Monthly Archives: December 2011

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Alpine Bad Boy, All Those Naughty Oily Hops All Foamy and NSFW

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Well, the top 100 beer rampage continues, because I am in the Christmas spirit and sharing good reviews is so much more fun than sharing reviews that are all halla sorry. This is not bottled and getting a growler of it is time consuming and not fun, drinking it is the exact opposite.

This Alpine has been a very very Bad Boy. Pay $3.99 a minute to listen to it get op-

Alpine Bad Boy, 9.5% abv, Double IPA

A: This has a radiant golden glow to it with a great clarity like majestic apple juice. The lacing looks like an abandoned haunted house and these a tons of webs all up in this piece. This be looking mad antiquated. The carbonation from the growler is solid and sticky throughout. This looks dangerous and somehow sessionable. First order of business, smooooothe flavorrr.

The hop cone, while related to marijuana, will not show up on urine tests. Rest assured.

S: The smell even on opening the growler is relentless. The hop presence detonates like pinecones galvanized all up in your dome piece. There is a grassy pineapple to it with some herbal grapefruit. I would deem this 60/40 herbal to fruit which is a solid balance. Hop Wallop needs to take some notes. This has more balance than a Chinese gymnast with an inner ear infection.

T: This is exactly what Alpine does so. Damn. Well. It just delivers a huge initial sweetness that fades into a freshly cut grassiness that makes you feel all elementary school for a second until, bam, honey sweetness that fades. This is like the more tactful version of Hopslam. A friend you can confide secrets in, a hoppy buddy you can take places and know he wont talk about when someone touched your no no. That kind of friend.

I want to be friends with this beer, but I am pretty sure it would ruin my shit if we hung out on a regular basis.

M: The mouthfeel is impossibly light. It is Pale Ale thin, imparts a huge herbal character that swirls a maple cape and fades into a loveable sweet note. It is David Blaine ass hop work. It leaves my mouth all astounded but wanting more. I suppose a growler is both an appropriate and inappropriate serving size, for obvious reasons. This will take a serious prestige amongst Ephraim and Citra. To be clear, this is far superior to Exponential Hoppiness in the way that Nightcrawler is superior to Colossus. It is just someone I would rather hang out with on a regular basis. This is nimble and bad ass, not some lumbering asshole who always asks you to save his sister from a tractor.

D: Holy jeez, this is the Live Oak of DIPA’s which is to say its drink ability is off the charts for the ABV and the complex character of the hop profile. I almost want to run my own tests to ascertain if this has any more than 4% abv but, the old liver test is sufficient. The fact that this is not in bottles has allegedly saved CalTrans millions in roadside clean ups. So there’s always that.

You make assumptions at first, but then it turns into a surprisingly refined experience.

Narrative: “Well? Did you find anything? All OF THE OPENINGS ARE SEALED!” Tarynn cried with the utmost agitation, Mark felt that a reference to that’s what she said would be inapropos in the case of a spelunking disaster. “WE ARE GOING TO DIE DOWN HERE!” Tarynn exclaimed while running her fingers through her thinning hair. She fell to her knees in desperation and clutched the halogen lantern desperately. “We can’t below the water table, so therefore, the sediment should push up some sustainable filtered water and, potentially some veget-” Mark tripped over a thick tuft of underground foliage. “What in the-” he discontinued his sentence in that staccato manner that characters in situation comedies do, despite not being interrupted. “HECK” he finished, but so much later that it didn’t seem canon with his previous sentence. “What is it Mark?” Tarynn called out. There was a fresh pool of water seeping through the floor but it was fully entwined by sticky, vinuous hop plants. The smell was overwhelming. “This-” he did it again, “is our only chance of survival.” The two nodded gravely and began to suck from the pools the sticky water and push raw hop flowers into their gullets. “If only we-” Mark declared before falling asleep. The geological team found them 8 days later, high out of their minds on raw hop flowers. Mark’s sentences have since been correc-

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Kuhnhenn Raspberry Eisbock, Rocking So Much Eisbock in the Club, So Eised Out, Yo Eisenberg, Bock Up.

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haha holy shit. i found this draft of a review from 2011. here you go:

By this point, you prolly are all like, “DAMN HOW MANY MORE TOP 100 beers did he review? Why do I even care tho? Am I clearly a rhetorical device?” yes. you are. So this angry little 7oz bottle of rage is a sticky raspberry euthanizer. It is a messy job but someone has to do it to keep you from seeking out these beers, I don’t relish my yoke, es un yoke.

Sticky icky oooo weee, put it in the air. The wash aint just soaps and suds, you a fool for this one Kuhnhennnnnnn- RASPBERRY REEEEMIXXXXX

Kuhnhenn Raspberry Eisbock, 13.5% abv

A: This beer has a deep ruby tone to it with mild maroon tones at the edges. The whole thing has a sticky murkiness to it like a decadent muddy quad, but with more of a feminine glow to it. The carbonation is almost non-existent and mild tiny bubbles form at the surface but like the laughs in an Adam Sandler movie, they are faint and gone far too soon.

This beer is very sweet, but at 13.5% abv, it creeps me out.

S: This is a huge raspberry bomb similar to Framboise De Amarosa. There is a citric acidity and a deep fruit tone on the backend of this beer. The abv shines through and lets it be known that some serious booziness is about to go down. The 7oz bottle is a perfect serving size for a beer that is this violent. At the finish there’s a deep chocolate smell to it that seems almost uninvited, but welcome nonetheless. What was I wearing? Why is that relevant to this complaint, this beer raped my mouth ok?

T: This has a sharp tartness to the front of it that quickly subsides into a deep grape juice flavor. It reminds me of the deep purple Juicy Juice that I had as a kid, or maybe my parents just served me 13.5% abv Eisbock, WE MAY NEVER KNOW. Notwithstanding, all of these fruit notes should be interpreted on the canvas of a deep chocolate and malty base beer that presents a strange scaffolding from which the raspberry bodies are buried. At the finality of the deep maltiness the raspberries come back for a moment just to give you a quick sour shot to the stones. A very enjoyable beer, albeit incredibly strange.

I am not sure what this beer is exactly FOR, but I enjoy it, SORTA.

M: This has a thick malty mouthfeel to it like a chocolately quad but without the big dark fruits getting all pitted up in the mix. It expands and coats impressively like some cough syrup from a negligent ass pediatrician. The lack of carbonation makes this feel sticky and medicinal, which strangely feels appropriate.

D: This suffers in this category simply because this beer is too big for its own raspberry britches. The abv monster, coupled with the crazy acidity, with the lack of carbonation makes this feel like more of a serum to be administered judiciously rather than casually knocked back. Even working through the baleful wax was a task in itself. Again, this isn’t an average beer, it is exceptional, but not one that I would keep in full rotation. This is the type of beer that non-craft people will point to and say “Look at the type of stuff this guy is into!: with derision. Their jeers will resound through the hallways. YOU WILL GET YOUR RASPBERRY REVENGE ON THEM ALL.

This beer tests my patience, but results in a mild treat.

Narrative: The school bell of the gulag had a strange E minor tone to it. It underscored the deep darkness of the work camp that had been deemed an educational institute. “Svedsky! Join us for lunch!” the other children cried and motioned for him to sit with them amongst some dilapidated industrial equipment. “What do you have in your abiEt sack bubushka?” Svedsky resented the other children’s ironic names for him and clenched his jaw and slowly opened his abiet sack. He knew what he would have, so did all of the other little Oliver Twists in the lunch circle. Sevdsky had the same lunch as he had always had. He poured the contents into a silk handkerchief and the children resounded with laughter. “OLD SVEDSKY HAS THE MALINA AGAIN! ALWAYS THE MALINA!” It was indeed malina, an entire pound of raspberries. It was garnished with a piece of hard tack bread but, it was malina all the way through. His brow lowered and his palate was bitter as was his soul as the deep ridicule that he was subjected to. “Hey Sevdsky? Why so quiet? Care to trade for my shuba? JUST KIDDING FOR I WANT NONE OF YOUR MALINAS!” Oh how they rejoiced at his tart pain. The fire burned in his chest and his hatred went unrequited.

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Barrel Aged Blackout Stout, Great Lakes Brewery, If Anyone Needs to Blackout, It is Ohio.

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Guess what, knock knock, who’s there? Another top 100 beer. No punchlines here, just sick brews brah. 12 days of Christmas are delivering so hard.

Ohio is bringing their A game with this one, sending over something besides FIDM students for a change.

Barrel Aged Blackout Stout, Great Lakes Brewery, Imperial Stout, 9.5% abv

A: This is on the mid-range in absolute Satanic murkiness. It would place somewhere admirably amongst the ranks of Beezlebub in darkness, but not as pure black as Abyss or Black Tuesday. A bit of mahogany shines through at the edges. The carbonation is a bit disappointing, with tiny bubbles that escape quickly. There is very little lacing as well. Ho hum.

Dont like this beer? Well first off...

S: This beer smells like toffee, raisins, burnt vanilla, and bourbon. There’s chocolate in there as well but it feels like an overpower quad given the complexity of the dark fruits, AND THAT’S PRETTY OKAY!

T: The tone of the beer in my mouth is like ringing a perfect major chord of chocolate, raisin, oak, and bourbon in pure harmony. It isn’t overpowering it just resounds with a pure deep sustain that is very pleasurable. This is strange in the world of high octane stouts in that it doesn’t try to go balls to the wall with flavor it just hits an amazing balance and each flavor works in harmony. I wasn’t expecting much from the smell and appearance but the taste is incredible.

Shockingly good. I will be on the lookout for this little gem.

M: If the taste didn’t knock it out of the park, this prickly tiny carbonation makes this beer fantastic on the palate with just enough coating to remain but not enough to both you. I can see how some people wouldn’t “get” this stout but the interplay of the elements is just great. This dark horse really impresses and delivers a subtle performance. The John Malcovich of the Barrel Aged stout world, indeed.

D: The lack of aggressive carbonation and the mellow bourbon and dark fruits make this beer incredibly drinkable and pairable with plenty of options. I don’t think it is universal enough to win over the Delta Gammas of the world, but it is pretty solid when it comes to anyone who has an inkling for the darker side. I feel that if more people tried this beer, it would gain a stronger notoriety but the small batches have this beer being judged by extremely critical parties and it receives a lesser reception as a result.

Similar to other stouts, but with a strangely unique feel to it. Nicely done, crazy, but accomplished.

Narrative: “Steve? Steve, I cant OW!” Jessie fumbled looking for the flashlight in the darkness. “Steve, do we have any candles? Are you there?” Steve was there. A solitary ember from an Argentinian cigar glowed not unlike Daisy’s dock in the darkness. “I am here. Now tell me, who was it, in this household of two that forgot to pay the power bill?” Jessie stopped fumbling for matches and flashlights and stared intently upon the glowing cigar. “You know damn well it was me Steve, that’s not the time for this.” “OH REALLY? Is it the time to make a sweet currant pie? Perhaps we can eat all these figs and 85% dark chocolate? IS THAT WHAT TIME IT IS?!” Jessie dropped to her knees in the darkness and unknowingly crushed a rare Timewalk Magic: the Gathering card. “YOU MONSTER! You know about my condition, I just love, dark fruits so much, now look at us, alone, in the da- myenm. The dark, nom, mmyean there’s nothing we can horm-” “ARE YOU EATING PLUMS AT A TIME LIKE THIS!?” She wailed a sticked pit fruited wail that would be at home in a Tennessee Williams play “IT’S THE ONLY FRUIT I HAVE ANYMORE!” End scene.

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Armand’4 Zomer, Such a Huge Zomer for this, Geuze, srsly.

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OH SHIT ANOTHER TOP 100 BEER? You have got to be kidding me. Tis the season indeed, hot in the streets, killing the mixtape scene right now.

Anyway, here’s an expensive ass rare beer from Belgium. For a change.

I think I am getting a Zomer just looking at this.

Ok so this is another one of those 40 euro bottles that cost another $25 to ship to the U.S. that everyone is so jazzed about, and well, it’s basically a perfect geuze. That is all there is to it. Werf it.

Armand’4 Oude Geuze Zomer (Summer) 6% abv

A: This beer is radiant and downright beautiful. The carbonation is a bit obnoxious, but I guess being put in a box and being shipped from Belgium to Colorado to California and then greeting my ugly face leaves something to be desired and the reaction was substantial. Accidentally all the carbonation. But the beer itself has a brilliant yellow gold sort of hue and a deep cloudiness that just cascades sheets of bubbles like a malfunctioning dishwasher, you aint even mad tho.

A beer to share with your son. Not even mad tho. Amazing.

S: I got a huge floral aspect to beer that feels like laying on a cotton blanket in a poppyfield or some other shit that dryer sheet commercials depict my life to be. There’s a nice apricot and tart lemon and its like rays of ethereal light up into my nose holes. It’s like opening the Ark of the Covenant and discovering delicious fruit instead of hateful hessidic rage.

T: The taste is incredibly layered and complex, let me eat the oat pieces and try to get the marshmellow ratio up to explain this. Ok so you get this funky like hot basement musk that turns into sweettarts immediately then washes into an acidic note like a harsh white wine but in a delicious citrus way. It just really shines in this department and leaves very little to be desired except a bit more fruits, but hey, go get on Toucan Sam’s shit for that, it’s perfect in nearly every other way. What do you want from this beer you ingrate?

Alright so pricey perfectly executed geuze isn't your thing? How about a mouse? There you go, ingrate.

M: The mouthfeel is interesting in that it, literally, burns my lips with acidity. The tingle is similar to when I drank Goose Island Rare and there was that hot flash of tingling on my lips, except this time it was the liquid sun spraying summer all over the place. It expands with a Faulkner depth and clarity that subsides into a dry sourness, also like Faulkner, ba dum tish.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I kinda regret taking this whole 750ml to my domepiece. These bottles usually go for like $90 so I guess I don’t win the sharing badge, but, it’s still exceptional in every way. I played Battlefield 3 feeling all like it was summer and my lean frame was embracing the verdant hillside, skipping and tossing marigolds aloft. Shit was so cash.

This absolutely gets the Seal. Top 5 geuze. Go get you one.

Narrative: Summer in Morris, Illinois had a special radiance to it. The rays felt like they were delivered especially for each resident as a golden shaft from Helios himself. The residents went about their business, yet each and every one of the 13,636 residents knew that a special radiant love waited to embrace them right when they stepped out the door to embrace that Illinois soil. Skip Masterson looked up to the sun and smiled nodding knowingly as he headed to his job at the Dresden Power Plant. The residents looked not unlike the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast, a man doffed his cap to Skip while carrying a wicker basket of baguettes and a fresh pitcher of lemonade. Just another picturesque morning in sweet Morris. The summer sun welcomed the Lyondell Chemical Company trucks into town and the children skipped and frolicked in the glow of the summer sun, running after the ammonia sulfide inside the trucks, playing with toy guns and playing pitchpennies into a tin can enjoying the sweet glow of a perfect metropolitan suburban life. Summer was a gift from god and embraced each resident with a sweet fulfilling handshake that pulls in for a comforting hug.

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Hair of the Dog Matt, Matt is a Sick Bro, Boozy, But Super Chill.

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Oh wow, another top 100 beer? Look who is on a roll this week and has two thumbs, ::using index fingers:: this guy.

Like most of the Matt's I know, this one is boozy but super chill.

Hair of the Dog, Matt, American Strong Ale, 11.5% abv

A: This beer is flatter than a Taiwanese gymnast. No head to speak of and mild reluctant bubbles at the edges are the underwhelming response after a hard pour. It is a deep dark plum/mahogany color with no middle carbonation, clearly. Look how flat it is, and then, make your own small breast reference.

This beer is almost too complicated for my tastes.

S: Wow, this has a huge bouquet to it. It smells like an “Imperial Quad” with abundant smoked raisins, figs, burnt plums, charred dark fruits and some chocolate body in there. Quite a complicated little brew, but interesting to say the least.

T: Wow, for a flat beer, this is incredibly tasty. This maintains that same Quad character on the taste with a nice malty raisin sweetness, currants, and a mild chocolate flavor. The swallow is a bit boozy but nothing too overpowering. I could imagine this being pretty violent fresh from the tank but it seems to have mellowed amiably. There’s a hot vanilla at the end, like that one violent white kid from Gardena that packs a snubnose heater. You know the one.

This dark sassy brew has an amiable quality.

M: The mouthfeel is hot with bourbon singing the gumline but in a fulfilling way. It imparts an alcoholic dryness with a nice oaky character. Again, this is a strange hybrid beer that would be incredible if not for, ok, the carbonation horse has been beat to death. I’LL JUST HOOF IT TO THE NEXT SECTION.

D: This is way too hot and warm to session up on. Thankfully they realized this and bottled it in 12oz bottles so it is packaged just right. Ultimately it is an anomaly like Dragonforce where you are impressed by the crazy plethora of things going on but ultimately can’t sit through a 2 hour set. Too much heat from the face melting vanilla solos.

After a bottle of this hot rampaging ale, I need to stop internetting.

Narrative: The air was thick and hot like the congealed top layer of a hot soup. The humidity stuck to Brash Proveccio’s face in a spiteful manner. “Alright, no more messing around, stack that product over there, yeah, a full quart” he barked to his lackey’s in a firm, serious tone. “Alright, now what made you think that you could muscle in on our market?” he spit as he talked, boozy and laced with tobacco, it hit the face of Sabas Zapato and lingered. “I just- never thought that, it’s just….FIREWOOD!” Brash slammed his fist down on the charred stump next to him. “JUST FIREWOOD? The likes of you should even be able to touch freshly cut SOFT MAPLE WOOD!” Zapato shifted in his chair nervously. He never thought that his unlicensed gardening venture would land him in this type of trouble. “Tell you what, since it’s just FIREWOOD and I’m the only one in Bergen county allowed to SELL FIREWOOD, how’s about I drop a fresh gross on each and every one of your family member’s driveways?” “NO….PLEASE!” “Yeah, that’s right tough guy, everyone’s going to be significantly late to whatever appointments that they may need to attend, imagine them, movin all that wood out of the way, just to get out of the garage, YOU WANT THAT?” Zapato began to sob and, through the thick, sticky air murmured, “Take all the Alder, all the Almond, any green woods you want, even the Beachwood, please just don’t….don’t make them the victims of fire wooding.” Brash split open a fresh log of Ash wood, he was fired up indeed.

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The Alchemist Heady Topper Double IPA, Get Ready to Get Heady

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Alright, another top 100 ranked beer, well top 15 to be exact, and arguably the best Double IPA in existence (grumblegrumbleCitragrumbleEphraim)

Let’s get this show on the road.

Gettin some Heady, Get, gettin some Heady. Ba dum tish.

Heady Topper, Double IPA, The Alchemist, 8% abv

A: This beer has a hazy orange glow to it with great carbonation and a radiance that looks like when you cut a unicorn open. It has a huge sticky head to it that subsides gradually.

This beer recognizes how sick of a bro I am and doesn't bother me. It's like we friends.

S: This has a single smell with limited complexity, overwhelming grapefruit and acidity. This is probably the closest that a Double IPA has come to smelling like a gueuze. Very fruity and acerbic on the nose.

T: This is a one trick pony, but it is a pretty bad ass trick: it plants, harvests, and juices an entire acre of grapefruit trees in your mouth, in a single drink. This isn’t an herbal or hop overload, it is just orange juice and grape fruit puree. It tastes like fruit juice more than Citra does. This beer is better cold for this very reason. This is a world class beer and it is incredibly distinctive. The juiciness doesn’t impart any bitterness that lingers.

This beer is just incredibly refreshing, like watching a baby hippo get all upset. Ahhhh.

M: The mouthfeel isn’t too overwhelming, but just malty enough to carry the huge flavor of this beer. It washes away with a crisp finish. This is a serious contender against Citra and Ephraim.

D: This has an incredible drink ability that is perfect from the can. I wonder how the hops hold up over time but this beer has a lot to offer and can likely stand the test of time. Once again, all of the beers that you want to pour into a spoon and boil in an addictive spree, are not available in California. All of the incredibly drinkable beers remain just out of reach.

I guess I could search for another, better, double IPA, but, I fold.

Narrative: It wasn’t an easy life for Paradisi Juicio, living in Barbados and all. For years and years, he was overlooked, mistaken for his cousin Pampelo Tangelini, and over shadowed by the ever-popular Shaddock boys, with their rough handsome demeanors. “WELL MAYBE IF YOU JUST LISTENED TO ME I WOULDN’T HAVE TO YELL AT YOU ALL THE TIME!!!” Paradisi boomed, wiping sticky acerbic sweat from his brow. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID. TELL ME WHAT I SAID!” he boomed, his face turning into a bitter grimace. It felt as though, his friends had been picked off one by one recently, ground into the earth, so to speak. People just didn’t care for his kind like they used to. The ruby red complexion of his wife, Grappa Juicio, became sullen, “I just don’t think that we can go on like this, what with the low carb diets and, people replacing us left and right, I just don’t know where we fit into this crazy mixed up world.” As she finished her sentence, the double doors swung open and the oppressive land lord came striding in. “Mr. Galaxy, I didn’t know you were-” “Oh sure, didn’t figure I would come this soon, oust your and your outdated fruit kind? Listen up you degenerate citrites, the hops run this town now, ain’t no body interested in some bitter old juice anymore. Not when me and my hop boys got something to say about it!” Grappa weeped acidic bitter tears and dreamed for the days when someone would enjoy her for her sweet disposition and not some false citrus experience.

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Fantome La Pietrain Saison, Musky Lil Pigs and Ghosts

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GHOST PIG. Haunting public libraries near you.

Fantôme La Piétrain, Saison, 8% abv

A: Alright, lets get into the Fantome mindset for this one, bright, murky, funky, and beautiful like David Lynch films. It isn’t quite as bright as the usual Marcellus Wallace briefcase endeavors, but it is far from amber. Lots of carbonation, capped and corked for double dealing double sealing power. Soy style.

Am I dreaming? Or is this beer for reals?

S: This is amazing and I love this Belgian ghost for this in particular. It’s like a wet animal locker room of funky damp carpet and filth, but in a refreshing way. It has musk, drizzled leather satchel, and a tart Sweettarts finish. It’s like Ice Cube and Yoyo, gangster as fuck.

T: This has a nice tartness at the outset that fades into a mellow honey note with a solid wheat backbone, you get a glimpse of a standard saison and then the musk pushes you out the exit with an acidic souvenir. Strange theme park, but I am down with this pig ghost.

If you were wondering who is the last person in the world who would drink this beer, your answer is pictured above. Oldface guidos.

M: This has a foamy expansive character the stretches its legs immediately with a foamy character. The coating isn’t too crazy, but it finishes with a great dryness that hits the gumline like a middleweight boxer imparting some nice funky hay aftertaste. Yeah, I eat hay, go for that low hanging punchline. Go for it, oh you have jokes? We will wait.

D: This is very drinkable and I merked the entire bottle like the cops just rolled up on my Belgian dice game. I can’t believe that they taking belgian Warren’s wealth. I would like another but oh 1) only sold in Belgium 2) only made once 3) no fucking clue where to find this again. Story of my life, a series of one night keg stands. Ho hum.

Fantome beers are always a fleeting one night stand for my palate.

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Westvleteren 8, The Baby Brother of the Best Beer in the World, AND THAT’S PRETTY OKAY.

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The baby borther of big bad Westy 12, the #1 (or 2?) ranked beer in the world, this lil guy still pulls his weight. AND IT IS ALSO A TOP 100 BEER.

Westy 8 All up in the mix, looking bashful with a modest ass bottle.

Westy 8, 8% abv, dubbel

A: Murky muddy brown with hazy golden notes at the edges, epic, epic carbonation, the head is relentless and lingers all the way down. It reminds me of those plants in Ursulas cave that taunt Arie- what? Nothing. I didn’t just reference the Little Mermaid, what were you talking about? God damnit, this is the second time that I have used that reference, highly dishonorable.

This beer was disturbingly difficult to land initially and was scary good. I wish there was a prolific Maine-based writer to document this horror story.

S: There’s very clean crisp esters that open up the nasal passage and impart this dryness with some sugars similar to a deep saison. It’s like the febreeze for an apothecary. Nice bit of herbal notes but a clarifying agent scours throughout.

T: It is overridingly gentle. The initial flavor doesn’t present itself overtly, it dapperly slides in and announces its presence with a mild plum note and then lovingly escorts your palate to the raisin notes. As a parting gift, your mouth is delivered a superb hop performance by the hop equivalent of Sidney Portier. The entire experience feels like I have been taught a soft lesson in Dubbels.

In the realm of successful dubbels, this Westy 8 delivers so hard.

M: It is incredibly light, at least I think so. It feels like I learned a lesson that I can’t quite place. The mouthfeel is so silky and smoothe it feels like I just bought a timeshare in Juarez and cant remember even listening to a sales pitch. The glass just empties itself hand over sip. That was a pun there, see how I did that? Ultimately, thin, somehow refreshing and not the candy overload that I was expecting.

D: I don’t understand how they did this. Seriously. I want to blame the water recipe or monks or. . .something. . .but my glass has emptied itself incredibly fast. It doesn’t make any sense. When it warms up, it is even more deadly. Thank god they don’t sell this in America. If the USA ever got this recipe it would be like if old slug worth got a hold of the plans for fizzy lifting drinks. Then we would all be regimented to cleaning the ceilings. Respectively.

Only people of the most discriminating taste and regal poise enjoy this beverage. Picture unrelated.

Narrative: Tuesday was pruning day, that afternoon, preserves and jams, later that evening, hypnotherapy for the residents. It was not an ideal job at the outset, running a bed and breakfast and all. However, after Father Methulsela gained his footing, he was the most gentle and skilled B&B operator in the Pacific Northwest. “The sheets? They smelled of lavender. We never saw him but there were fresh pastries almost every time we left the home. I swear he made that fig marmalade himself.” “Yeah honey, now that you mention it, I don’t remember ever seeing that crafty caretaker, God was he subtle.” The couple looked right and their cups were bussed, replaced with confectionaries and doilies. “See? Look at that, totally unnecessary and polite. It’s pleasant to the point of being, strange.” As he finished that sentence, his Honda CRV has just completed a transmission flush and radiator core recharge, free of charge. “SEE! SEE!”

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Péché Mortel (Imperial Stout Au Cafe), Stout Imperialism at Its Finest

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Alright time for some good old fashioned stout abuse, another top 100 beer, and more ways to write “this has a coffee taste” in fun and inventive ways.

Peche Mortel, Total Immortel.

Peche mortel, Brassiere, Imperial Stout 9.5% abv

A: The appearance has deep dark hues with no transparency, just a hateful oily darkness that abuses like a NASCAR loving husband. However, the coating relents a bit and there’s frothy mocha lacing that adheres to the glass longingly. Give up lacing, it is time to move on.

Satanic Cups of Coffee

S: There is a huge coffee aroma and burnt smoky notes preside with a bit of chocolate; it is clear that coffee is the main event here, and additional complexity is overwhelmed in this discussion. Not a word in from sweetness, edgewise or otherwise.

T: The nice bit of cocoa on the front is quickly chloroformed and dragged away by the coffee censors. There is a huge dryness from the hops and coffee overpower the sweet notes. This beer could use a bit more maltiness but it helps to keep the crispness of the coffee forward. I guess if you had a kick ass office, a negligent boss, or a drunk supervisor, this could pass as a morning beverage. DONT FORGET TO READ THE OSHA POSTERS.

This beer is a little too sweet, makes me question its intentions.

M: Again, the coffee and roasted notes just overwhelm and it makes it a bit of a one trick pony. Sadly you want more complexity, but what is there, is done fairly well, like a Gallagher comedy show. Except less racist.

D: Sadly, there’s just too much drying and acidity from the coffee notes to make this any form of a session beer. It has its place for three months of the year as a classy respite, but beyond that, it’s tough to really give it a direct nod of approval. This can be the ski lodge wench with fair skin that burns easily. The pale barista that serves you on a daily basis, provided the day is blustery and depressing as a gulag. That kind of barista.

It's like a childhood pleasure with a strange twist.

Narrative: She is wearing the green apron with the six pieces of flair again, it must be Thursday. Don’t look, damnit, you always look at her directly in the eyes before you are even to the register, idiot. Just examine the unhealthy, overpriced baked goods. Nice, now she’s not on to your schemes. Don’t order the same thing like you always do idiot. Naked Juice? No, she will think you are a pervert. Right, strike up a conversation about that captain entendre. Could you have put on a nicer shirt to go out to a café? You know she only comes home from school for winter session and this is the only time you have to see her each year. This year Reggie, this is your season, you will woo “What can I get you?” oh, think think, stack adjectives, describe something, she’s looking! “A frap, drip, uh vanilla soy…” “Latte?” “Yeah. That’s chill” “You want it chilled?” “No, I meant uh like, the adjective phrase, I mean, hot I want a hot latte.” Well, could that have gone any worse you idiot? “Adjective phrase?” why not just go slam your dick in a car door. Her breath smelled of redolent fresh coffee grounds and her eyes sparkled a deep mocha. Now it is all ruined. That is, until next winter session, when she returns, for your grasp. “What size?” “Oh uh, grasp, I mean, holdable, uh Vent…venti” Nevermind, you wont be grasping anything but coffee you needledick.

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Minnesota Town Hall Masala Mama IPA, Mama Beats Me With Hops.

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Masala Mama was an abusive mother. Also, she lived in a shoe.

Masala Mama, Minnesota Town Hall, IPA, 5.9%

A: This has a great amber to dark yellow character to it, almost making it appear like a pale ale at first. There is great carbonation despite a 5 day old growler. The lacing is relentless and obfuscates the rim of the glass.

I know this is on draft only, let's all calm down. I have this under control.

S: There are nice honey notes and a pleasant grassiness to it. It has a noteworthy, welcoming malty body to it for a beer this low in ABV. Overall, very inviting and floral.

T: There is some light sweetness at the outset with nice use of caramel notes that subsides into mild drying and slight orange peel finish. The taste comes and goes incredibly quickly and you hardly have time to contemplate it before it is gone. There is a slight juniper taste that finishes with an awesome crispness. It offers huge hops and low abv that assaults your conscience after you finish 64oz to yourself, AND IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN. Come on now.

I would like to try and joke about this amazing beer, but I can't just grin and beer it.

M: The carbonation on this is great and makes up for the strange maltiness of the beer. It certainly puts on airs and presents itself as a big boy when deep down it has ABV envy. Nice sweetness that lingers for just a bit and then demands to be tasted again.

D: Just incredibly drinkable from start to finish. This isn’t quite on the Live Oak level, but it still is a stunner in many aspects. You could give this beer to anyone and the hops are happily married to the caramel stickiness, so even diabetic PJ, the kid with the lazy eye, even he would enjoy this beer. I wish that this beer wasn’t so far away. I feel like a prison convict longing for it and another sweet conjugal visit, in my mouth. Wait, that didn’t sound-

Some pundits argue that this beer isn't worth the hype, to them, please see the above ironclad argument.

Narrative: “And according to the most recent census, you have…7 children…is that correct?” “Mmm yais.” the mucky little creatures ran to and fro within the 2 bedroom apartment. The ashtrays were in abundance and overflowing, pets seemed to maintain tenancy in common with the owners, and maintained the home with equal diligence. “And you…you don’t have any of them go to school?” “Eh…no….nooo….” Mother Masalita looked left and right longing for some sort of respite from the relentless questioning of the children services officer. “Wait now, what’s this here?” he pushed a panel on a dilapidated bookcase which revealed a room of radiant light and floral aromas. “Ohh, an indoor cannabis crop?” “eh no…es a secret room…secret.” he entered the tiny room and ducked covering his eyes to the shimmering light. The entire antechamber smelled of bluebell and fresh pastries, there were baking goods and an incredible garden. What appeared to be a negligent household defied all expectations. It was a complex front for a completely calming, loving place that embraced entrants like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. “Well…that…that will be all I guess,” he clicked his pen and picked a rhododendron from one of the pots on his way out. Mama Masalita was one hell of an indoor botanist.