This brewery is another upstart that has hit the ground running by cranking out noteworthy hop bombs and funky saisons, not unlike another certain Vermont mixmaster. This beer is only available on draft, in a reasonable 2 liter growler so today’s review is going to be very thorough, something to drown your sorrows in since you learned the Jef won the Bachelorette. Sticky sweet berry banger, Keisha smokin on Keisha.

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.30% ABV

A: This beer has a nice gemstone ruby red color that isn’t exactly my go-to Sherwin Williams color when I think of saisons. It reminds me of that shelf turd Fantome Noel that celebrates Christmas all year round. The spotty lacing looks promising and the growler served Fedex well by guarding this CO2 with its life. As usual, just look above, you know what this looks like. We run a pretty tight ship around here, it’s a game ship.

“Why you always gotta review rare beers I nevar has?” Pic related.

S: There a hint of ripe strawberry, some brett b funk, red Runts candy, a tart vinous profile, and yeasty wood, not the kind you need to get checked out at Planned Parenthood.

T: The taste has a light sweetness that is similar to a strawberry wine, dry oaky malty profile, a light yet heavy paradoxical malt profile that imparts some fleeting funk and wood notes and then peaces out with your Laserdisc player. This is not “on style” I guess and it could be some kind of crossover hybrid between saison, funky english mild, and a strawberry berliner, but then again I ate a shitload of Warheads as a kid, what do I know. I will leave this one up to the pre-diabetics in the audience.

This beer was quite the adventure.

M: This is exceptionally watery and punches home the strawberry and oak notes with no lingering standing in the doorway or effusive goodbyes. You get the fruit, then some oak, and this hobo saison packs up its bindle and rides the rails to another saison shantytown.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, Sean Thompson is wrong. There I said it. If you know him, tell him his opinion is bad and he should feel bad. I am coasting through this growler, mashing on the low (for this site) abv, and just enjoying my strawberry vitamins. The carbonation is good but doesn’t give a big crackly foaminess that fills me up, this allows some serious saison domestic abuse. This is the perfect beer to drink if you plan on throwing some Xbox controllers anyway, this gets it done a bit earlier. Downloading Marvel vs. Capcom doesn’t hurt either. This isn’t world class, but it shows a glimmer and foreshadowing of what this little upstart is capable of. If any of you hater PA readers have some Tired Hands to send my way, holler.

When you open a 2 Liter Growler, a truce is never an option. That is a battle to the death.

Narrative: “The raccoon came out of nowhere, Dad, I swear!” Jessica Harmssen pleaded with her fuming patriarch. He had loved and cherished his 1994 Neon Espresso since the day he drove it off the lot of the now defunct dealership. “Jess, I mean, I really don’t know what is worse, I can no longer make it to the farmers market, but, without my muscle car, I have lost my fruit sculpting passion.” Jessica lowered her head with a deep solemnity. She knew that her father had been studying to pass the Edible Arrangements proficiency exam and now he had next to zero chance of passing that daunting trial. “I am not mad at you sweetie,” Mr. Harmssen began, “but, I just don’t see how I can learn how to carve a strawberry lotus with…this. I will be the laughing stock of the communal farmers, a smashed in Espresso, the bumper is hugging my 14″ rims.” Jessica knew that she had disappointed her father, but, she was secretly glad that he would go back to his Daihatsu Charade, the weekend car, because that piece of automotive refinement was a real head turner.