Apparently this beer isn’t subject to the Jerry Brown “4Loko Ban” so you can get all twisted at dolores park and then be cranked out enough to ride your fixie bike back home to your Presidio mansion.
http://sfist.com/2011/11/30/caffeinated_beer_brewery_coming_to.php
Check it out
This USED to be a top 100 beer, first world problems.
Schnieder Aventinus, Weizenbock/Doppelbock, 8.2% abv
A: It has a deep brown amber almost brown ale color with a certain muddiness to it. The bottle conditioning yields tiny bubbles with almost no lacing. It’s pretty legit for how widely available it is, not unlike Snow’s first album.
S: Sweet figs, brown sugars, roasted oats, and some dark fruits similar to a Belgian tripel. It reminds me of how Miller Boyett productions would always link their shows together like how Harriett worked with Larry and Balki and then Steve crash landed in Wisconsin at the Lambert’s backyard. It is an example of canonical cohesion is what I am trying to say.
This beer is good and delivers in a simple refreshing way. You know what I am saying.
T: There is an almost tart sweetness at the forefront. The bubbles are tingly and almost sour with the dark fruits coming through like a deep burnt wheat finish. It is strange how many genres this covers without being a strange cuvee of some sort. The dark fruits are still present but its is almost more blackberry or a sweet pecan syrup taste to it. IHOP ALL UP IN THIS BITCH.
M: The mouthfeel has some good coating but with a strange tingliness to it. This is not a light wheat beer finish but it is not heavy similar to a dunkelweisen or a thin porter, it has a strange distinct nature to it. It is likely perfect for the style, but essentially I am not a huge fan of this style I suppose or perhaps I am just uneducated with regards to the variety of examples of this type of beer. That being said, this is still a delicious beer but I would have a hard time pairing this effectively given its strange hybrid of sweetness and tartness. You want to invite her to one of your friends, but she’s all into slam poetry and weird shit so you have to abstain.
This beer delivers. I ain't even mad though.
D: This is exceptionally drinkable but seems more suited for fall weather than long sessions in any form of hot weather. The sugars aren’t overly filling like a Belgian tripel but the strange crispness doesn’t make it bothersome. I couldn’t take on more than a pint of this but it was an enjoyable fleeting experience.
Narrative: Gretchen Dulceberg’s candy business was in dire straights. For starters, opening a confectionary boutique in rural Utah was bound to cause some problems with the Mormon populace. Second, the recession hit the gourmet fusion sweets market especially hard. The average blonde haired blue eyes Utahite would saunter in with a sweet tooth for a simple Snickers or a Chic-O-Stick and be welcomed with Truffled Cocoa with dried ahi tuna or muddled marshmellow foam imbued with beef stock marrow. The price of Gretchen’s goods would leave a sour taste in the mouth of the most proper Latter Day Saint. Ultimately, Ms. Dulceberg’s sweet tooth was too obtuse for the average Mormon, but in Dresden, this place would have been a dunklesmash.
Good and plenty's burning holes in my face.
A while back I caused a stir when I asked people their least favorite beer of 2011, I feel that this beer was the overwhelming winner, although I still feel that the Mikkeller Peat Barrel Black Hole nightmare was the worst, ho hum, here you go.
Stone Belgo Anise Imperial Russian Stout 10.6% abv
A: Deep motor oil black with no light opaque tones, not the deepest black I have seen but the coating lets you know that it has a huge malt to it. Mocha colored head with lacing that sticks to the glass. So far so good, now for the smell-
S: The anise is light and reminiscent of a sweeter licorice like a box of good and plentys. There is chocolate and some cocoa dryness to it. it’s like the lovely Stone IRS with an angry dark demon living inside of it. Why did this interloping licorice jerk have to show up? Many tears are shed into Hello Kitty diaries over this mishap.
Not even hipster excuses can make anise palatable.
T: The licorice is present in a strange resonant way. It imparts a sweetness with the Belgian sugar at the front that is really present and then rides the palate not unlike Ginuwine’s pony throughout. The coffee supports the tail end of it and the chocolate notes are suspiciously absent.
M: The mouthfeel isn’t as thick as I was bracing myself for and it is a better beer as a result. The dryness from all of the complex herbal notes really makes this interesting and crisp. It feels like an imperial black ale with all the hops and grassy notes happening but the complexity is certainly welcome. I cannot imagine how they are breaking even on such an exceptional beer for $5.99 a bottle.
So I didn't like the anise, come at me bro.
D: This is incredibly drinkable, and not in a cop out “for an imperial stout” sort of way, it is just flat out good. The abv is there, the taste supports it, it isn’t overly filling, you can put it away without chewing the inside of your mouth off due to dryness. Just a total package present in a ridiculous inexpensive format. As a caveat, everything that I enjoy about this beer is present in the Stone IRS in a better way, this beer is only redeemed because it is technically a Stone IRS at heart. The anise is horrible.
Narrative: “Rinse, gargle, spit.” The adolescents that visit Raven Perchmoor D.D.S.’s “Bastion of Oral Hygenicide” never really knew what they were in for. The Misfits played nonstop at levels that were uncomfortable even for 13 year old discretion. “And from when thine recalcitrant dental alignment was once begot, now BEGONE!” Dr. Perchmoor chanted as he tightened the bands deftly on the aching face of a My Chemical Romance fan. Some would consider his practice unorthodox, notwithstanding the gargoyles and dry ice buckets bubbles upon entry. However, he did accept HMO insurance and his work was nothing short of amazing. “And you are absolutely sure the ZOOM whitening is your choice? To cast out the vilest intentions of foul stains and the reproach of plaque and murky taint?” “Uh…yes?” He threw the oversized switch and watched the laser burn away the darkness, much to the chagrin of the macabre dentist.
Joseph Conrad said there'd be puns like this.
Bruery Tart of Darkness Sour Stout, 5.5% abv
A: It has a deep black hue with cola colors at the edges. Mild carbonation with tiny bubbles and no lacing. Put that Marciano dress away, nothing to get all Anne Klein over, just an average outing.
S: Some malt but mostly sweet dark grapes with souring and vinegar notes. The last finish has a tiny bit of cocoa but the vinous notes override. It’s like a blacksploitation film set in a vineyard, strange but you enjoy it.
It is lighthearted but still menacing, like this stupid asshole.
T: What a crazy merging venn diagram. It initially starts out with a huge tart almost gueze sourness to it. There are notes of tannins, grape skins, and sour black cherries. The final taste has this transition chocolate maltiness to it. It feels like when a Transformer goes from something bizarre like a bidet into a crazy cyborg.
M: The mouthfeel is nothing like the traditional stout in that it imparts a huge dryness and has none of the coating that you traditionally associate with a non-imperial stout. It performs so strong in the tart category the stout shows up brazenly at the end of each sip. Again, just a really strange finish overall.
It feels high class, but strangely approachable.
D: This feels like eating ahi tuna and ice cream concurrently. There is a huge enjoyability to it, however, the fact that it straddles two divergent styles makes it sacrifice a purely drinkable experience. However, this might just be me being curmudgeonous and oppositional to change.
Narrative: Walter Chambers wasn’t the best pharmacy technician. He wasn’t the best mortician either. Somehow it was his relentless work ethic that kept him powering through both occupations day in and day out. After a solid 3 hours of sleep, he would saunter in, smelling of formaldehyde, dark circles under his eyes. “Yeah, car…car problems and…so did we get that Abilify shipment come in?” His dark wrinkled suit had strange stringent notes that wafted through the CVS pharmacy. “WALTER!” He snapped out of a brief nap and realized that he could see his breath in the ice cold body preparation room. “Walter, I told you to prep the gauze wrap and you go off for a sno-” Walter slipped back into blackness.
Oh shit, Black Note strip tease:
You dirty stouttease.
I'm no picture, dont leave me hanging.
It's like that scene where they open the Ark of the Covenant.
I can’t hype this beer anymore than the beer community already has so I will let the brewery tell you what this little asshole is:
“One of the most sought-after stouts in Bell’s history, Black Note Stout blends the complex aromatics of Expedition Stout with the velvety smooth texture of Double Cream Stout and ages the combination in freshly retired oak bourbon barrels for months. The resulting harmony of flavors captures the finest features of all three components: malty notes of dark chocolate, espresso & dried fruits, all buoyed by the warmth and fragrance of the bourbon barrel. Aimed squarely at the stout and bourbon aficionados, Black Note makes a grand statement about the art of the dark. ”
So yeah, I had to pull some tawdry Craigslist endeavors to land that tiny 8oz bottle. Dont ask.
A: Deep, jet black motor oil with low viscosity. This has some mild carbonation, but, I obtained this bottle from less than official means, so that carbonation might be lacking due to transit and/or transfer, notwithstanding the bubbles are a deep coffee brown with nice Yuban coating.
MOAR.
S: There are fantastic notes of coffee, light whiskey, bourbon, oak, huge chocolate, a mild vanilla that fades into toffee. Overall there is a mild heat that is wrapped in a great sweetness. The end of the nose is almost like a bourbon quad with deep pitted fruits and figs. The whole bouquet is one of the best that I have ever come across, no punchlines here.
T: This is a world-class stout. The heat is present and comes first with a warming dryness to the sweet zones, it subsides into a light hoppiness that is hand and hand with the coffee and sweet milk chocolate notes. It is incredibly pleasant throughout and doesn’t overpower on any one aspect and the coating is such that the taste lingers but doesn’t aggressively overstay its welcome. It’s really difficult to come across jokes to describe what is clearly such an incredible stout, BUT I WILL TRY.
It took a lot of activation energy to land this beer, but I feel like a noble gas having had it.
M: The mouthfeel is impressive and doesn’t wipe out your palate on either an alcohol basis or sweetening basis. The balance is like those dubious 13 year old chinese gymnasts. While the carbonation was lacking, it didn’t detract from the overall experience because the beer is simply meant to be sipped and savored so the minimal crackling on the lips is forgiveable, like Jehova’s Witness pamphlets during the last two minutes of your NFL game.
D: This is dangerously drinkable for 11.5% abv stout, and not just for my jaded ass palate. I am sure the average Tri-Delt could put away a few of these if cajoled with enough peer pressures (read: cocaine.) But seriously, getting murdered for just 8oz is particularly cruel when the end product is not a let down. The whole beer is a libation that lives and dies in the winter realm, just warms me up and lights a fire in the hearth of my heart. It’s a little chocolate Lord Byron for me to caress and whisper pre-enlightenment phrases to. SHIT IS BOMB.
Is this stout dope all up in my domepiece? I am positive.
Narrative: To the rest of the world, Max Davidoff was a mild mannered high school chemist. Sure his Ford Focus was nothing to look at, and his wry stoiciometry humor was nothing to write home about, but his basement held wonders that would suspend all disbelief. After years and years of testing, he had finally identified what could only be identified as the Chocoromeda Strain in his tattered notebooks. The neighbors stared in disbelief as the hazmat crews cleared the home and brandished geiger counters with solemn reverence. It was simply not man’s place to tamper with the substrata of the chocolate world. The makeup of chocolate was too dear to be trifled with, but Mr. Davidoff would not listen. The chocolate detonation took place at 11:51 p.m. on Wednesday April 24, 2010. The neighbors ran from their KB track homes to find a murky current of liquid mahogany bubbling from the foundation of the home. The air was redolent of chocolate not unlike a single 42 year old secretary’s home while watching the latest Kutcher offering. The chocomatrix had torn Mr. Davidoff’s frame limb from limb, but leaving him in conscious control of the deep heat and bubbly stratum. A series of unsolved bank robberies evidenced that the perpetrator clearly liked chocolate, but would the local police every believe that the robber HIMSELF WAS CHOCOLATE. “Say cheese and die motherfucker,” Mr. Davidoff quipped a dusty R.L. Stein reference just before he claimed his final victim, the school superintendent. Those new microscopes were pretty fucking important and summarily denied. But revenge is a dish best served like chocolate fondue.
I prefer Marty's Stouffer's Stuffing, but his Wild America will do in a pinch.
Halfacre Marty Stouffer’s Wild America Barleywine, 10% abv
A: This is a pretty core barely wine, no typo there. It doesn’t seems to have a crazy maltiness to it but it’s still pretty alluring with this bad boy murkiness that drives all the irresponsible 14 year old girls super cray. All it needs is a red jacket with some zippers. The murkiness subsides and it looks like a ruby amber ale.
S: Nice sweet booziness almost like brandy but not in that Your Boy is Mine sort of way. There’s some sticky caramelized figs and sweet red grape in the mix all like Bill Bellamy, trying to be a player.
It says barleywine, but my heart is saying no. If this beer wants to be with me, it has to rub me the right way.
T: There is absolutely no sweetness on this lil barleyride. It presents a hop forward character that makes you cock your head back like Ed Lover, come on son. The whole profile is overly herbal and feels like they dry hopped it for too long or added copper to the boil, the old currency maneuver. Oldest brewing trick in the book. The notes say that this was “Brewed with Cascade and Falconer’s Flight hops” maybe they needed to calm the cascading down a bit and falconer their asses back to burleywines.
Not quite sure where this beer is going, but it doesn't seem good.
M: The mouthfeel is weak and doesn’t have all the pizzazz of burly wines, it’s more like a haughty Imperial IPA that seems to have lost its way. I dont hate it, but it’s like an illfitting shirt that makes you have mantits, or notits if you are a woman. Take your pick, the tit presentation is calamitous. One thing I do enjoy is this hint of booziness at the finish that is its redeeming quality. Makes me nod like a proud father who threw his stepson into the deep end for the first time because I’m sorry, does the bmx need to be in the driveway every single day, not once can it be on the sideyard where you lovingly build a place for it to be locked u- what were we talking about?
D: Drying herbal assault vs. clean finish. It ends up being a nonstarter and defaults to a normal level beer. It’s like you hope all those conjugal visits pay off, but really you’re just having sex with a prisoner. So yeah, you could do worse Sheila, but you can also do moderately better. It’s a mid-range offering for a Charles Barkleywine, but it’s not a show stopper.
When I think of shit that is wild in America, things like this come to mind, not strange barleywines.
Narrative: The documentary just wasn’t going as planned. The gaean essences were remote in this particular section of the tundra and Marty was having a tough time echoing his animalistic call. “Aeeeouggghhhhiiiii!!!!!” the scream reverberated through the hills and over the nearest ridge. A lone cameraman shook his head despondently. “Marty, hey, I know you were dead set on your ability to communicate with the animals but, let’s go with something a little less ambitious, how about just filming them, huh?” the cameraman hazarded after 5 hours of tense waiting. Marty rose up on his massiive 6’1″ frame and stared down his brow at Phillip mencaingly. “OH, another has come to doubt the innate ability of THE WILD.” “No no, Marty, hey it’s just that, we haven’t shot a single frame and what with all the yelling, I think you’re scaring the animals away.” The two walked for a kilometer in silence and Marty spun on a single heel and faced Phillip. “BE SURE, not to miss this next shot-aaaiueeieieihhhhhoouuu!” Marty called out and a narwhal broke through the ice, tusk and all and began slowly creeping towards Phillip. “ATTACK!” the narwhal lazily waddled over towards Phillip, being filmed the entire time. “Yeah, this is great stuff Marty, real menacing.” Phillip quipped and rattled off frame after frame. Marty folded his arms insouciantly; his project did not go as planned.
If watered down barley wine makes you feel festive, then hang the stockings.
Sweetwater Festive Ale, Winter Warmer, 8.6% abv
A: This pours a deep mahogany brown with generous foam and tiny soapy bubbles that almost look like won ton soup.
S: You get raisins, caramel, and some figs. It smells like a weird smoked quad or a wishy washy barleywine. It’s afraid to commit and say yes to the dress.
OH HEY LETS MAKE A BERLEYWI- DERRRRP.
T: The chocolate is muted and slightly burnt. It comes off like a barleywine that has low ass self esteem and will never ask malts out for a date. It needs to man the fuck up and get some malt in this bitch, or at least warm my winter. Carlifornia already has frigid 67 degree winters and this asshole isn’t pulling his weight. Maybe that flies in Georgia, but here in California, our women shave their armpits and our winter warmers have boozy notes to them Gosh darn it.
M: The mouthfeel is thin and watery but is a strangely cool dynamic for this malty, pitted fruity goodness, so pitted, whapaw. It’s pretty interesting in the way that the new Hyundai abomination, Veloster is interesting to look at, and think how much negative vagina you would get after buying one “how do you owe someone vagina?” details details.
It feels like something classic, but with a childish zing, malty candy action.
D: This is pretty drinkable but def. not made to be a session beer. I guess it helps me celebrate a new year, but I dont feel particularly festive, I feel bloated and moody, hook up the Midol brah. It’s not quite winter and I dont feel much warmer, but it’s not exactly a miss. It like Barleywine Lite, with a thinner body, resulting in some maltiness, just not a stomach detonation.
Narrative: One thing was not made abundantly clear by the gypsy witch. Ok, so, the master has to remain a beast until he finds true love, but why the fuck was I transformed into a bureau? Sure in pre-enlightenment France, there’s not a lot of non-serf positions for a guy like me, but, come on, if I am going to be transmogrified into some furniture, couldn’t I be a laundry cart or something more bad ass? I worked as a simple house servant and now, I am just stuffed with parchment paper. I feel like I aspired for greatness and now I am left to pick up the shattered remains of my simple pedestrian life. Why am I even affected by this damn gypsy curse anyway? I didn’t have any stake in the superficial nature of the owner. This whole enterprise has fallen flat.
Sickest Beer Picture of the Year. Ansel Adams all up in this bitch.
Happy Thanksgiving you Ingrates, Here’s an AMAZING stout review for you to be all thankful for.
Bourbon County Stout, Goose Island, 13% abv, Imperial Stout
A: The bottle pours a slick deep black with a light khaki head, The lacing is light but the liquid grips and obfuscates the sides of the glass. No light penetrates this darkness, not even at the edges. Just like those early dates, not even at the edges. Feelup jokes, we are doing them now.
S: It smells like a cherry cordial melted into a spiteful sludge. There are notes of dates, currants, licorice, and dark chocolate. There is an earthy oak to it too that makes this 12oz bottle pack a haymaker. Which is by no means a sleight to hay makers, you maintain an important profession and I doff my alfalfa webbed cap to you. Amish.
When I poured it, my face was all like this. Bourbon eyed.
T: The taste is surprisingly straight forward, the fruits are absent from the taste but the coffee and chocolate notes make a big impression. There is very little hoppy dryness, just a full, welcoming sweetness that is followed by mellowed by a big coffee body that has a slight heat that would benefit from some aging, but that is the case with most people obsessed with chocolate. Or wait, the opposite, people who eat to much chocolate need to get a time machine and, ah fuck it.
M: This doesn’t have a huge Abyssesque body to it. I don’t chew on the malts for hours and ruminate on it. Given the impressive ABV, it gets in, imparts a huge flavor and the finish is pretty standard. I am sure you would be able to smell this a mile away, but the taste doesn’t linger too long, which is a good aspect since the initial taste is where it is at with this beer. It’s tough to underscore how dangerous this beer is. Uninstall all your iphone apps before drinking this shit, oh whats that? Just bought Too $hort’s full discography on ebay? Too bad.
I would try and talk shit on this amazing beer but, it would be the gentle touch of soft trolling. Let's just be real.
D: As far as imperial stouts go, this is excellent. For something this huge with a staggering presence, I think I could actually go beyond the 12oz and request a bomber to myself. The weather will likely be the deciding factor for this beer as most situations outside will not be equal opportunity employers for stouts in general but the sweetness and light finish to this stout puts it in a nice position to argue its case for outdoor activities. Michelob Ultra nervously eyes its Canondale bicycle.
Narrative: “TELL US WHERE YOU HID THE BODY!” Sargeant Myers slammed his fist down on the cast aluminum table shaking Raven Moonclaw’s glass of water. “The body, my dear sargeant, is a part of what Aristoteleans call ‘the Aether’ and as a skilled ilusionist, I can never reveal my secrets.” He produced from thin air a Capri slim and ignited it spontaneously, despite being searched top to bottom upon booking. “You see my dear corporal, the line between menace and altruist is murkily unclear” with a swift slight of hand he transformed his Capri cigarette into an ebony gecko. “WHAT THE-” Sargeant Myers staggered back wiping his brow. “The problem with ethics and illusionists is the code of secrecy, for how can an objective ethical code exists without parameters of repentance or accountability my good enforcer?” The handcuffs clicked and shattered into sixlet candies onto the floor. “I myself do not detest the wicked, but merely embrace the sweet for the fleeting moments I am-” a black clod of smoke appeared and the final resonating words filled the interrogation room: “BEHOLDEN.”
I think I am getting an Urca just looking at this pic.
Dry Dock Brewing, Urca Vanilla Porter, 5.3% abv
A: The appearance is a deep mahogany with a really watery character, wishy washy soapy lacing, with some rub a dub dub mocha to it.
S: This beer has a waft of almond, a huge vanilla sweetness like a Starbucks next to a Strip Club, and a mild coffee finish. The experience is sweet and fulfilling, like the first time you heard Ashton and Demi were getting a divorce. Ahh, refreshing.
Just whispering some sweet vanilla sloth nothings into your ear.
T: The taste is sweet with a sticky vanilla bean at the forefront that slowly fades into a coffee and chocolate finish, a bit of acidity at the end washes away this beer like the taste of koala tears. Don’t act like I am the only one.
M: This is very watery and the the body is thinner than than Mila Kunis’s STAGE THEATER CREDITS, you see, expectations, this beer defies them. The sweetness and thin body make this difficult to stomach, its like a cinnamon roll with too much frosting, not enough roll. This would be an awesome additive to pour in a bigger stout and breakdown into two awesome vanilla stouts, it’s like King Theseus’s ship, but with an alcoholic engineer.
The sweetness and vanilla overload make me feel like a decadent fat ass.
D: The body is thin, the taste is ridiculously sweet, and it leaves you feeling like you made out with a dental hygienist who loves vanilla ice cream. Like, “keeps it at work” level of love. It tries hard and presents something new but, its like a big sword with a tiny handle, it needs some maltiness to comes to grips with itself, badumtish.
Narrative:
dontdrinkbeer 