Monthly Archives: May 2012

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Cantillon Classic Gueuze, Tippin Backwards in the Belgian Chair on fo fo’s

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Ah old Classic Cantillon, the gateway drug for many, sought by even more. I always love seeing this gem in boxes that I receive, yet surprisingly, I have never broke my back to seek it out. Just good fortune I guess, or Belgians are just making sure my tastebuds rally so hard. Either way, let’s see what this tart gem has to offer in classic style.

Man this site really took a dive in the old beer picture quality the last few days, oh well, you get what you pay for up in this HTML wasteland. At least I dont have pop under ads trying to lengthen your penis and refinance your home….OR DO I?

Cantillon classic 100% lambic, Gueuze 5.0%

A: It has a murky hay color to it with wispy tiny bubbles that make generous lacing. The glass seems to radiate the yellow 5 looking color throughout the body of the beer. It’s like a dirty lambic lemonade with a murky radiant desert lakewater aspect to it. The bubbles are wispy and dime out instantly, with nothing to contribute to the lengthy tastes presented.

Each time I have this, it hits hard, and is all over too quickly.

S: There is a mild apple and wet carpet smell to it. There’s white grapes and the smell of a coat after someone walks in from the rain. It is different, but still very appealing. I enjoy this but, after having St. Lam, fou foune, Blabaer and all the other cast of characters it is tough to go too nuts over this simple gem. It’s like the Impreza is bad ass, but if you have driven an STi on the reg, it doesn’t blow your mind anymore.

T: The funk is very present in the initial taste with a granny smith apple middle. The notes exhibit a mild sourness of grape skin with a lemony zest to it. This isn’t a tart bomb like some other Cantillon’s but I would say this is their consistent Honda Civic in the wheelhouse. It never seems to disappoint, I can say it’s a permaISO for sures, but there are some others that are similar and less of a pain in the ass to lock down.

Almost everyone I know is a whore for Cantillon, not everyone shows it off so readily.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and light with minimal coating that tosses some acidic flavors like ninja stars in rapid succession and then peaces out just as rapidly. There is much peacing taking place.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable if you have a glass of water to cleanse the palate every once and again. It imparts a ton of dryness for the sweet notes it gives off. You end up with that movie theater “ate too many sour patch kids” sort of raw mouth. That sort of “Craig list has all kinds of deals” bitterness on the palate. That kind of bitterness. “Show the jury where this beer touched your palate on the doll” bitterness.

This beer trips all kinds of alarms, but in a good way, not 5am before a final sort of way.

Narrative: “Please…just let me go free…I won’t talk to anyone about this hidden Acai berry farm!” the covert agent pleaded dutifully with the farm hand, Brouwerj. “Well, I think the boss’d be pretty sore if he knew I was letting people go free all higgledy piggl-” “Ok cut! Everyone take 5. Mike, can I talk to you for a second?” The two left the set of the farmhouse and walked over to the confectionary table. “listen mike, I know that you know that I know you only got this role because I am dating your cousin. That is fine. But you have to listen to my direction notes ok? This is a Belgian farmhouse, in every single scene you come out with this Appalachian drawl. What is that?” “Weeeeell shucks I-” “YES, see that, don’t do that, you don’t even have to have a decent Belgian accent, just be yourself, ok?” The two went back to their places and the scene began a new. This time Mike’s radiance outshone even the lead roles as he eloquently delivered tart and cunning ad libbed barbs and pleaded in the wet hay with the title character. Not a single eye was left dry on that soundstage that dry. The boom mic bobbed mournfully between the sobs of the grip. In the end, the movie was cut to a single monoscene due to his riveting improvised speech while gathering apples and issuing a tearful goodbye to the secret agent. “CUT! That’s a wrap!” “Weeelllll shucks I-”

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Founder’s Breakfast Stout, In Michigan, You Can Drink Huge Stouts for Firstmeal. It Flies Over There.

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Better late than never. Sure you ingrates are accustomed to hearing about brutal beers at 9 a.m. on the reg, but I had to mix it up with some afternoon delight for you, or a nighttime sesh for you East Coast kids. Anyway, I have had this plenty of times and love it a little more on each passing. This photo sucks but I dont feel like going through tons of beer pics to lock down a pic of a glass with black ink in it, just cut me some slack sheesh.

You can try this at home, mix oatmeal, chocolate syrup, Buffalo Trace, and coffee into a smoothie. Sounds legit.

Founder’s Breakfast Stout 8.3% abv

A: This beer has a real gentle coating to it with minimal lacing. It seems to impart the message that, “hey fellas, I will be here for a lil bit, don’t mind me,“ and then resigns itself to a deep cedar blackness, waiting to be beckoned. The oats in the stout gives it a great stickiness and foamy character without excessive carbonation.

Beer for breakfast, just like being a kid again. Or a little bitch, either way.

S: The smell feels like a gentleman’s breakfast: initially you get some nice smoky notes from a bacon or charred grist like you are a yeoman farmer, then comes coffee with a great mild nature, it isn’t that jerk coffee from Surly, this is more understated. The coffee notes are like jokes on Arrested Development. Ultimately, the chocolate notes emerge and as your mouth forms a tight “o”, the Nickelodeon prophecy comes true: COFFEE, BACON, and CHOCOLATE FOR BREAKFAST.

T: except you are an adult and you, hopefully, don’t drink this as your breakfast shake. If you do, don’t let me judge, alas I digress. This has an amazing silky mouthfeel with ::coughsatincough::: chocolate notes upfront nice and nice coffee notes to round it out.

Some kids had Nintendo Cereal, others were fed imperial stouts. Ah, childhood.

M: There is a nice, albeit, mild sticky lacing with great coating and the oats give it this awesome maltiness that makes it a force to be trifled with. Get your trifle on, become trifling. But seriously, this aspect gives old KBS a serious run for his money if only for how pleasant it reclines and makes itself at home. The mouthfeel is like a Shins albums and a warm blanket wrapped around you. It is hella comfy.

D: Let’s just get right down to it. This beer has no abv present that I can detect. Well, lets clarify, it has an incredible warming heat that is just refreshing as the day is long: LET’S CALL TODAY THE VERNAL EQUINOX. Did I mess the season up? Moving o-

Start your day with this beer, see how many bothers you encounter. Post results.

Narrative: Those spelling bees weren’t gonna win themselves. Toshan Doshi knew this deep down. Somehow all those days on the road, the countless flashcards, the endless memorization of root words had taken a toll on his 11 year old, obviously Indian frame. Show after show, there he was, scoring some new obtuse study cards to drill into lines, take into his head and pass out fulfilled. He would wake up each morning feeling more empty than the last. Last night he went hard on some gladiolus and luxuriance and passed out shortly thereafter. But how long could he keep up with this hardcore lifestyle. His manager didn’t care for him, he just propped him up with more vocab lists every night. His publicist just wanted him to win win win. Ultimately old Toshan only had a single friend in this world, a teddy bear named- [deleted advanced 45 minutes] until he recovered his teddy [deleted, fast forward 34 minutes] until he realized he never needed the bear at all [deleted fast forward 14 minutes] and that’s how Toshan won the NATIONAL SPELLING BEE COMPLETELY ON HIS OWN.

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2006 Thomas Hardy’s Ale, Finally I Can Drink a Beer That Is Older Than My Clothes

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Everyone always gets an alerection when they talk about how old their Thomas Hardy’s is. It’s like all of a sudden sucking down old old ales is hot shit and everyone else missed the boat. Big ups to my homie Anthony for this bottle so we can see what the aleworld was like back in the days of dial-up internet (for the midwest.) Fear no more, I am rocking a 2006 in today’s review, back when your boyfriend still had frosted tips and retainers, shit was popping off. Let’s see if this little bottle delivers or, like Better Than Ezra, leaves me desperately wanting.

Man, 2006, what a fun year, wait, I am looking at the Wikipedia for 2006 and I literally remember none of this shit happening. A Final Fantasy game must have come out that year or something.

O’Hanlon’s Brewing Co. Ltd.
United Kingdom (England)
Old Ale | 11.90% ABV

A: Oh man, you know when tame old England (sans Brewdog) comes out swinging with an 11.9% old ale, shit is about to get real. The beer is completely flat and looks like Dr. Pepper that was left out during your 6th grade sleepover party. No lacing, no legs, no stems no seeds no sticks. You swirl it around and things don’t get much jazzier. It just sits there limp, sad, and swears that this never happens.

Maybe I am not old enough to fully enjoy this beer but, it makes things pretty difficult the next morning.

S: Mmm, that’s a damn fine bouquet, especially for a 6 year old. Well, you know what I mean. It has vanilla, aggro caramel, nice subtle bourbon presence, oak, and toasted marshmellow. It kinds reminds me of a sticky kettle corn with more of a butterscotch presence. Nice wafterburners on this Maverick.

T: This almost goes from O.G. Ale to quad in the way to pulls you gently to stone fruits, plum, currant, and raisins. I am thankful for the relatively small bottle size as this guy is a bit of a turn off after a while. I enjoy the panoply of fruits and sticky gooey campfire treats presented but, it is a bit much after 5 ounces. Maybe I need to put up with month after punishing month of depressing weather to really “get” the selling points of this UK gem but the taste gets to that point of like “ok, ok, enough already” of sticky sweetness like the hostess at Chilis.

I hate to push this bit incessantly but, things are almost always best enjoyed fresh. Ba dum tish. wakka wakka.

M: The mouthfeel has zero carbonation and a light stickiness that just hangs around like an officious gym partner that, while cloying, has a gentle aspect to it that you don’t outright hate. I dont think this will really improve with age and that fresh TH that I tried wasn’t really much better. You ever revisit a game that was bad fucking ass when it came out and then realized that you used to be content with crude polygons? Well, this is a beer from the tail end of the Ps2 era, if you know what I am saying. Go pop in Devil May Cry, tell me if it is still palatable. I will wait.

D: This is not exceptionally drinkable due to the sheer alcoholic content and sticky morass of saccharine notes that jumble up the mix. It is worth trying and showing off your alecock for cellar bragging rights but most people into beer won’t give a fuck if you have a 1996 TH because, like Aaliyah, age ain’t nothin but a number.

It doesn’t matter how old you are, if you were a boring jerk back then, well-

Narrative: “Listen Trevin, I am your agent and, quite frankly, I am your friend. At this point I think it might be time to give it up, seriously, I can’t spin you in different ways for 12 consecutive years, you’re…you’re too fucking old, Trevin.” Theodore Olsmly had changed his name to conform to Hollywood conceptions of name values, he had dyed his hair, undyed it, taken improv classes, unlearning improve classes, holistic acting, deconstructive scenework classes, and even melody workshops taught by the Spin Doctors: nothing worked. Even those gentle poets of Two Princes told him at the crest of 2008 that maybe a solid decade of annoying the shit out of audiences and producers alike, might signal a perfect time to bow out. Trevin refused to do so. He slammed the door of his shanty Burbank studio apartment and tossed on the Reality Bites soundtrack and paced the 405 square foot layout and devised a plan to start auditioning for the estranged older brother turned uncle roles that the writers had heretofore so obliviously overlooked.

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Nail Brewing, Clout Stout, This Australian Brewery Just Nailed Me Harder than a Beta bro.

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Alright so from Cabo to Vermont to…Australia we travel today to sample this super .rar 300 bottle gem. Mad props to my Aussie homie Pat for hooking this up, keeping it cutty with backwards flowing toilets. Alright so you’re thinking “So what, a Bourbon Barrel Aged Stout, we have that shit here in (wherever assholes live.)” Well sure, but I thought that I knew what candy was until I tried some of those dope Bimbo jams coming from down south, so let’s see what is going on in that penal colony and determine if having the world’s best beaches has helped them step up their alegame.

Ehhh damn I think I just got a Clout, it’s pointing to the left-

Nail Brewing Australia Pty Ltd
Australia
Russian Imperial Stout | 10.60% ABV

A: First and foremost, can we talk about how fucking awesome that bottle is? I think I am nailed up just looking at it. Clearly the Aussies love to develop a bottle that will 1) cost a fuckton to ship to the US and 2) can be used as a bludgeoning weapon once you drill all 750ml of 10% stout inside. That’s how I roll with growlers so maybe they know me better than I know myself. The beer itself is slick with nice wateriness that doesn’t coat massively but leaves some nice mocha frap foam on the edges and the slightest sight of this beer will make you instantly unattractive to all chicks born later than 1991, oh well, haters gonna hate.

Sometimes you just know you are taking on more than you should at the outset, with awesome results.

S: This takes you to the candy shop and proceeds to demand that you lick the lollipop. It has a deep frothy Nestle Quik aspect of sweet diluted chocolate and Horchata sweetness that goes to a nice pumpernickle dryness to round shit out. I don’t see myself drinking this after hitting sick barrels or getting super pitted but hey, I have never been to Australia. If I went down there and merked this entire bottle to myself, I would probably be down to teabag a rattlesnake. Don’t threaten me with a good time.

T: If the smell took you to the candyshop, then this is like getting sucked up into the chocolate water tube like Augustus Gloop. It is watery but not in a bad way, like it knows that if it was thicker this would take you to Darklordville real quick, population: no one in Australia. I like the gentle chocolate, mochafoam mixed with light coffee dryness, real sweet raisinette aspect to the finish that sticks the landing. Again to beat this aboriginal horse, this is sweet sticky icky ooh wee, put it in the air. You ever use magic shell but are too much of an impatient fat ass to allow it to congeal into a shell? Well this is what you get, slick, thick, watery, and sweet at the same time, like that stripper from Houston whose false name you can’t remember.

It all started so fun, awesome bottle then, oh shit Austalians just beat my ass, by proxy.

M: This is slick and gentle, splishy splashy by our American standards but it is not any worse off as a result. I like the agile aspect to this big beer and it comes across like Nightcrawler, nimble, steady, but can teleport you into some fucked up situations. The bubbles have a crackliness to them that is satisfying but drying at the same time.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and, like most good things, it is gone incredibly quickly. This reminds me of what would happen if you amped up Czar jack or another thin bodied stout to the sweet/Imperial Milk Stout direction. Not saying you need to talk to your kids about this style but, it is never too early. Remember that, it is never to early to warn your children about the dangers of Imperial Russian Milk Stouts from Australia Aged in Bourbon Barrels. Now you know.

Sure, it looks sweet and fun, but just try explaining to animal control how you got your genitals mangled by an otter.

Narrative: The speculative interests of the East Connecticut Trading Empire knew no bounds. While technically no one “owned” the south pacific island, the Connecticut government sent a flotilla of its most able seamen to claim it for the CT empire. Their public school system was an embarassment, their national image was tattered after Ernest Borgnine hit the scene, and this was just the act of aggression that would put old CT back on the map. The settlers wished to plant a new export crop, coffee, which seemed to be the rage with all the intellectuals that that fled their state, so they hoped to regain social image by founding Hipstonia, a coffee plantation that would disband if that residents all agreed that it was getting too incorporated. However, they tapped into a deep herbaceous presence, g4 cacao plant hybrid mixed with kudzu that spread at an alarming rate. The conquerors were strangled alive in their polos with upturned collars. When the residents of New New Hampshire paddled over, all that they could discern of the remaining bodies were, ironically, articles of Banana Republic khakis.

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Hill Farmstead, What is Enlightenment? If not the Process of a Lager Being Lightened?

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Alright, I took a week off to go hit up Cabo to learn about the beer culture down there and I am back on my grizzy with something as far away from Cabo as it gets in the Western Hemisphere, some down home enlightenment in today’s post. What is the nature of enlightenment? Isn’t that the age where the oppression from a liturgical society was cast off? Didn’t it promote science and intellectual interchange and oppose superstition, intolerance and abuses in church and state. Other haters say “oh that shit went down about 1650 to 1700, it was sparked by philosophers Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677), John Locke (1632–1704), Pierre Bayle (1647–1706), physicist Isaac Newton (1643–1727), and philosopher Voltaire (1694–1778).” But fuck all that, today we figure out what enlightenment REALLY IS, for the haters.

Schopenhauer straight creepin on my Enlightenment. He just wants to Will that mouth up on this Representation.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Pale Ale (APA) | 5.40% ABV

A: Alright, let’s try to be impartial here, every one knows about my past love affair with this rural gemstone quarry turning out hop bombs and barrel blasters on the reg. But the beer appears directly to style and comfortably shoulders next to Zombie Dust and Hoppy Birthday with that beautiful clarity and foamy radiance that you have come to expect from infant bath time and amazing APAs. The lacing is substantial, it just gets everywhere like when slimer gets blasted on by a proton pack. The legs look nice but I think the time in the growler may have tamed it a bit so you can put that on my set, I GUESS.

At first I thought this beer was too complicated, but as I continued on, the nuances showed themselves and entirely new concerns arose.

S: There’s an amazing sweet citrus without a huge bitterness to the backend that just screams grapefruit, lemon rind, apricot, and pineapple jams. The pine and other harrowing aspects that nudge their way into APA’s is gone, thank god, so no mountainous shit ruins this experience, just you and a lovely fruit hoptail to enjoy at your leisure. Where was this beer when I was draining Modelos hardcore during the entire last week? Thousands of miles away? Oh ok, cool, just peeping out the scene.

T: The taste doesn’t go aggro on the hops or the fruit aspect. You open the door and see a nice compact edible arrangement of hops and fruit assiduously arranged on your doorstep with a nice bottle of water to refresh your palate. Enough equivocating and circumlocution: This beer is refreshing. It isn’t the depths of free press or a direct challenge to the sans culottes, but it washes away clean with a nice tinge of fruits of the Tropical Skittles variety, except not derived from sucrose, just pure pineapple, mango, guava goodness from hop oils. The whole finish washes away clean in more of a shallow pantheism than the full spectrum of intellectual depths of say, Heidegger, but who has ever found Being and Nothingness refreshing? Fucking no one.

When a brewery half asses something, you can tell immediately, such is not the case here.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and clean, imparts a nice watery tone that transfers into a mild hoppy stickiness and before you know it, the pleasure is over and it is time for the tip. Again, this cannot be construed as a diss when it is brewed exactly to style and shows such extreme balance and punishing hoppiness like the first three Ninja Gaiden games. This is a real good beer and, for the style, def in my top 5 APAs, hell make it top 3, but I am trying to be fair and balanced here.

D: Does anyone remember when Ford released the Taurus SHO and shit got nuts real quick? You take a balanced base and then push it to the limits with amazing (Yamaha/Vermont) craftsmanship and here we are. I am trying to go half throttle not to drain this old chestnut instantly but that’s how these forays into Vermont always seem to go. As I type this, my growler is gone, and I still feel like i can go kayaking or play handball, and that’s how I know the APA is working, maximum flavor without the beastly DIPA withdrawals. If Ephraim is a 911 Turbo, this is Hill Farmstead’s Lotus Elise.

It’s the smooth comfort of a well-done pale ale that comforts in a softly aggressive manner.

Narrative: The local islanders did not want to cause alarm to N’thraiku’s parents, but it was clear that something was a bit off with the archipelago youth but at a certain point you just have to call it out. N’thra stood a stately 1.5m tall at his tenth birthday, however, his triceps bulged with cuts almost .5m around. He assiduously scampered up trees and claimed even the highest hanging fruit, beyond the dietary needs of the tribe. “N’thra! COME!” the village elder, K’traikai called. “N’th, you have shown great discipline, but, seriously, you look like a bent tuning fork, let’s calm the aggressive climbing down a bit, ok?” N’thra kicked some of the obsidian black sand in front of him and looked far in the distance to the dormant fire God for solace. “I mean, sure we all enjoy local treats but, you need to ratchet it back some, we have way more almendra than anyone can eat-” suddenly N’th reached and crushed a balata in his palm and swung like a child’s swing in between his massive arms. The message was delivered loud and clear, N’th was going to keep reaping fruit, getting jacked, and juicing; dietary habits be damned.

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Founder’s Cerise, Would a Cherry by any other name pop juice like this?

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Ok so let’s get one thing straight, Founders does stouts like no one’s business. Their IPA program is also very good. However, once the rough road of sours and wilds present acidic gravel, my limited slip palate differential just gets rocked so hard. So is this the best cherry beer I have ever tasted? Let me save the suspense, unless this is Cable Car Kriek, then fuck no, but my point is, this might not even come close to the mark…OR DOES IT?

If you walk into this expecting some majestic kriek experience, check your high hopes at the door and go meet the grenadine escort.

Founders, Cerise, Fruit Beer,
Michigan dropping elbows, 6.5% abv

A: This has a hue akin to a ruby red grapefruit juice, it is translucent with light reddish orange luminescence. The carbonation is swift and exits quickly, not unlike the time I went to see Pootie Tang, starring the inimitable Chris Rock.

This is a refreshing blast you might want to avoid.

S: This smells similar to a white zinfandel with cherry notes added to it. There are sweet sticky grenadine notes and a dryness that pangs of oakiness. I have my fingers crossed that this doesn’t go all ape shit and hit that fruit juice and cider tone. Often times, the fruit shoes are illfitting and they readily follow the Toucan Sam maxim of following one’s nose.

T: It begins with a sweet juicy note, cherries of course but with a lingering acidic sweetness similar to a grape juice. It is a bit too sweet for my tastes, not as oppressive as the New Glarus Belgian Red train wreck, but this is a currant fender bender. The dryness and wine notes offer a wine cooler reminiscence that reminds me a bit of red champagne. This is strange, but you enjoy it if only for the innovation, not unlike going to see a Ray Romano stand up comedy show.

The elements are all in place but the execution leaves something to be desired like a stupid fucking 15 year old with a $700 camera who posts shit on instagram.

M: The mouthfeel is dry but the overbearing sweetness just submarines the gains that the innovation and tartness makes. It is difficult to focus on the coating and mouthfeel when there’s this din of sticky madness going on. Sure I can try and write the next great American novel at Boomers! But it just seems wildly inefficient. This shit is just too wacky, cherries all up in my dome piece.

D: This is light and has pleasant carbonation but, the sweetness just pangs the conscience and I feel like I am drinking fruit roll ups and melted starburst. It doesn’t go so far as being as saccharine as the energy drink fold, but it is still cloying. As a result, this remains sticky icky ooh wee, the likes of which I do not wish to put into the air.

The moral that I learned is that you need to prepare for disappointment from your greatest hero.

Narrative: “I just can’t do this anymore, I’m…I’m so sorry.” Ted Langston hung his head in shame. “What do you mean you CAN’T DO IT? It’s the 1990’s, get with it TED! People are on board, SMALL WONDER IS A HUGE SUCCESS!” Ted spun small circles with the toe of his shoe and shook his head in a recalcitrant fashion. “No, V.I.C.I just doesn’t make any damn sense. You’ve taken my science fiction sit com and turned it into a sticky sweet mess. I mean, have you watch the intro? The father is sitting on the grass laughing, that’s not the face of a man who just developed a fully functioning android daughter.” The FOX board official wiped his face with the utmost solemnity. “We have so much riding on this, the love triangle, the adopted asian robot brother that we were going to integrate, you’re…you’re just gonna give up on Small Wonder, just like that?” Ted rubbed his palms together and stared at the plaque on the wall “Young Artist Award.” “I’ve vested too much in this, it began as something amazing, a great institution, but here we are, 4 seasons deep, things are just sticky sweet and messy, there’s a what, what are we doing now a CLONE robot who talks in non-monotone? This doesn’t make any damn sense, there’s too much goddamn nonsense in this show!” He banged his fist on the mahogany table and delivered the absolute shall to the executives. “Alright Ted, but how about in season five we don’t add the alternate dimension, the adopted kid, the prohibition timeline time machine, the love interest for every main character, or the very special episode where V.IC.I. learns about sexually transmitted diseases, will that make you stay?” Ted was not a tart berry to be picked and pressed, besides, he had a new project, Clarissa Explains it All, through which to expound his existential views.

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Pelican Brewery Mother of All Storms, Would You Kiss Your Mother With a Barleywine Mouth Like That?

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Here’s a beer that I have had, oh, let’s call it 6 times and the picture you see below is the most coherent image that I have of this beast. That should tell you something right away. First and foremost, I love this beer, I love this style and it seriously goes head to head with Kuhnhenn, Arctic Devil and…ugh…KING HERNY GRUMBLEGRUMBLE. Anyway, this amazing beer is a treat, so let’s peep it out on today’s review to SEE HOW WIDE THE WINGSPAN IS ON THIS..er..MARK WAHLBERG HAS A STORM COMING. Just read it.

Actually it doesn’t look as bad as I remember, maybe it was my raging headache after merking this beast. Big pours, we do them.

Mother of All Storms, Barleywine, 13.5 abv.
Oregon all up in the mix, Pelican Brewery

A: There is an almost bourbon note to it. A mild agitation evidences a some small bubbles but it is clear that this beer is above you, much in the way that Hemingway never seemed to mind the banalities of a normal life. You rock it back and forth and all you see is a wafty character that coats with a scary liquid refusal.

At first I was hesitant, but I ultimately found the ravaging brashness to be a warmth.

S: There are deep bourbon notes that resound like falling down a mineshaft and hit every peat note on the way down. I don’t want to overstate the wood and bourbon but, wow, this is beer but it feels like a proper gentleman’s drink. This was made in Oregon but its spirit takes its summer vacations in the hateful south. It enjoys conifers in the summer and spraying down protesting hops with fire hoses in the winter. Too far? Ok, let’s stop turning barley wines into social commentary. This has a great heat on it and I don’t even want to age it because I like it for it’s bumbly angry presence. It rounds out this delicious dinner party with a fuck up that you can point out that is incredibly enjoyable.

T: There is a huge panoply of raisins, figs, mild dates and nice waftiness just like envelops like sweet caramel candy. I enjoy this immensely and the retraction from the huge fruits on the finish makes it all the more enjoyable, wait for it-

The sip to shiteating grin ratio with this beer nears 1:1, also, Ginger child murders local dog, film at 11.

M: AS A RESULT THIS IS THE BEST BARLEYWINE THAT I HAVE EVER HAD. I know I know, this dethroned Abacus, no big deal, you hate Barleywines. Wait a second though, I like the following LESS: Hellshire, Old Dipsea 2009, Bigfoot, etc. This is hands down the most balanced and amazing barley wine I have ever had. I just want to sip on this and watch a Ryan Reynol- CLINT EASTWOOD MOVIE.

D: This is not exceptionally drinkable and, you know what? GOOD. This isn’t here for your consumption, this is like a Terrence Malick movie, it is deliberate, slow, deep and amazing. If you drink this alone you are a jerk. Plain and simple. This has such a great resounding spirit to it that begs to be split on a balcony and horrible philosophy discussions will ensure. It is just wafty, boozy, complex and amazing. The thin mouth almost makes me feel like “give me a cigar.” But then I realized that I don’t live in the gilded age, so put out the robusto Grover Cleveland.

Forget shaken baby syndrome, give your kids this beer, watch how amazing they turn out.

Narrative: All of the brackish land lovers said that this take was too ambitious. Sure, there was a school of marlin right off the coast heading for warmer currents, but, for gods sake, did you look at the meterology reports? They didn’t want to end up like the crew of the S.S. Stone Tea, rest in peace, who lost every member in this modern age refusing to deliver tea by protocol. No; no. There was a much more insidious secret that no crew member beyond the first mate could be made aware of. This marlin galleon was commanded by none other than a pelican. To be fair, he was a completely able captain with a curse placed upon him by a Portland witch who converted his form to the omnipresent visage of fertility, well knowing that he was impotent. That, my friends, is a story for another day. Sure there was a cool pressure from one direction and another front with conflicting warm pressures and, wait, who is manning the sextant? Oh that’s right, a pelican. Their cargo of 1200 barrels of bourbon and figs might never make it to port but one thing was certain, with this capta- BGLUB GLUB:::GURBLE::COPYRIGHTGURBLE

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Lost Abbey Veritas V009, Those Hot Crushes Start Out So Well, Then Turn Into a Sour Mess

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Here’s a great beer, er, a beer that was great when I had it last July, but recently people have been going apeshit about how it has fallen off. Oh boo hoo, that size 0 rare girl you met in a club isn’t working out 10 months later? Well guess what, take your $35 and fuck right off because I am reviewing this old school, yeah, waving the Lost Abbey flag and letting people know that if you want a legit experience, drink it fresh. Lesson learned. Thank you Tomme Arthur. Anyway, let’s review this size zero beauty.

Maybe this was the bottle for v007, who knows, don’t act like you give a shit.

The Lost Abbey
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 8.00% ABV

A: Murky muddy brown ale with a mucky thick edging that I initially misunderstood as malt until I understood that it was deep currant sediment and grape skins and then shut myself right the fuck up.

So everyone was expecting Yellow Bus meets V007, what is this? haters gonna something something.

S: Wow, where to begin, this has a huge bourbon character, then the figs and currant set in, jumping into the game is an apple/citrus apples aspect before the wood notes close it out. Ultimately it feels like a Thomas Pynchon Novel: the most complicated beer ever made that ultimately leaves you confused and wanting more.

T: It seriously is the most complicated beer ever made. Ok so at the outset you taste a deep caramel with some cherry that subsides into a deep heat that lingers into a sour cranberry. I have no idea how that they pulled this off but it is amazing.

This is tough to explain, it is robustly complex but after only 8 ounce of this, the diversity becomes redundant, like a college admissions pamphlet.

M: Here is how your life will proceed, in succession: deep chocolate cherries oh wait, who is that? Vinegar, wait that’s cool come on in, who else? balsamic fine but don’t be a-? Ok cool, she’s cool too, blackberries welcome, welcome uh sure, oh more dark fruits? Fine, I will just set out more placemats.

D: Well, drink ability reduces down to the operator, but I don’t want to call out the old chestnut that can drink a lot, or drink a few. What I am looking for would be the type of person who would literally drink an entire 32 oz serving of POM or grapefruit juice. He would pass my test. Put simply, this beer is so limited and so complex that if you were to take on an entire 24oz to your dome piece, you are an asshole.

Sure, in retrospect, this might not have been the best idea, but it was bad ass at the time.

Narrative: “Oh I am sorry Guillermo? Do you think something is funny about the plastic bag regulation?” He was berated by his superiors but deep down, Guillermo had an innate sense of humor. He grasped desperately at his job at the Marina Del Rey Sheritan but notwithstanding he had a latent skill that his superiors could not stand. “OH IM SORRY GUILLERMO? SOMEHOW THE KOI POND OVER FLOWING IS FUNNY TO YOU?” His face was beet crimson with this prospect. Guillermo took a sly pull of 23 year pappy van winkel and cooled out for a moment. “Wait, maybe you are operating on cultural stereotypes, maybe you are racist?” The group nodded in accordance and each in turn attempted to determine who was in fact racist. Guillermo secretly was a completely literate and inventive individual who simply enjoyed the fulfilling work of maintaining the grounds of a three star resort. “WELL I CAN’T..ehh…no…nooo…” his accent kicked back in and he looked off into the distance longingly. He was perhaps the most complex grounds keeper that the Sheritan had ever encountered.

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Monk’s Cafe Flemish Sour Ale, An Old Review for Old Souls

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Hot damn, I wrote this review so long ago, I think I enjoyed this beer while watching the L.A. Rams crush the Los Angeles Raiders while listening to Spin Doctors on cas- you get the jist. A while ago. How my sour tastes have migrated, but this old gem is still a solid standby that deserves some mild affection, get you some.

Expert beer photos. Hire me for your wedding, bris, whatever.

Brouwerij Van Steenberge N.V.
Belgium
Flanders Oud Bruin | 5.50% ABV

A: Pours from the bottle with a mild head, no lacing, white with fast dissipation, thin and offwhite, eggshell even, the beer itself is a deep ruby brown, I enjoy it in the way that you want an Airhead when you haven’t had one in a while. It’s not like you pick up Airheads at the grocery store on the reg. but you know, a once in a while treat.

Ah a sweet nostalgic treat to remind you of days passed, a dead era of satisfaction with normal, readily accessible sours, back when you were cool but rude.

S: The smell makes you aware that fruit tannins and dark grapes and or currants and awaiting, and they are angry, they storm up your nostril not unlike an Al-Jazeera mob, giving your palate a warning shot for the tartness that they seek to impart

T: The front has a mild candy apple taste, not granny smith, sweet cherry flavor which mellows out to a sweeter candy finish, not tart, a bit like a lukewarm sour patch kid, only not in a disparaging way, like a high class sour patch kid with a monocle and a aplomb for references to Marcel Proust.

I am sure if you had enough of these, you could get into some crazy shit, look at me, i started with these gentle sours, now I huff paint down by the overpass.

M: the carbonation doesnt distract from the sweetness, the sour patch kid lets the bubbles pass like an elevator with unsavory folks exiting, then it is all sweet business. The sour is a secondary effect, the sweet is much more pronounced, it is more “bake sale mom” than “competitive track home housewife.”

D: Well what do you want from your beer? you want to be classy? pull out 11 oz bottles and show people your refined tastes? Ok well, this will do that but I cant seriously see anyone drinking a solid 4 pack of these. It’s kinda like a Lambic’s older brother who got a crew cut and a bomber jacket. You know deep down he’s still sweet, but that Tears for Fears patch just shows you he has more bite than he lets on.

This beer gives me so many feels of old times.

Narrative: These internet dating mixers are so lame, I am above this, but, if they only would give me a chance. I know on the outside I look like a beer, same old amber bottle they are used to, but inside i have so much character and personality, I am downright sweet. Oh great, look, they go for a strong DIRTY martini, I am here for them, my Jdate account get no hits…I TASTE LIKE CHERRY AND GIVE SWEET KISSES. Nice beers finish last, even my outside just says SOUR SOUR SOUR, great, now my belgium mom is gonna be all on my case about this, first my Kriek brother, now I just will sit around reading about all these other lowbrow Belgium strong ales who pull all the chicks. I dont need this, I need a girl who likes ME FOR ME, not because I look like Leona- OH HEY I DO WATCH DEXTER! No, don’t pick up that ZIMA fuuuu-

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Central Waters Fourteen Fourteen 1414 $14.14 Four teens for teams.

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Well, what else can I say about Central Waters? They make amazing stouts and an even more amazing Bourbon Barrel Barleywine, but wait, what happens when they make something even MORE SPECIALER? They took baller ass Winter Solstice and then aged it in (rumored) Buffalo Trace barrels, spoiler alert, this stout is amazing.

A lil 14 on 14 action, NSFW.

Central Waters Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 11.00% ABV

A: This has a nice mild cola splashiness to it that is totally at home in Central Waters’s lineup of other thin stouts. The lacing and carbonation are pretty mild and take a hands off approach to molesting your palate. You remember a week ago when I reviewed winter solstice from Central Waters? Well this shit is like when Bane turns the pump on and gets super jacked immediately. It is deeper, darker, but still slick and light at the same time. Park your boat at a PAIRADOCKS.

Cuddle up for some chocolatey bourbon snugs.

S: This straight up smells like a glass of decadent Nestle Quik with bourbon poured into it. There’s elements of that vanilla and oak that bourbon imparts but comes across as sweetness. There’s a mild coffee but it’s less espresso and more like a watery Yuban aspect, that sounds like a diss but it somehow works.

T: The taste has a nice initial sweetness like a hershey kiss but it takes you to Kentucky real quick. Shit turns into Bourbon central and uncle Jasper wants some sloppytime kisses. I get a s’mores aspect to this sans graham cracker, mod, plus nice heat. However, the heat from the bourbon integrates nicely into the home depot tire aisle earthiness, again, sounds like a diss but just try it, it is bomb.edu.

Seems legit.

M: Hot on the tails of imperial porters, this almost feels like one of THOSE, but the slickness doesn’t really throw me. I have tamed the BB Stout, gotten Peruvian Morning wood, and handled Winter Solstice, and all in all, the wateriness is a part of the magic that Central Waters imparts with a chocolate waterpark hug. I feel like Augustus Gloomp stuck in that chocolate water tube, loving every second of it.

D: The faults from the foregoing become epic wins here, as is often the case. You want to fuck around with some 11% puddle fight? Here you go, but be warned, shit will get real pretty quickly. I don’t know how drinkable a 1000 bottle release can really be but, gotta tip my hat to old SEE DUBs, they know how to push the Wisconsin game even further. I would love to put Wisconsin, Oregon, Colorado, and Michigan in a cagematch, winner fights Vermont.

Hide your stouts, hide your porters, this beer is awesome.

Narrative: “Well maybe if YOU ACTUALLY CARED, you would try to UNDERSTAND ME!” Crystaline Grimnoir (Born Christie Steinbaum) was a troubled 14 year old adolescent. She slammed the door and trudged out to face the 45th gloomy day in a row, to her infinite relief. First, her parents moved her from bustling Milwaukee to Amherst, to languidly waste away amongst tragically boring schoolmates. Next, she had to suffer through music class when all she longed to do was go home and create post-modern beats on a Casio keyboard on the harpsichord setting. She walked up to her clan of fellow miscreants, “You guys listen to the new Godspeed! You Black Emperor album? Fucking sucks, anyone want a pull of that Buffalo Trace?” she gripped the strangely expensive bourbon and looked out on the quad. “So uh, Crys, are we gonna go to formal like, you know, ironically, to see it, not because I want to be there-” her compatriot stammered. Crys took a large bite of a Toblerone and grinned menacingly “yes, we have dark business to attend to.” Her thin frame cackled with an awkward laughter.