Bottle Logic Space Trace, DDB High Horse Coconut Homerism Conspiracy Collusion

Bottle Logic went and made an 11% abv coconut infused stout, I suppose DDB is tasked with reviewing it.  Therein lies the cringe and reticent nature of compelling myself to comment on really anything at this point.  With so many people reading this site and anomalously relying upon it for “value appraisal” the snake hilariously eats its own tail.  The function of the reviews was to impart a degree of detached sober [sic] commentary, not to dive headlong into flames fanning like some solipsistic “Beer-Black-Book-by-any-other-name-raffles-as-sweet” type of hype machine.

At the outset, I will say that nothing DDB can say will make Space Trace trade higher than say, Black Agnes, and honestly, who gives a fuck? The gnashing of teeth over coconut oil and this latent fear of sugar water stock dropping is in equal measure hilarious and wince-inducing from an adult community dabbling in luxury consumables.  The end result is akin to Skynet creating more John Connors, destabilizing the singularity with chaotic self interest.  Suffice it to say, all that shit makes me not even want to review this beer. The toxic lactic acid-dripping fan base of beer speculators is more corrosive than an Upland pellicle and a single independent clause of praise will pump clouds of conspiratorial caustic fumes my way like the battle of Marne.  Oh well, here goes.


This beer is pretty good. Granted it isn’t the absolute best beer of 2016, but it is very tasty and hits the benchmarks that I feel it sets out to achieve.  I enjoyed it a touch more than Snowed In, a touch less than Coconut Eclipse, and it exists in covalent parity with say, Prop13, baconators notwithstanding.

Here’s the obligatory negs to establish “journalistic integrity” that everyone will dismiss in their detached debridement of the review: the body is a touch thin. This is within the framework of an 11% beer, so cavconut emptor.  The viscosity is akin to Snowed In and the entire beer orbits that buoy as a counterweight of comparison.  It is heftier than the svelte Central Waters crowd, but presents like a cardio-forward Parabola.  This never entirely detracts, but the “DME before bottling pls” crowd will no doubt complain that a person is able to frustratingly dispatch a 500ml to themselves.  That should never be the function of an imperial stout.  If you can take down any more than 3 ounces with your sweaty maladjusted comrades-through-excess, then that brewery has intrinsically failed.


More negs, no legs. The retention of this beer leaves something to be desired since, I assume the head and sheeting is all but destroyed from the lipid dance of suntan oil below.  The same people who give Kuhnhenn and AftW a constant pass will no doubt prepare the finest effigy with regards to the relatively tame body and mouthfeel to this beer.

Here’s the point I expect to read captured in every Cicerone’s 150 character Untappd ivory tower clinical study of this beer: there’s more than just coconut on the nose.  Please read that as a crucial flaw if you have been into beer for less than 18 months.  The beer has the audacity to both be barrel aged and then somehow manifest an intent to show the depth of that casking.  2/10 would not drink, not enough coconut.  If I don’t get to full throttle some tired ALMOND JOYS IN A GLASS ZOMG epithets, then the brewery has failed me.  I don’t have time to talk about the refined oak profile at low 60s, or talk about how the fleshy oily coconut integrates with cacao nibs to create a separate experience, the safe weed hewn tramping lies in “NOT A COCONUT BOMB THO NEEDS MORE TBH ALL SIXTEEN OF US AGREED.”


Now, to wholly discredit the burgeoning narrative with qualified praise. Let’s make it clear my goal here is to drive up the “value” of this beer, because trade values and, I simply need to land more beer. As long as we understand that while Spinoza grinds out the warped lenses for us, we will be fine.

The flawless integration of chocolate and coconut is exceedingly well done.  This is a Kid Chameleon who changes from a fairly coconut forward experience at low temps to a See’s Candy type of amalgamate at higher temps.  You never get palate fatigue and it is a rare instance where I would tolerate a 22oz or, god forbid, a 750ml of an adjunct stout.  There is a degree of intentionality to this because the saccharine notes, which I predicted would be front and center, actually don’t chew the scenery.  The beer allows an ensemble approach and the macaroon and caramel of the bourbon barrels get a few pithy monologues in.

I didn’t receive a free bottle, but let’s pretend that I did to explain away genuine impressions while trudging through this next section of lauded statements.  If this model isnt SPONSORED then it simply doesn’t make sense to absolutely praise the manner in which the cocoa nibs don’t impart an insane amount of sweetness and almost serve to counter-balance the pina colada oiliness of the coconut.  The drag is long and sweet and it comes across like some 85% cacao expert confectioner product, dipped in Willet.  I loved the Nestle Cocoa aspect of this beer and the way that a touch of roast tempers this chocolate armor forged by Hephaestus.  The oak interplay is flawless and doesn’t hit an oversaturation, nor is it entirely vestigial like the old “North Carolina, 6 weeks aged, for-the-label-only” type of approach.  This bakery case delight opens up at higher temps and shows the underpinning of delicious malt/nougat/kit kat/snickersy notes without emptying your entire plastic orange trick or treat pumpkin.


There you have it! The value has now been set, the returns shall be immeasurable.  The pulpit of a shitty wordpress site has spoken.  DDB cant show his tax returns because of all the collusion, how do we even know what ties he has, every other beer blog has released their tax returns, this is clearly a pay to play system.

This was a delicious, refined, romp on the coconut beach.




Holy shit those block letters letting you know THIS IS BREWERY ONLY. It’s like when you see a girl in Vegas with a shirt that says I HAVE THE BEST BOYFRIEND IN THE WORLD. It’s like damn, no one was asking about your availability, chill.  Thankfully, the beer inside is weird, and inspired, and in many ways, pretty awesome.

On the surface this looks like some Tired Hands meets Funk Buddha type of shit: cucumber and hibiscus barrel-aged sour.  This is nothing like what I was anticipating and if this is a sign of what Avery has up their sleeve then sign me up because this beer is bizarre and oddly nuanced.  The nose is a Bath and Body Works neck kissing, fancy floral soaps, herbal peels, and rose hip tea.  It seriously reminds me of the water they serve you at a spa with the intense cucumber frappe notes. When you combine those two the result is this really pleasant watermelon cum de agua fresca.  I want you to understand how hard it is to characterize a beer with absolute no clear analogue, it’s gonna be a pure adjectival slough with no tethering points so rappel down with me into this salty REI.


Whole Squad on Deck.

The beer is intensely clean and swerves alternatingly to the shoulders of Crystal Light and Blood Orangina.  The acidity is so so soft that it almost mirrors a mineral water in the swallow and you can drink gallons upon gallons of this.  If this beer has a high price tag, then that simply is not fair to the consumer given how fast you will skull this thirst quencher.  Also, releasing this right before winter, I mean. Wat.

One thing I need to underscore is how the cucumber is all up in this like, no…that euphemism would be too easy.  That distilled cucumber essence can be smelled in barrio fruit carts, usually with some kind of cayenne rub, but this is all pithy refreshment and toes into a sort of herbal/vegetal aspect that works for some reason.  If you have ever been to a fancy restaurant like a $$ on Yelp, there will be those tanks with cucumber and strawberries, that’s this beer.  That stepmom gear with a core in the middle to steep things in the water pitcher, that’s this beer’s spirit animal.


There’s literally nothing on the market like this and, my wife, who hates beer through and through, asked why all the “other shitty beer” that I drink couldn’t taste more like this beer. THANKS A LOT AVERY FOR CAUSING DOMESTIC DISPUTES GOSH.




Sante Adairius Hoeybier, sugar pie hoeybier, u kno that I love u

I love that the same dipshits who won’t blink at dropping four figures on an Ann have largely no basis of knowledge for other incredible barrel aged saisons.  In the aether there are mercurial wisps like this Sacramento Beer Week gem, a saison aged in odonata wine barrels. At the intersection of HF Anna and Casey East Bank is this intensely crisp, clean and lithely jubilant farmhouse ale. It bleeds melon and cut kumquat, cantaloupe and white grape seeping from its pores, the ph is so pleasant and obsequious that the bottle is merked at an almost disappointing rate.

There is a touch of grist to the swallow and if you have had Empty Sea or Nonna’s Blend [x] then you are already strapped in for this Six Flags rustic rollercoaster.  You can drill this entire bottle without reflection because it underscored what ELSE is going on, in that effortless way that the naturally beautiful can pull their hair into a messy ponytail and still look arresting in the casual grace. 

Journalistically, there isn’t much marrow to suck out of this bone. Everyone knows Sara is arguably the hardest in the saison game at the moment so underscoring it amounts to base taunting at a certain point. “Seek out this 700 bottle saison!” Works double duty as an imperative and pulls upon the greasy neck hair of the disenfranchised. I am well aware at this point.

Low residual sugars, sick gains.


Wren House Roundup: let’s wrangle some birds

Ever since De Garde dropped that apricot gose i have had to field nonstop comparisons any time you even utter the first styllable of Apri-

Since I am negligent and largely disinterested in dropping ~ $120 on a 4% bottle of fruited gose which I can only imagine is a bottle of acidic scorpions at this point, we look to greener pastures. 

Thankfully, Wren House is turning out zero hype bangers for a populace as orange as the srm on this beer. The lightly brackish aspect works well with the fresh puréed aspect of the fruit and it drinks more akin to some Kerns juice than an alcoholic beverage. I can see myself in Phoenix drilling these with sun stroke onset after four holes of golf, my concealed carry clunking against the bar lovingly. Very refreshing and exudes a sort of Emergen-C and airborne type of snappy crackle to the body. Snap crackle pits.

Lady banks, toeing dangerous territory making a hibiscus pink gose and using lady in the title. Someone with more mileage in their humanities degree might find the gender alignment upsetting with the name, I am more concerned with beer taste than poor taste. This is better than the apricot berliner and the floral aspect is done so well that it almost reminds me of a fruit blossom of sorts like the Sakura lambic from OWA. It has a juiciness and the salt is administered with a soft touch, resulting in an almost blackberry spritzer type of execution. If you have had Izze sodas, that’s a fair approximation. I killed this entire Crowler in the green room and there was much revelry. Shit was trill and off book.

Gary Soto ticks on deck, a pumpkin thief waiting in the wings. Ok stay with me, I know a pumpkin wheat wine on paper sounds like shit, but remember Voodoo CAUTION! Great things are possible. This is far less sweet than your average wheat wine and if you have PTSD White Oak sap nightmares, this falls far closer to an old ale pin. There is a degree of bitterness and minerality that works well with the barrel character, the whole thing is integrated like a Vegas dealer shuffling multiple decks. The pumpkin exists in the background not unlike a Hans Zimmer score, supporting the events instead of dominating them.

I can see baby palates complaining for any number of reasons the second you put anything in front of them that isn’t a vanilla stout, and that’s fine. DDB caters to a more deviant audience, this simply isn’t the pumpkin beer being discussed by categorically incomparable Will Gordon or the protoRones on Beer Advocate.

 I’m doing naked diamond push ups in the punkin patch and the hayrides are free.


Casey Family Preserves Triple Crown Blackberry, Apricot: BBMing those berries in my DM

Ah I miss the trackball on that old blackberry. I actually used one of those janky phones to take the first DDB pics, so perhaps these berries hold a special place in my heart. The blackberry triple crown cut was already so damn good and part of me is inclined to think that this is even better. The acidity is more refined, there’s more of a residual body and creamy oikos yogurt swallow to it. Hurhurhur euphemisms abound.

It’s an unquestionably beautiful beer and doesn’t fall into the trappings of that Tillamook sucrose crackle wherein the retention wisps away like capricious pop rocks. These CFP and Cut offerings almost suffer from a branding problem in that they are all so exceptional that the similar labels creates a type of consumer fatigue. If only these had some elegant rococo sobriquet for every different fruit, they could harness the power of StL hype more effectively. Suffice it to say, Casey continues to make other fruited wilds seem less and less relevant and Colorado, in typical fashion, continues to drink them surreptitiously and not let word of same cross those rocky borders. It’s like in Atlas Shrugged where they make the secret mountain haven for the productive, except John Galt is blending barrels and everyone isn’t a selfish asshole.

The apricot is more focused but far less delicate. For those of you who have a palate like a Lotus Exige, this is balls to the wall tannins acidity and radiant pithy fruit. It never oversteps the boundaries and maintains a type of feisty e-brake J turns in the tart meets sweet slalom. Think of this as a Shasta Foune, bootleg Chinatown Dvd fou with apricot subtitles and shaky cam. It’s damn near as good, but lacking the Brett c interplay of the cheesiness.

Photo not relevant to the discussion at hand