London has a problem. The ultra rich keep digging deeper and deeper to create opulent mega-basements. The basement, a place for the shunned, disaster shelter seeking, celibate, who seek to poop in Pittsburg toilets in plain view, now the British have ruined that as well.
When you drill deeper into a subculture, the surrounding walls crumble, shooting muck and sewage up through everyone else’s property. In pushing the limits, your actions have consequences.
Ology is from Tallahassee, Florida so already I knew what I was in for. Add Macaroons into the mix and I braced my core for an underattenuated axe kick to the body.
I can handle adjuncts, I can handle Florida panhandling, but when you ramp both up to the absolute max, my pancreas wheels fall off. This is absolutely the thickest, undulating, intense semisolid beer I have had in a long time. There used to be this old yarn that Bruery beers were diabeeetus when they were actually more of a “Belgian strain high abv not a ton of sugar left” beetus.
This is like thinned pudding, or a mildly diluted center of a Boston Cream pie. It doesn’t pour so much as gurgles like BTs in Death Stranding. If the excesses of Mexican baked goods dabbled in Almonds, vanilla and coconut, this would be the Bimbo filling we would get.
To some, the center of a chocolate home run pie sounds amazing. For me, it was like 90 minutes of Godspeed You! Black Emperor. That’s too much. No one needs that much.
The barrel feels like those Dawn commercials where there’s some sad confused puffin just caked in the depravities of modern industrial disasters. You scrub and scrub and you can faintly read “Bu—lo” but it’s just so much batter to press through.
Hypnagogia is the transitional state between wake and sleep and this feels like a beer someone would make in that liminal space. Delightful, scary, unreasonable, completely involuntary. There’s dudes in Florida who think “Let’s Go Brandon” triggers people. It’s the simple excess that makes you wonder who enjoys it. To others, the ramped up overuse is the sweet spot they crave. This was way too much macaroon for my Nascar pit stop