Always love to see some new stuff from DuPont, even if I hate smoke and would rather slam my erect cock in a sliding glass door, gotta peep game.
Every year, when autumn sets in and those leaves turn from green to whatever color leaves change where you live, every dipshit on the block decides to be interested in beer for a single month. Without fail, this month is October, every single year. For the uninitiated, October is a whimsical time of exploration, pumpkin spice and grocery store beers they can’t wait to tell everyone about. For the rest of the beer world, October is like pushing a glass rod into your dickhole and smashing it with a pumpkin. Today DDB will attempt to explain just why October is the absolute worst for people who are into beer year-round.
1) Fucking Octoberfest. Always Octoberfest.
You will start seeing Marzens, graters, fucking Roggenbiers and all other kinds of obscure German afterbirth hitting the shelves as early as August. This can mean only one thing, every asshole you are mildly associated with will be asking you to drink lukewarm lagers out of a 1 liter mug at some dumbfuck venue. Most beer nerds spend the better part of their year avoiding these styles altogether, but to everyone else YOU ARE THEIR BEER FRIEND THIS IS YOUR CHRISTMAS, RIGHT? Sure, there is a place for a clean refreshing German bier every once and again, but enjoying one with a bunch of assholes from accounting who want to ask you a hundred questions about the Reinheitsgebot over an oversized pretzel is never enjoyable.
2) Pumpkin Infused Everything.
For the average Whole Foods baller, the changing of the seasons activates an irritating need in their DNA to consume pumpkin everything: pies, lattes, KY lube- FOR THE LOVE OF GOURD. Without fail, the average beer nerd will get swept up in this bullshit. Your stepdad will buy you some awful pumpkin English Brown or someone will ask you incessant questions about the various pumpkin beers that they JUST HAD TO TRY WHILE THEY WHIP UP SOME MACAROONS. Beer nerds hate these beers and the spike of BeerAdvocate users and forum activity centered around pumpkin beers shows the critical mass of dipshits that flock to these on an annual basis. No thanks, Jeff.
3) Lifestyle Magazines Decide They Are Experts on Beer
During the month of October, every asshole with a subscription to Food and Wine decides that they need to dust off all their extraneous kitchen gear and whip up some awful shit to bring to holiday parties and family functions. October is the coronation of this shit-crowning and publications that previously were telling you which messenger bag is the snappiest now decide to report on BREAKING NEWS LIKE THE FOUR DIFFERENT TYPES OF SOUR ALES. It wouldn’t really matter if they just spread myopic dumbass information, but instead like FoodBabe herpes, people itch these and spread them to beer lovers and we have to suffer through these jizzgargling articles and grin and be like “oh, thanks Aunt Grace, I will look into these, yeah.” The worst is when do zero fucking research and then put together pairing guides with extremely rare beers that your friends will ask you about and then you look like a massive prick explaining how to obtain that beer, “oh the article told you to pair your pecan pastry with Kaggen Stormskatporter? Oh ok, well here let me explain why you will never fucking do that-“
4) Colder Weather Makes Beta Casuals Adventurous in their Beer Selections
Usually a basement dwelling beer nerd can live in gentle repose, conforted by the sweet succor of barrel aged old ales or nuanced saisons. The above-ground population drinks adjunct lagers and witbiers and the world operates in seamless harmony. In October temperatures drop and all those Coachella assholes decide to be adventurous in the CVS and buy something that doesn’t look like a cup of clean piss you give to your parolee buddy. This would be great if these people treated this decision like any other consumer purchase instead of making it your problem the next day. Be prepared to hear all about this brand new STYLE OF BEER CALLED A PORTERS BECAUSE IT WAS MADE IN A PORT, IN PORTUGAL. Oh no problem, a 5 minute review of Young’s Banana Bread Beer? Tell me all about your palate adventures. Invariably, these assholes will need to drop weight around Valentines Day for that big one night stand they have been planning, and they forget all about beer. It’s the stretch-marked beer nerds who have to suffer through these stories day in and day out. If I just discovered football and decided to recount all of the FIRST DOWNS that I witnessed over the weekend, people would be like “this guy is a huge prick, keep it to yourself.” That’s how it feels to be asked a relentless series of questions about Blue Moon and why is LA FIN DU MONDE just so much better like seriously, its so good, have you had it? Oh you have well let me tell you WHAT I THINK ABOUT IT, please dont interrupt me-
5) Outdoor Beer Festivals
I can already see the backlash to this one, “WAIT DDB WHAT’S WRONG WITH ENJOYING FALL OUTSIDE AND TRYING SOME NEW BEERS! I AM NOT EVEN CIRCUMSIZED!” To which I will remind the average beer consumer that these festivals are a fucking nightmare for your “BEER FRIEND.” You remember how all year that portly guy in the last cubicle has been going to bottleshares, events, releases, and standing in industrial parking lots on weekends for beer? That’s how much he hates beer festivals. You never wanted to go to those events, and a beer nerd wants to go to a Beerfest expoentially less. If you have a friend who is really into beer, the prospect of paying $60 to drink Asahi and Magic Hat outdoors with a bunch of redfaced undergrads is the worst idea ever. Couple that with UNLIMITED POURS of Honker ale, long lines to get a 5oz pour of beer they don’t want in the first place, and casual dipshits who usually dont get drunk and you have an unchecked Cougarfest on your hands. Toss in an 80’s band for maximum rage. As if the foregoing wasn’t enough, the average beer nerd gets nothing but expectant looks from the normal friends like “WELL WHAT DO YOU THINK OF SHIPYARD SMASHED BLUEBERRY HAVE YOU EVER HAD IT BEFORE? IT IS MINDBLOWING RIGHT? Oh…well we liked it…here let me explain to you why it is good in this 25 minute portapotty line-“
Reasons 6 through 10 are the people curmudgeonly described in a variety of ways. You get the jist.
I could go on and on but the assholes who need to read this have SearchSafe activated and won’t understand this anyway. Time to bunker down through the nutmeg and allspice disaster until after New Year’s Eve.
COULDN’T REMEMBER THE RECIPE TO THE GREATEST BEER IN THE WORLD: this is just a tribute.
But in all honesty this beer is pretty tasty, you don’t always have to fuck people’s palates hard sometimes you have to make some love and give tickers some smooches too. Whenever someone offers me a regular scotch ale I am usually like “hey if I wanted the taste of pennies, stale alcohol and blood, I will just go work at the recycling center.” Somehow, through the magic of oak and time, barrel aging scotch ales makes them actually drinkable. However, unlike barleywines or old ales, they don’t have that heft to their bodies so they run the risk of being over-oaked if you try to push the wood too deep, hitting that back wall.
This beer is a shining example of a BA scotch ale that damn near shoulders with the finest BA Barleywines in complexity and sheer deliciousness. The treatment imparted a fantastic coconut and macaroon aspect and, more importantly, served to tame the metallic and bittering notes attendant to the standard pedestrian scotch ale base. Sure, you can disagree and sip on wee heavies to your heart’s delight, but you probably have your name written on the inside of your underwear and I wouldn’t want to drink with your basic ass 1996 palate anyway.
This has a deep crimson and mahogany aspect to it with a fantastic carb that subsides without lacing or much pageantry. The nose is fantastic through and through, sweet carmelized raisins, brown sugar, a touch of oaky bitter notes, and finishes like Sugar Daddies and a mineral closer. The taste is clean and highly attenuated, not leaving a flabby inefficient grain bill or residual sugar to needlessly sweeten up this tight presentation. It is distinctively a scotch ale in this regard, whereas some people might complain that Ale Smith BA Wee Heavy toes too closely to the barleywine realm. Fuck those complainers, we are talking god tier BA Scotch ales here, give those jabronis some knuckle sandwiches. The taste is a bit more bitter and malt forward than the sweet nose would belie and it kinda reminds me a of a baby version of Kuhnhenn BBBW, if you ratchet evertying back a step, and then actually carbonated it- HEYOOOOO.
The mouthfeel begs for another sip and the fusel heat is imperceptible and integrated seamlessly like those SICK TRUE RELIGION JEANS WITH THE WHITE STITCHING OH FUCK. I killed this bottle unreasonably fast while sucking shit at Rocksmith, but who wants to play POLICE covers anyway? It is highly drinkable, complex, and should be enjoyed above 60 degrees to get all them Sherwin Williams color swaps on your palate.
I would tell you to go seek it out, but I am sure this was like 300 bottles or some shit, so who cares. If nothing else it is a testament to a barrel program that, if we overlook Gran Met and Buffalo Trace BBVD, is almost beyond reproach at this point.
Well not for that at least.
If you haven’t tossed old DDB a Like on the tome of countenances, the supple pages are vying for your tender caress.
Twenty six god damn years in the barrel. That’s longer than most of these new Dark lord drinking tickers have been alive. So is the extra time from the wood an improvement over Orphan Barterhouse? The answer is a resounding negative.
At $150 retail this not only costs twice as much as it’s Bernheim brethren but it is also markedly worse. Let me clarify, if you absolutely love over oaked, solventy soapy wood: then you will find this to be a vast improvement. The nose on it was a touch of varnish and wafty cabinet treatment. I let it burn off for a few minutes and dove back in and the subtle or the understated notes from it’s Orphan cousin are long gone and what’s left is the deck of a well worn galleon, one that spent far too much time at sea.
The taste is black pepper, some pine, and a resonant oak bomb like 9th grade shop class. All the fun caramel and dark fruit is gone and we are left with this dystopian arbor day where plants rule the earth. I mean, get a $25+ pour at a bar if you want the experience, but a whole 750ml of this might be a bit much unless you have a logging buddy or want to get forestry-service-person wasted.
Perhaps mouths that crave the wood in their face hole will foster a better appreciation for this mistreatment, I will just remain content with my bountiful supply of transparent erection entendres.