Monthly Archives: September 2011

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Duck Rabbit Rabid Duck Imperial Stout, 10% abv

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rabid russian rabbits

Rabbit Imperialism, Briar Patches Appropriated

Duck Rabbit Rabid Duck, 10% abv imperial stout

A: A thinnish black with some deep browns, not a completely oily nightmare, just 
moderate BP situation.  Nice lacing and stickiness on the glass, like a 2 Live Crew Video.

S:  huge smells of figs, dates, roasted walnuts and melted raisin.  The smoky profile is 
light but huge in dark fruits.  The chocolate presents some dryness, but you aren't all
sad like at the end of an episode of Teen Mom, a good dryness.

T:  The taste has none of the fruits present and relies more upon a smoky element 
and dark chocolate maltiness.  If the maltiness were stronger it would come off 
like dark chocolate milk but the watery profile pulls away from it.  
No heat from the 10% abv is present.

M:  Surprisingly light given the appearance and the result is a beer that isn’t 
too big for several bouts, nice coating but not a huge malty overload. 1950's diners aint
got NATHAN ON THESE MALTS.

D:  As far at Imperial Stouts go, the thin body makes it less memorable, less complex 
but more drinkable.  It serves a strange purpose in that it doesn’t exactly strive 
for a One Day Crazy Release but seeks to be more of a solid everyman’s imperial stout 
cum de Yeti, Founders; but it isn’t readily available so it’s drink ability basically 
must carry the day and it ultimately does not.

Narrative:  Michael Clempson knew exactly what he was walking into.  There was an 
auspicious trailer at the entry to the cul de sac, unmarked Crowne Victoria cars along
 the seemingly benign residential streets.  Michael trolled Yahoo chat rooms relentlessly 
seeking the undercover Dateline operatives to lead to this epic event.  He feigned interest 
in a person posing as a 13 year old girl for the strict purpose of making his swift dark plan. 
 “COME ON IN SILLY GET OUT OF THE RAIN!” Michael chuckled to himself at the pathetic acting 
from the operative luring him into the house.  He held his head up high and awaited the ambush.
  On this blustery overcast day, Perverted Justice would receive justice of their own. 
“I MADE YOU SOME SWEET TEA SO JUST COME IN AND HAVE A SEAT!”  the voice resonated off of 
the surrounding track homes.  Michael grinned and gripped the detonator in the pocket of his 
cargo shorts, each stick of c4 making light abrasions against his chest as he entered the 
house with his murky dark intentions.
1

Abacus, Firestone Walker, 13% abv Barleywine

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Abacution

Abacus Schmabacus

Abacus, Firestone Walker, 13% Barley Wine

A:  Amazing deep amber hues with some yellowing at the edges.  Great carbonation out of the 
bottle and the lacing looks like a Gallagher show, just mess everywhere, in a good way. Ladies
be mad peeping when you have a bottle of this in the club, mostly like "where did he even get 
that?" but mad peeping nonetheless.  Things are peeped upon.

S:  There are sweet hot notes with cinnamon and dark fruits.  It’s tough to take in with 
nutmeg and some sort of hot currant smells going on.  I usually hate barley wines but 
this smells nothing short of amazing. It's like that first time you popped that Snow cassette in
and sang to Informer.

T:  Just wow, this is the best barley wine that I have ever had.  There is an amazing
 great hot finish with sweet licorice and figs.  The heat rolls through and finishes a 
juicy plum note. Plum juice all up in this mix like a Michael Bay joint.

M:  The mouthfeel isn’t too heavy and really impressed me.  Again, I really dislike 
this style in all its iteration and if this is this good now, I shudder to think what 
a couple years would do to a 2011.  The coating has a great finish with deep dark 
turbinado sugar and nutmeg.  In short, it is very complex, just like a Wayan's brothers
 movie.

D:  This is scary drinkable for 13% abv.  I shared this with some friends and they all 
demurred and preferred their Pliny, which, for good reason I can understand.  But for a 
beer this huge, its tough to argue with.  The interplay of all of the elements at once feels
 like a Mars Volta record where you aren’t sure how they did it, but you are satisfied to
 be left in the dark as long as it tastes amazing.  This is exceptional and well worthy of 
the hype.

Narrative:  Tyler Folsom was a nice person.  Sure he was a 4 sport athlete, donated time 
on weekends to explicitly blind orphans, adopted 5 shelter cats, ran makeshift sickle 
cell anemia cure test centers in his garage, and had a laundry list of acceptance letters
 to a litany of schools, but, he was a nice guy.  Some would say that he had too much on 
his plate.  He never knew what was going on with Pretty Little Liars, his record collection
 was woefully wanting for a 17 year old guy, but somehow, his rough translations from Aramaic
 to Latin to hexidecimal for a new kernel that he was debugging made it all worth it. 
 “Oh sure, we could run scripts under English syntax, if you want spaghetti loops in 
your DLLs!” He exclaimed in a rare moment of tension while nursing a Koala deftly.  
“But ultimately, if the kids don’t eat, I don’t eat.”  He meant this literally.  
He had adopted Peter Singer’s theory of ethics and regularly starved himself for days 
on end, still outperforming all other student athletes.  “It’s basically just about being 
a NICE GUY.”  He noted as he put the finishing touches on his double fermented 4Loko batch 
that was 0 calorie and 0 carb, a gift for his friends for an upcoming soiree 
against teen inebriation.
0

Stone Imperial Russian Stout, 2009 vintage 10.5% abv

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Russian Stoner

Russian Imperialist at its Finest

A:  It has a welcoming midnight pitch to it, inky, but that sort of oiliness like a junior 
year night where there is a promise of either disaster or complete fulfillment. YOU KNOW.  
Also, some khaki spider webbing and no middle carbonation to speak of.

S:  The coffee and burnt notes from the 2011 is absent in the 2009, this one is more chocolate
 with an incredibly integrated bourbon.  It feels like the way alcoholism is perfectly integrated
 into an undergrad experience but you enjoy every moment of the fulfilling moments. 
 The nose is like a cuvee of Black Tuesday and Chocolate Rain, and I cannot overstate how well 
this beer ages.  Take your $5.99 per bottle, buy a case, and leave it alone.  Seriously.

T:  The chocolate is just fantastic, it comes through like a highbrow ferrero roche with the 
almond and smoked notes lingering just long enough like a Carnival Cruise host, but enough time 
alone to get wasted in private.  The finish has a great coffee stickiness to it.  This just gets 
better and better the warmer that it gets. 
If I had a time machine I wou- “BUT WHAT ABOUT ALL THE OTHER THINGS YOU COULD DO” no, 
interloper, this would be first order of business.  Second order of business would be to beat
 all the endings of Chrono Trigger upon initial release.

M:  It isn’t overly oppressive, it coats nicely and leaves a silkiness similar to breakfast stouts
 but without the oats residue.  It is worth the hype and it is frustrating how cheap and accessible 
this stout is.  Why even drink other things?  This is essentially the Sculpin of imperial stouts and
 it deserves every accolade.

D:  Despite the heavy style and abv, I love this stout.  You could turn nay sayers into believers if 
only for a moment.  It simply is more chocolate and candy than stout.  I usually like to fight for
 an underdog but, it is clear that this beer needs no support, it is the reigning champion for a reason. 
 Go forth and witness the masses with this beer.

Narrative:  “Well Jim, they say his fencing style is completely unorthodox” “I agree, we have heard of 
epee’s but using a full on broadsword just seems a bit excessive for the sport!”  The crowd watched on
 as Svardson deftly bounced on the balls of his feet and parried the advances of his opponents with flair
 and skilled bravado.  “Oh my, I have never seen a blade shattered, much less followed by a half gainer, 
this is hardly within the skill manual”  Svardson wore a pitch black fencing uniform and continued to defy
 tradition.  The match was his, he spiked his massive blade into the foam tournament floor and clapped his
 hands together, showering the masses with cocoa nibs.  It was truly a majestic demonstration of the sweet 
and swift blade.
1

The Bruery Pinotlambicus, 8.2% abv

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Tart like grammy

Pinot is all juiced up.

Pinotlambicus, the Bruery, Wild Ale/Sour, 8.2% abv

A:  This beer looks like an Arnold palmer with a murky dull yellow/light brown.  
There is absolutely no lacing and no carbonation except for some wispy middle bubbles.  
It appears similar to a cider and just looks reticent to get all dolled up for the drinker.

S:  The nose gives smells of funk, and very light citrus.  
It doesn’t really have much vitus in this vitus series.  
There’s definitely some green grapes and lemon zest but, nothing too amazing.

T:  The taste has a bit of a prickly taste to it with tart white wine notes. 
 It is not overly drying or overly crisp.  There’s some mild carpety finishing notes that may be some acetyl 
business going on but it isn’t a big enough carpet business to warrant filing with the state.  
It really isn’t that complex but it is pretty good, not amazing.

M:  The mouthfeel is very thin similar to a light wit bier or a Belgian blonde base. 
 It is not overly coating and it doesn’t dry too much.  The mouthfeel kinda phones it in,
 imparts the tartness and then quickly takes off to handle 
other affairs like giving me diarrhea.  You know, important matters.

D:  This is incredibly drinkable and it would be refreshing around the pool with all the girlfriends.  
Plus the crispness wont leave you bloated so you can fit into that Marciano dress you just bought.  
It is a bit too funky and tart to have a place in colder weather but it would be a sick brew 
at Havasu when things get all gnar gnar on the cutty boats.

Narrative:  “Hey Coco?” the light from the upstairs shone down into the basement 
where Mike Washington’s secret resided.  He walked down holding a bundle of green
 grapes shaking them alluringly about the habitat that he had crudely constructed. 
“Cocooooo, dinner time!” suddenly a rubicund little koala scampered down the silk 
tree and snatched the fresh concord grapes from Mike’s hand. “Omm nom nom ommm nommm…” 
the crude little koala gnashed and smashed the grapes sending skins and juice flying
 pell mell. “Who would believe them if I told them, that I had an alcoholic little 
koala in my basement. No one, that’s who, you idiot Mike.”  
He shook his head and poured a small amount of Bordeaux into Coco’s bowl and watched 
him lap it up hungrily.  
Coco’s coat was stained with smashed grapes, tannins, and splashed wine.  He looked 
like a homeless koala with an affinity for Charles Shaw, but Mike loved him all the same.  
Besides, a filthy grape addicted koala was just what he needed to jazz up his otherwise 
mediocre life. “NO COCO! BAD COCO!”  he cried out as Coco began to give the business to 
an old Cabbage Patch doll.  “You’re a marsupial, that’s totally non-canon!”