Churchill’s Finest Hour Imperial Stout, Good Old Winston Churchill Beer, Solid Old Lion

In honor of a certain beer release, I thought I would review this old gem, one of what, 200 bottles released? This is a gem that I was lucky enough to try and I thought I would roll out my 2011 impressions before the brand spanking new recruits land.

One of the only British people to ever live to have not only no overbite, but an underbite.

Churchill’s Finest Hour, Imperial Stout 11% abv

A: As to be expected, this beer has an oily thick blackness like the trails of a frightened squid. It sticks to the glass and drags its fingers wantingly to the depths below. Also coffee brown head with nice lacing, but mostly poltergeists and petulant ghouls are left wanting.

This beer was all strong, thick and dark. Picture unrelated.

S: There is a great deep dark fruit coming from the wafts. It feels like high brow huffing to inhale this beer. There are licorice notes and some burnt chocolate. It’s like someone burned down the Chocolate factory only to replace it with a distillery.

T: There is a nice thick “black” caramel taste, were that even to exist. It follows with a fully presentable chocolate palate that dominates the palate with minor bits of mocha and toasted almond burning through on the tail end.

I will give you a hint for what type of people don't enjoy or get to drink this beer. Picture very related.

M: This coats very well but, it feels like it is fighting in a league where it is simply out classed. The stickiness is nice but the flavors aren’t so impressive as to warrant searching high and low for this beast. I feel that rarity has boosted the curb appeal of this old chestnut. It seems like after 2 weeks of summer camp, when anything shy of a size 12 gets a second look from angst ridden adolescents.

D: Sadly, this beer does not perform well in this category either. The bourbon notes impart a dryness that makes it totally inapplicable for all of my Integra modification days in the hot sun. It also makes it unworthy of chilly times fixing my lift kit on my truck simply due to its unavailability. There is simply much cigar gnashing and grinding of top hats in the acquisition and execution of this old lion.

Yeah, that's how we roll, sipping on rare stouts. Call the fucking police, see what they have to say about that shit.

Narrative: He stared fatefully out the window of the palatial estate. The sky lit up with rosy fingers of dawn and the trails of fire bombing from the night before. His cigar embers seemed to fall with the same careless regard that had afflicted all of those around him, a man, reduced to the headstone of a nation. “WILLIAM FOR FUCKS SAKE ARE YOU EVEN ON YOUR BREAK?” He snapped back to reality, the year is 2134 and in this advanced time, William Zerkov is an accomplished actor living in the pre-modern equivalent of a “frontier village.” It was his charge to play the role of, well, that would seem to belabor the point. “AND BEFORE THE NEXT SECREENING WILL YOU AT LEAST GET ANOTHER CIGAR, COME ON NOW WILLIAM!” He clenched his proud jowls, for no one could portray a pre-post historical figure not unlike him.

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