My neck, my sack, my dopple and my boch.

Oh shit, another top 100 beer? Guess it must be the waxing moon.

Andechser Dopplebock Dunkel, Doppelbock 7.1% abv

A: The beer pours a translucent deep caramel color with a huge amount of carbonation that maintains a generous head and sticks to the sides of the glass. It looks like a root beer float in many ways. Take this to a 6th grade slumber party and you will be the life of the PARTY, and shortly asked to leave.

S: This has a great smell of sweet clove, banana esters, Belgian spice, and mild milk chocolate. The cocoa and dates make it feel like a tame Belgian quad in many ways. It handles your nose like the gentlest of returns cashiers at Target, making sure that you are satisfied through and through.

T: This beer delivers a very mild cocoa front with some clove that melds into a banana and apple sweetness. The whole experience is just tame but understated like the calm poise of a regal mother in law from Connecticut. You know there’s a lot going on there, but it doesn’t get all up in your face about it.

M: The mouthfeel is both creamy and thin at the same time, PARADOXES ABOUND. The actual water seems very hard in that it has a crisp clean finish but the carbonation and slickness coats in a quick way. The drinker is left with a satisfying sheen like when you get out of a gnar gnar moshpit, dirty, yet, cleansed.

D: This beer shines in pulling off a crazy hat trick of imparting a ton of flavor, masking the moderate abv, and washing away incredibly quickly in a refreshing manner. It’s not like bears are MEANT for unicycles, but when you see the two combined, no objections resound. Tl;dr – lots flavor, good drink.

Narrative: :::BRRRVRRRMMMM::: Another full-sized 2.0L Bavarian truck rushed by unnoticing of the small German boy’s plight. Hans Geinlich’s caramel apple stand was not going so well. The modest price of 1 euro was not off-putting, nor was his fashionable marketing strategy of precariously reaching his arm out to motorists passing by. “Und zen, you schould be trying ze apples!” he shouted as a gaudy BMW roared past at 200 km/h. It was the location. He had an amazing caramel apple, sublime even. It was a manifestation of Gluck’s finest symphony within an ambrosial treat, but selling them in a remote stretch of the Autobahn did no one any favors. He once almost caused a 12 car pile up when a driver screeched to a halt to sample his wares, damn near flipping a series of tiny French hatchbacks behind him. “Und zen, zey cink zat I am ze jokes wit ze apples!” he sobbed mournfully and sat on a charred tire. Someday Hans would realize his dreams and create a Bavarian chocolate factory with a marketing gimmic involving golden tickets, but for the time being, it was roadside apple sales for this likeable little Prussian.