIANS JUST LIVING THE DREAM

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So refreshing like end to end mail on mail action. Gas to gas.

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@sudwerkbrew Funke Hop Farm, DRY HOPPED, barrel aged, lacto, BRETT SAISON HNNNGGGG

Alright so I got to the bottom of things.  Before I reviewed anything from Sudwerk I was warned top to bottom from people who had been going to the pub itself for a long time.  The PUB not to be confused with the BOTTLED OFFERINGS, offers an inoffensive standard fare of bar food and the typical lineup you might expect from a local brewpub.  However, underneath the calm veneer of this establishment runs an undercurrent of talent and malignant ability.  These igneous plumes have only began to surface lately and spill their precious magma all over consumers, coating them in sheets of precious barrel aged obsidian.  So these are unlike anything you may have seen on BEERADVOCATE and their wealth of information, and represent the current direction of the brewery at large, so get some hot loads of aggie magma all over those man tits in today’s review.

A ganache barrel aged, dry hopped, brett saison.  Inner thighs pounding so hard about to grow some farmhouse ovaries.

A grenache barrel aged, dry hopped, brett saison. Inner thighs pounding so hard about to grow some farmhouse ovaries.

BA Saison, 6% abv

PLEASE NOTE THIS IS BATCH 2, BATCH ONE COULD GARBLE RABBIT BALLS AND I WOULD HAVE NO IDEA.

Here’s the commercial tug job:

“Brewed with oats and wheat, and fermented out with two strains of saison yeast. It spends about six to nine months in an assortment of barrels-Petite Sirah, Grenache, Chardonnay-while being fermented with Brettanomyces, Lactobacillus, and a house yeast culture from their in-house solera system. It’s then blended with an all-Brett beer that’s barrel-aged separately, bringing in more tropical and guava notes. Oh, and it’s dry-hopped at 1.5 pounds per barrel with Simcoe, Nelson, and Citra.”

A:  Before I even poured this, I was like “this will be dead flat and then I can rip on this shit for being clearly a wild ale, I know how to read words, this will be nothing like a saiso-” and then billowy clouds of frothy carb sat there defiantly, forming upturned middle fingers in the foam, insulting my family line.  It looks murky and unfiltered, if this had a touch of the wheat tarbrush I wouldn’t be surprised.  I can’t parade out my typical NOT TO STYLE bullshit on this one, and that’s sad, those complaints eat up so many words, bringing me to ropey verbal completion so much faster.

you put a saison in an obscure wine barrel, and your name isn't Mystic, then my trap card gets activated so hard.

you put a saison in an obscure wine barrel, and your name isn’t Mystic, then my trap card gets activated so hard.

S:  This is unquestionably the best part of the beer and god damn, is it something to behold.  The triumvirate of the ultra juicy hops, the complete absence of any aserose aspects, the tart yogurt sharpness from the lacto, and dry closer from the brett make this huffable for days.  It is waves of tangerine, sliced clementines, those little Cuties that are wildly overpriced, fresh sliced honeydew and cantaloupe, it just smells radiant like some Ganiere Fructis shampoo.  SORRY IF YOU ARENT UP ON GAME AND STILL USE SUAVE ITS 2015 GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

ganache barrels are usually some divorcee tier component grapes that plastic dragonwomen talk about like "ITS LIKE PINOT AND THAT HOT NEW VINO CALLED MALBEC OMG SO TELL ME ABOUT HOW STAN IS MISTREATING YOU" shit like that

Grenache barrels are usually some divorcee tier component grapes that plastic dragonwomen talk about like “ITS LIKE PINOT NOIR AND THAT HOT NEW VINO CALLED MALBEC OMG SO TELL ME ABOUT HOW STAN IS MISTREATING YOU” shit like that

T:  This follows the foregoing smell but delivers a bit more of dryness and less of the fruit explosion.  It is very dry and crisp like an anjou pear with a manner of arugula grassiness to the closer.  If you enjoyed Dorothy and Alpha King, this will be well ensconced in your house of wheels.  It is refreshing and reminds me of Printemps with more wild ale inclinations.  While this doesn’t step full on into the Side Project sour saison realm, it is rubbing the tip dangerously close to the folds.  It is unquestionably sour but never stops your from drilling the entire bottle and palate fatigue never sets in.  That reminds me, I need to tick Lattice.  GOD DAMNIT THERE IS NOT REST IN THIS SAISON GAME.

M:  This is a touch thinner and drier than I would like, but other may find this to be a more exceptional aspect.  It finishes long and drops bits of tart lemongrass and grapefruit rind that, while awesome, seems to pull it away from that initial nose and the saison roots that made me draw the shades earlier.  Not every Tinder date with a 750ml is gonna hit the sheets ok, some take time, you gotta have that m’lady game, fedora tipping to the wild ale side with GENTLEMANLY RESPECT.

most these 2014 tickers think this BA saison shit is all about soaps and suds, ticker what

most these 2014 tickers think this BA saison shit is all about soaps and suds, ticker what

D:  This is unquestionably crushable.  I drank this while watching the limitlessly sad BITUTIFUL and drilled it while basking in Javier Bardem’s majesty.  You will accidentally the entire bottle, it will happen.  Don’t bother sharing this with anyone, let alone multiple people.  All that will do is generate 8 simultaneous UNTAPPD check ins that say shit like “tastes like farmhouses, is ok I guess, my 2oz pour was fine, not a good siason like Beautification, which was winner of the night.”

Just spare me that shit.