Monthly Archives: November 2011

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Peace Tree, Hop Wrangler, I Went to Iowa Once and Got My Hops Wrangled so Hard.

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Hop Wrangler, figures I would have to go to Iowa to get my hops all wrangled

Alright, so let’s continue bothering the midwest and now Iowa is on the chopping block. I have actually been to this state so I can safely say that this state simply makes amazing beer because they, need it the most. This one is no exception.

Peace Tree Brewing, Hop Wrangler, 6.25% abv, Knoxville, Iowa.

I didnt even know that town existed, I wonder if it’s a badass southern/midwest hybrid, no? Oh ok, I have just been informed that it is a boring ass town. Ok. Carry on then.

A: This initially poured a bit too malty and I was all shaking my head disapprovingly like someone in a mentos commerical. It’s all deep and golden and its makes me like “I bought a lipring in the mall at Coralville, you crazy IPA!” and he gets away with some shit. The lacing is awesome, nice stickiness. Just like all the beer on the floor after my first night in Iowa City when I saw a for reals fight, over what Heidegger would call “Being and Nothingness.”

S: This is amazing, it gets all juicy with grapefruit and apricot and for a minute I was taken aback like, wait wait, what’s this beer up to? But, just like when your parents told you that Selma was Midevil times…

This just isn't fun to put down, then hug need.

T: God damn it. Iowa just pulls a full on hop tease. The taste is so stemmy, it just gets vegetal so hard. It tastes like stems and seeds, ooh wee. Appropriately, the beer on the bottle says “In Heaven There is no Beer” and this theological assault seems to be making up for lost time. Another thing that pisses me off about this beer is that it declares step by step what goes into making an IPA and seeks to get some latent praise from it, it’s like:

“We used a full boil and hops in the initial stage, then we added additional hops, then we used a different type of hops and then in the finishing we used another type of english hops”

Like no shit? Dry hopping and adding to the boil, wait hold on, let me stop the presses like Catch Me If you Can. They apparently use a belgian yeast which adds banana, esters, and clove which belong in this beer like an jock belongs at a Babylon Five convention.

M: This has a great crisp mouthfeel that is all welcome and cool, until it opens its mouth and gets all herbal and foreign. It was good until I actually tasted it, stupid Iowa, your bars are so amazing, and then this.

Not mad, just disappointed.

D: This is hardly drinkable because it has a low abv, relative to the style, it’s boring, ugly, and gets worse when it hits your lips, insert latent joke about Iowa. No but seriously, there’s ways to pull this off, and I like the variety but, they had to know that this just didn’t work on paper, not even a 5 gallon test batch? I guess I just dont like the belgian IPA style but…OH WAIT LOOK AT MY ALE ASYLUM REVIEW where they did this style fucking amazingly.

Narrative: “Guess what? No love to my homies until people from Iowa get into the chill zone on their beer laws. Not enough chillaxing taking place when importers want to move units all up inside that rectagonal state. Just trying to push sick weight into agrarian districts brothenol, ecoboost with ecobrews bro. Don’t be haters because we want to get a sick fade and hit up Herbert Hoover’s old hood. Alright, I wont mess with any corn or try and muscle you out on the hot-girl export racket, but seriously Ioweezy, just let some other states hit you with some sick cases, drop mad bombers on you. It’s not like keeping high ABV beers out of your state will stop people from drinking, it’s like Prohibition era Savoy Ballroom all up in that bitch, non-stop. Anyway, the COs are stressing me about writing this long ass open ended letter to the population of Iowa, but ball all I day is what I do, once I get out from this 5 to 10, I am hitting up Iowa and copping some St. Ides. Real Spit”

– T Cell was shanked in Boise Correctional Facility before his utopian ideal of an alcoholic Iowa could be made into a reality.

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Alesmith 100% Barrel Aged Speedway Stout, Modding out my Integra So Hard Right now.

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Ok, if you are in a store and for some reason they have the 750 bottle release on the right, just remember it is worth 15 times as much as the one on the left.

Alesmith, Speedway Stout 100% Barrel Aged, 2009, 12% abv, some more top 100 beer bullshit, just another day in the life of a god damn middle manager.

A: This has a slick BP disaster look to it, without all the deceased marine life. It isn’t pitch black but imparts some nice deep mahogany notes to the edges, like a hardened cop with a heart of gold you somehow impart a sense of trust in this stout that despite his over character flaw evidenced 14 minutes in, he will make it all right after 90 minutes in your life. Also, nice lacing, tiny bubbles, coffee stickiness, and other things people don’t read.

S: This is coffee acidity, to a huge degree. Also entering the fray is a serious boozy profile that apparently hasn’t had the shithead weathered out of it after 2 years in an oak barrel. It isn’t as recalcitrant as the new Dark Lords, but it still is rambunctious enough to be bothersome. However, some nice bourbon and oak notes finalize the experience and you give it an approving nod into your club, aka YOUR MOUTH, where all the action takes place infra.

Coffee so hard, all up in my nosepiece.

T: Fast forward 3 seconds from the smell to the tasting, first one to show up to your sick rager is coffee, oh wait but he brought, acidity, and then, his other boy coffee, and then toffee. You don’t judge but things seem a little unbalanced in here, oh wait then his crazy friend chocolate shows up doing magic tricks and making observational comedy references. Everyone is put at east with a nice coffee walnut finish: your BA speedway house party is officially underway.

M: This coasts like a bucket of Sherwin Williams. I don’t mean in the way when you hire day laborers either. It coats like if people who cared painted your mouth with coffee and bourbon. We all know how much that costs IN REAL LIFE so this is a welcome reprieve.

I had to trade 7 bottles to land this one stupid ass bottle. Then I shared it with 7 people. So the butthurt is flowing so hard.

D: As much as I want to hometown and keep the drive strong for this amazing beer, this is certainly its weakest point. I can’t in good faith say that I would crack 2009 BA stouts all day while at Havasu doing sick broesque things. Then again, is that the target market? Notwithstanding, this tires a bit after a solid 12oz just due to the complexity and rampaging coffee and toffee double team on your bitter and sweet zones. Enough is enough the tongue declares insouciantly.

Narrative: Kicked out of the racing academy. Well, at least that is what he told his parents that his tuition checks were going to. The truth is that Chase Worthington was never attending a racing school in Temecula. He accepted “tuition” checks from his parents every 5 months and even in the summer session for modding his sick 2001 Mercury Cougar for drag racing or “Straight up Dragging it” as he abrasively referred to it, much to the chagrin of his friends, when present. His friends told him that running the mean streets of San Diego was not to be trifled with, that is, unless one were content to life his life “a quarter mile at a time.” This seemed to be a deafeningly infinitesimal stretch for a racer like himself. Cold air intake, cat back exhaust, chipped, sick body kit; all of the accoutrements were present however he forgot a single thing: his car had only 189 horse power and people grew tired of its inky discharge, regardless of the speeds that it allegedly traveled. This speedway pun was a speedway pun for the racing pun speedway pun, and in the end, they all learned speedway pun, racing.

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Bourbon Barrel Brrrrbon, Brrr It’s Cold in Hurr, Must be some Chingy in the Atmosphere.

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Parchment paper is peeping on Brrbon so hard.

Here’s a beer Oregonians actually freely share. This beer didn’t get the best reviews but I feel that it’s pretty legit, by no means too legit to warrant quitting.

2010 Widmer Brothers (Of Hefeweizen fame) Barrel Aged Brrbon, 9.4% abv, Winter Warmer

A: It has nice shiny, new penny look to it with some spider webs on it like at old man Wilkerson’s house, but it looks inviting with a nice moderate translucence to it. The color actually LOOKS like a nice bourbon, I would go grab a Buffalo Trace shot and show you but, it’s all the way over there and you have the ability to press cntrl+T at any time you lazy ass.

S: This is really muted on the nose and you get a tiny hint of bourbon, like a homeless man was in your underwear drawer but you cant quite be sure. The caramel and brown sugar just lights up and smells amazing. The alcohol doesn’t grind all up on your junk, it just eases up and does a nice lil ABV two step.

The dude in white is bourbon, your palate is getting its shit rocked.

T: This has a nice initial oakiness that would be mistaken for hops if it wasn’t so warm and soothing like a negligent ass Thermaflu or something. It sweetens up with some sweet molasses and brown sugar that washes away instantly. This tastes a lot better than I was expecting and upholds the solid lineage from the recent limited releases: Galaxy Barleywine, Pear Braggot, etc. Drop the $10.99, it’s worth it.

M: It is surprisingly light and feels like a strange ninja barleywine. Or a baby old ale with all the oak going on. It’s pretty enjoyable and reminds me that I live in america, where you can put bourbon in a beer and drink it casually, with lunch, brunch even, heck, before your first day as a bus driver, who knows. Moral of the story is that the light character, deep bourbon and generous oakiness make this an awesome beer. Forget what Jamiroquai said, the future is not made of insanity, virtual or otherwise.

Barrel Aged Beer...Too Delicious...Dont Drink...Be...

D: This is incredibly drinkable and, may possibly be the only way that I will ever win at Words with Friends. You can play some wacky 9.4% abv tricks on them and watch them announce some really obscure things at the upcoming X-mas party. I had no trouble putting it away, and the average joe will say it tastes like “A strong…Newcastle…or whats that expensive…Chimay…yeah like sugar Chimay.”

Narrative: The old distillery, a county institution, just didn’t feel right, what with it being right next door to the local elementary school. Three recesses a month the kids would run in from kickball, gagging from the smell of fermenting sour mash. “Ms. Berkowitz, my eyes feel like Home Depot!” the kids would bemoan. It was many a time when a Nerf Screamer landed square in beds of spent mash, never to be retrieved. The smut that the old grizzly distillers left about was not insubstantial. Somehow, the synergy of the two, what with one destroying people’s lives, providing a solid 7 year old product, and the other being the distillery, seemed to somehow work. Jonah Wilkenstein watched in dismay as his baseball cascaded over the fence and landed in a caustic old barrel. “Now that Babe Ruth ball is gonna smell like Uncle Ira, I dont even wannit.”

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Schommelpeird Imperial Amber Ale. Getting so Schommelpeird right now, where are my shoes?

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OFFICIAL BEER OF WAREGEM KOERSE. Well of koerse.

The bottle says that this is the official beer of the largest horse race event in Belgium. That’s like being the official lager of the largest Magic: the Gathering tournament in Stockton. People play the hell out of that game there.

Schommelpeird, Imperial Amber, 12% abv (seriously) De Sruise Brothers

A: This beer looks like a dirty mucky lake water. It’s like if I just put Millerton Lake water in 33cl bottles. With all the Keystone and jetfuel in Millerton lake, this is likely what is tastes like by now. The carbonation is awesome and, not to knock the appearance but it is just strange, it levels out in strata and foams like there’s some serious political rally going on in there.

S: Holy sweet candy sugar sweet taffysmooch. It is brown sugar wrapped in caramel coated in marshmellow foam dipped in molted rock candy. Just incredibly sweet, like that unmarked Econoline van outside the preschool. There’s also some clove, banana, esters, and belgian spices, but no one thinks that shit is funny, and I can’t turn those into pedophile jokes, OR CAN I?

I kept waiting for this beer to warm up, get better, subjecting myself to this bizarre Nightmare on Ale Street.

T: Also like the Econoline, there’s no sweetness and things get bitter and disorienting pretty quickly. It tastes like an herbal brown ale, or a malty ESB, or, well there’s some serious penumbra and Venn Diagram orgy going on here, I am left completely shaded. There’s this stemmy herbal taste at the front that is not that tight, sub-tight even. I dont know how one is supposed to go about enjoying this, Struise I am disappoint.

M: This is rather thin for the huge candy/herbal/pennies flavor going on. I guess that’s good since the malt tastes similar to burnt yard trimmings, so I wouldn’t be stoked if they just went even more apeshit on those sort of residual sugars. A single Phish set is just fine, 33cl of Phish, just the right amount of jam band for me.

Not all epic battles appeal to the masses.

D: Not at all. Unless you are a coinstar machine of a Honduran gardener, then these tastes would be right at home up in your grillspot. I can’t get on board with this madness, it’s just all over the place, not exactly bad, just really confusing, like those complex Ben Stiller epics. I can’t recommend this, but it’s not like you will run across this “brewed-once” strange ass style anyway. So if you take an amber ale like your favorite old Fat Tire and fattened the shit out of it, you get a tire full of copper. Good to know. Currency crisis solved.

Narrative: “Ok, so here’s the pitch, so main male interest fall in love with Mila Kunis, but SHE IS EIGHT FEET TALL! We call it AmorISIMO!” Barry Merken’s movie pitches always did this. “Barry, wait what? You had us, we love it but, why does she have to be eight feet tall? What does that even add to the ‘surviving genocide’ subtext?” Barry capped the Steno chiseltip marker with frustration and began furiously erasing the entire pitch, “YOU KNOW WHAT FINE! Fine, let’s just make her the quirky, clearly hotter friend of the girl introduced in act one, how about that? Mix it up?” MGM was running out of time, they needed to push through another by-the-number romantic comedy or Ryan Reynolds would walk. “Barry, we loved the concept, it was essentially another Victoria love triangle set in lower east side Manhattan, we love it, just no giants.” Barry was the master of writing the exact same 82 minute movie, but his more recent efforts seemed to make very little sense. “Ok what about Reese Witherspoon is a baker, he is allergic to sugar but comes in every day to the bakery because HIS PENIS IS AN EXTENSION CORD.” The MGM board folded up their equipage and hastily exited the room. “OK FINE! NORMAL PENIS! FINE AND HOW ABOUT HE STOPS HER FROM MARRYING THE GUY WHO IS CLEARLY AN ASSHOLE IN THE FIRST 12 MINUTES OF THE MOVIE, but,” the investors turned and listened attentively, “but then, THAT GUY HAS AN EXTENSION CORD DICK!” Door slam.

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Amon Amarth Ragnarok Porter, One of the Only Reasons to Move Out of Indiana

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AAAmon, I worka 3 jobs mon, Oh, I'm sorry? In Living Color references not welcome here? Fine.

Amon Amarth Ragnarok, Porter 8.2% Abv

A: This has a deep watery coffee appearance to it with deep brown hues and a nice cool whip head with stained glass lacing. That shit cray.

S: It has an incredible hop presence which is basically to be expected from 3 Floyd’s they put hops in their children’s baby bottles. I dont get anything else, it’s pretty limited and not chocolatey or coffee as the appearance would suggest. Ho hum.

Looks like one thing, turns out to be another.

T: This tastes like a black ipa with a little bit of coffee to it. I call shenanigans, this isn’t a porter at all. Here I was, innocently hoodwinked into drinking what I thought would be an amazing chocolate funland, and I end up in the grass mowing down herbal goodness. It isn’t exactly bad, but I can’t help but feel like orphan dreams smashed on the rocks around December 25th.

M: The mouthfeel is thin and herbal with a lingering dryness (read: Just like a fucking IPA.) It doesn’t coat that well, which I guess is good since I dont feel like wiping pine cones off of my teeth, at least not when I was expecting on holding Gene Wilder’s hand into a magnificent candy paradise. This isn’t bad but it is just unexpected. I went to see Drive expecting a rom-com and, well, just go see that shit and you’ll understand.

Some things, despite their packaging, have underlying truths.

D: For a double IPA, this has a great drinkability and, even with the huge abv, this is plenty sessionable. However, I just feel so badly misled that I cant with an honest conscience tell you that I would seek this out and buy it again. These excuses from the Porter only go so far, it needs to come out of the hop closet and declare that it truly is. Embrace the cones.

Narrative: Chase Franci applied make up to his face assiduously and prepared for his big speech. “I can’t keep this up forever, come on Chance, just tell Mr. Walters the truth!” Just as he was uttering these thoughts to himself, Mr. Walters’s assistant burst in and announced “Mr. Walters will see you in 5 minutes, good luck.” The company internal minority promotion initiative seemed like a smart enough idea: promote diversity, engender a core nucleus of new ideas and add altering viewpoints to the corporate board. This would be all well and good but Chase was as white as the convergence of the UV spectrum. He pushed his make up materials into his briefcase and exited the corporate bathroom with a cool, calm poise as he strode down past the cubicles. Chase’s co-workers stared agape at the patently offensive racist makeup that he had just applied. Chase flicked a dab of shoepolish off of his lapel and smiled big, the look of an alter ego that was shooting up the corporate ladder. Chase strode into Mr. Walters’s office and declared “wazzzzupppppp!” Mr. Walters just sat there for a moment wondering, “what in the name of God did Chase think that he was doing? Surely he couldn’t have actually believed that blackening his face like a silent movie character would suffice to earn him a spot on the- actually, that is a pretty bold move.” Mr. Walters took out a corporate checkbook and immediately wrote him out a bonus before Chase could utter another cliched phrase. Mr. Walters smiled and handed chase a check, payment for being a complete fraud, “OH SNAP! THAT IS SOME SERIOUS CHEDDAR!” Chase exclaimed as his now-subordinates shook their heads in disbelief.

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Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv, BX straight put a choc. gem on them.

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Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, mad wallear for this skully cap

While not swimming in the Hudson river, smashing glass bottles at abandoned train yards, or contemplating traveling to better places, people in Brooklyn make chocolate beers.

Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv

A: Spoiler alert, this big stout has a deep black finish to it like a matte black that you see douchebags downgrade their Range Rovers with. The lacing is beautiful, it tells your future and, oh wait, whats that Brooklyn, sticky chocolate and schmeboygahs? I am listening.

S: This is very simple, it has a roasted barley and a deep chocolate finish to it. I hate it when beers are this direct but it is like a Madden character with all the points stacked on one attribute. In this game, this is an obese secretary who LOVES. CHOCOLATE. If this were an X-Man, its mutant ability would be reminding people to buy lotions from Bath and Body works and then visiting Godiva. BUT WILL SHE USE HER POWERS FOR GOOD OR EVIL?

I love stouts, I love chocolate. I mash on this beer not unlike an elated turtle.

T: This just continues with the simple oat and chocolate rigamarole with a deep silky finish. There is a bit of coffee but the main attraction here is clearly the chocolate, if this redundant ass review wasn’t evident. There’s some sweet hookah cocoa beans and a bit of tobacco but seriously, how else can I say this? It is like a negligent ass Willy Wonka creation.

M: Surprisingly, the mouthfeel is out faster than a dead beat father. It just imparts the chocolate like a drunk uncle, and then stumbles out the door with a silky oat finish. There’s a bit of coffee that dries it out at the end but wow, this really makes me want to try Black Ops if this beer is this good.

With 20 years on this, it will be even better, I aint even mad.

D: This is scary drinkable and amazing through and though. I hope that these are either expensive or sold in really small formats because, wow, I can’t believe how easy it is to put this away. Stouts this big usually have a huge drying effect or a filling expansive nature. NOT THIS ONE. This is that silent old standby busser that always shows up for its shifts and does a great job, no questions asked. Thank God I dont live in Brooklyn so I can avoid amazing inexpensive be- ah shit.

Narrative: Prilly looked out intently upon the icy vanilla slopes, past the polar bears enjoying Coca-Cola, past the ice cream mountain, and blinding white pillars of creamy goodness. This wasn’t the life he dreamed of and he knew it. Vanillalopolis was a humble community of artisans and yeomen farmers, however, something never felt quite right to Prilly. He longer for a deep, thick succor. That ambrosial decadence that could only be found in succulent cacoa beans. The ongoings of Vanillalopolis just seemed so pedestrian by contrast. He tossed a vanilla snowball at a passing marshmellow bunny and watched it scamper away, leaving flakes of pure white coconut. “Someday Prilly, for really,” he mused to himself. Just as he was raking the vanillacones from the recent harvest he struck deep into the ground and, up from the snow white soil came a bubbling crude. Mahongany gold, Alabama tea. He dipped an index infger into the gurgling pool and tasted that deep chocolatey decadence that he longer for. The news reports reported that the septic explosion was completely unforseeable and Prilly’s family received a substantial settlement from the Wrongful Death case.

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New Glarus Laughing Fox. The Midwest is no Laughing Matter.

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Go ahead, laugh at the fox. It only shows your own insecurities.

New Glarus Laughing Fox, Kristal Weizen, 4.5% abv

Alright, enough beating up on other states, time to enjoy winter in Wisconsi- ok fine, on with the review.

A: Well I get the weizen, there’s a deep gold hue like those peddlers in those rich diverse ethnic markets in Milwaukee [FN1 never been there.] It has a rich foamy frothy carbonation that is astounding. Literally, I polished my monocle and pulled a double take at the soapy overflow. Been polishing my monocle quite a bit recently.

S: This has a great cinnamon, clove, banana and belgian trappist ester finish to it. Smells like nana’s blanket that she cools pies upon. New Glarus burned me so bad with the Wisconsin Red and Tart that that Berliner Weiss and R+D Geuze brought me back to neutral, this might just win me over.

This beer makes me feel like I am the butt of an intelligent joke that I just don't apprehend.

T: This is difficult to describe because it’s like describing the absence of a quality to prove its existence, the old History channel/John Locke/every epistemologist way of things. I hope you are very perceptive because the banana and clo- its gone. That fast. This makes the taste of Rolling Rock seem resonant by contrast. I feel like posting a Craigslist missed encounters ad because the half second is so sweet. But, then again, my inbox is already full of so many penis .gifs, I will refrain.

M: Well, imagine the evanescent taste and- yup the mouthfeel is gone. Are you even drinking beer? It’s an exercise in rationalism, its like ding an sich, I dont know if this beer really exists because it is a ghost and I have almost no faculty to apprehend it. Grasping at the watery malt phantom is frustrating and perhaps brilliant marketing because the glass just menacingly drains. I am like the reverse version of Mickey Mouse in Fantasia, you know when he, wait what?

It aspires to greatness, but, something is off.

D: I guess extremely? This depends on if you enjoy your beers seen and not heard [FN2 tasted.] You could seem like a complete champion drinking a case of these at a party, providing you take your old cranberry pills first. Just, lots of urine, that’s basically what I am getting at here. The sweet lil honey ester kiss is like a 5th grade smooch and then, boom gone, and you’re left with empty beer bottles, just like 5th grade. Cursive is hard.

Narrative: It wasn’t that Devin Manning had a disinterest in the corporeal world. I mean sure, he wanted to pass on into the aether, but his attention span was so limited that “fulling his higher purgatorial obligations” just seemed so daunting. “Charles? Come try this pie for me, mmm careful!” Devin would swoop over and inhabit Charles’s mouth for a moment, and then rush away to investigate what was just purchased at Sharper Image. “GOD DAMNIT DEVIN,” phastasmagorial overseer translord of ward IV, aka Ghost Boss, boomed through the house. “Devin, fulfill their palates with flavor, you’re clearly not trying. Do you even give a shit about heaven? Do you want to meet Beatrice?” Devin just gave a weak mealymouthed reply and pushed chinese checkers balls around idly. “Ahhhh, I dont care if this family dont got enough sense to use coriander or boost protein dishes with boullion stock, WHAT’S THAT MY OLD BUSINESS!” Ghost Boss looked down his will o’ the wispy brow and stated solemly, “Devin, you are a flavor ghost of the lower order, you give people with very little taste a fleeting glimpse at greater things, you are fulfilling a debt for listening to Semisonic and the Spin Doctors. You see you lived a life completely devoid of any real taste.” Devin stopped listening and began rifling through a nearby drawer of Dubstep cds. “GOD DAMNIT THESE PEOPLE HAVE NO TASTE.”

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Cherry Adam from the Wood, Up to No Good. Oregon is a Republic of Hoarders

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Popping that Ch-, ok nevermind.

Ok, North Carolina week is put on hiatus, since SOME PEOPLE IN OREGON THINK IT IS OK NOT TO SHARE.

Cherry Adam from the Wood, Old Ale, 10% ABV

A: The appearance has a nice deep ruby and dark brown hue that just doesn’t have a single fuck to spare with regards to carbonation. This beer is like that curmudgeonous guy at the party who just chills and talks shit on people, and cant be riled even for a supplicant game of flip cup. No head.

S: This has a deep boozy smell that stings the nostrils like Sex Panther. The cherry comes through in a muted and grenadine sort of way but it is a welcome reprieve from the Old Ale deep sticky maltiness and old timey stories. There’s dark fruit, oak, and vanilla at the end but no one listens to them, just an annoying little cadre of background assholes.

Cherry Adam in the flesh would look something like this, nerdy, into fruit flavors, complex, but ultimately will resort to alcoholism.

T: The taste has a ton going on, vanilla, oak, deep malts, pitted fruits, figs, and guess what? Fucking cherries. Cherries jubilee but coated with bourbon and set on fire. This is like a complex dessert cooked by a FIDM student that burned them and scorched them with alcohol while watching Sex and the City. It is complicated, but that doesn’t make it necessarily good, it just has longer stories to tell about its childhood, just like all the best dates you ever went on.

M: The mouthfeel has a nice warmth to it and would be at home in the old skilodge for drunks too seeped in cherry love to hit the slopes. Nice hot coating and oaky dryness make this beer shine in a world not yet created, one for alcoholic fruit lovers. One can dream.

Cherry Adam off the top ropes

D: This is just too hot and beats you over the head with a barrage of complex flavors that exceeds the scope of my appreciation. MY APPRECIATION SCOPE REMAINS UNCALIBRATED. I was able to finish the whole 12oz bottle but, I wasn’t all sad looking out a rainsoaked window pane wondering when that Fedex truck would bring me another one. Drinking it has cool bragging rights to that extensive circle of no one, so there’s always that. Try it at a club, work it into her story about being “not religious but spiritual” and see how it goes over. “OH SPEAKING OF CHERRY ADAM I HAD THE BOURBON BARREL AGED VERSION ONCE.” You can’t get less than zero girls, you can’t owe people chicks. But you can drink zero Cherry Adam, which is not a Coca-Cola product.

Narrative: “Gunnar! Get your lunch and permission slip, you’re gonna be late!” Cathy called to her second-born as he grasped the paper sack with a savage zeal and peeled out the doorway, still smelling of Taster’s Strudels. “Oh if they only knew,” Cathy thought to herself and watched the bus noisily speed away. She put on her Northface jacket, a fashion staple of hip east-coast mothers, and hurried to her Dodge Stratus to complete her daily ritual. “What would they think if they knew this was how I spent my days?” she tapped her fingers nervously and looked across the parking lot, disappointed. “Shit, they still haven’t set up, WHAT TAKES THOSE CRATES SO DAMN LONG!?” she took a pull of vanilla brandy and watched longingly as the Puerto Rican men unloaded the cases containing her sweet succor. “Felipe! Hola hola, un caja de cereza por favor!” he began to go for a box of beer. “NO FELIPE! CEREZA! CHERRIES FOR GOD’S SAKE!” she ejaculated with tense anticipation. This was the height of her day, getting lit and hitting the Farmer’s Market first thing, to land a sick stash of pitted goodness. She hustled back to the idling car with her case of cherries, rubbing the errant juice along her gumline. The children would come home and find spoons burnt with carmelized cherries, and empty cartons, but never uncover Cathy’s sweet, dark, pitted secret. So pitted.

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Olde Rabbit’s Foot, North Carolina Changes the Game, Kinda I GUESS.

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No Rabbits Were Harmed in the Making of this Shitty Joke.

NORTH CAROLINA WEEK IS UPON US. For no particular reason, those old Tarheels dont get the cred they deserve so, here goes nothing.

Olde Rabbits Foot, Imperial Stout, 10.13% abv

This beer is a blend between Duck Rabbit, Foothill, and Olde Hickory, the portmanteau is the name OH SHIT JUST USED PORTMANTEAU IN A LEGITIMATE WAY.

A: The beer pours with a slick deep black inky cola look to it. Epigrams and entendres aside, the head is my favorite part. The thick whipped mocha head looks like a barista was all up in this bitch. Nice lacing with dotted Polynesian islands on the glass. Samoan people will love this beer if they ever discover North Carolina. Doubtful.

S: There’s an intense milk chocolate and frosting sweetness with almost no bitter from roasted malts. This isn’t a dessert beer, but it could be served at Red Robin with a Cookie Bramblecake or whateverthefuck.

At first when I thought about drinking all NC brews, I was all like dis. then I was it was pretty chill. super chill, even.

T: The taste maintains the sweetness and adds a bit of anise (that’s GED+ talk for licorice) and finishes with a coffee flavor that would make sense since people from North Carolina, bus drivers, truckers alike could drink this with their 3400 calorie breakfasts.

M: The mouthfeel has a nice prickly heat from the bourbon but it doesn’t get all up in your business and tell you how to do your job. It lets you wear the amount of flair that you desire, nice maltiness that isn’t too expansive and is respectful throughout the proceedings. The coffee doesn’t dry out the gumline too much and the result is a sweet booziness that you can doff your cap to in the street while pitching pennies. that sorta shit.

In North Carolina, even the turtles are wasted for a majority of their lives.

D: This is a swift nimble North Carolina aboriginal stout, poised and refined from a land of latent racism and excellent college basketball. Too bad most of the population is probably merking Natty Ice they could- well actually I think the bottle run on this was like 2500 or something so, I dont care if they missed out on it.