This beer is released once a year and only 80 growlers are filled. OH SHIT BRAGGING SESSION COMMENCES. Just kidding, this is another top 100 beer that took me a long time to land and it was well worth it.
People be all like “What you finna do with all that stout, all that stout up in that growl(er)”
DO WHAT I ALWAYS DO, TAKE THIS SHIT TO THE DANGER ZONE.
Nobody reads shit on Saturdays anyway.
Minnesota Town Hall, Czar Jack, Russian Imperial Stout, 9.3% abv
A: The carbonation just cascades in tiny clusters clinging to the center and edges of the glass like that Ewok village when it is night time, little constellations of potential drunk and disorderly charges, a mocha head of “these cuffs are too tight.”
S: Just wow, the smell is like fresh baked fudge, a light boozy aroma like an aunt who has a secret to tell, nice nutty almond dryness and of course a burnt coffee waft closes the deal. Your pants are off and the hotel bill will reflect the shame of your actions, namely drinking an entire growler.
T: The coffee taste with mild acidity is the first thing that rolls up with an insouciant swagger oh and he brought two hoes with him, bourbon and dutch chocolate. The taste applies a single Sherman Williams coat and then just goes on its merry way, smashing in tastebuds and giving palate HJs on the way down.
M: The mouthfeel is amongst the lightest that I have ever encountered in the world class stout category. It is almost like an imperial porter in how clean and effortlessly this beer works your tongue over. It coats nicely but doesn’t overstay its welcome. This beer is down for a chocolate one night stand and then peaces out, but makes the bed first. I am ok with that.
D: This is incredibly drinkable and dangerous for a beer at this ABV level. It doesn’t get all caught up with emotional coffee baggage, or talk about its daddy chocolate issues. This shit is just down to bang your palate and just be a super chill ryde or die stout. I want more of it, but I heard about their new procedure for landing Czar jack and it sounds fucking hellish lotteries, local rewards, club cards and shit. So this may be the final growler that I enjoy of this elusive potation. BUT THEN AGAIN MAYBE SHE WEEEIIILLLLL.
Narrative: Chancellor Billingsley was a charitable man, but in a strange, offputting manner. He has a zest for philanthropy, but in what amounted to a purely hateful manner. “Regis, please assemble the equipage of the 14 stallion carriage, I would like to donate sums to the mealymouthed masses.” He strode sternly to the awaiting carriage and sat sumptuously upon the Gala Coupe` with a large sack of heavy Spanish doubloons. “Now bring the trot to an idle speed-” he said as he cocked his arm back towards the throngs of commoners descending upon his carriage. “AND HERE IS YOUR MONTH’S RENT!” he called as a cast a weighty solid gold coin cascading directly to the temple of an alms seeker with her threadbare hands outstretched. “You see Regis, without the loss of consciousness, they would never embrace the blessing I am bestowing upon them, it takes a complete debilitating blow to show them the honor and glory of my fugue.” One child was seen both simultaneously crying and cheering with a bruised imprint of Queen Isabella knocked deeply into his epidermis.