Monthly Archives: June 2012

0

2010 Portsmouth Kate the Great, Katherine Sure Was Great, Until She Went All Small On Us.

|

Ah the venerable Katherine the Great, I know her intimately as Kate, but the rest of you who don’t know her closely likely press your face up against the ebay glass and hold the silken glove of oppressive royalty in reverence. I can open this review with a quote from economist/philosopher, Dan Olson, “That shit didn’t even go into a barrel” is the purest sentiment that is usually cast upon this decadent gem. However, before we depose this matriarch, let’s see if she can swim with the big baltic whales in today’s review.

You may notice that this bottle is twice the size of the bottles that you are accustomed to. It also may come to your attention that the label doesn’t look like a Thomas Nast outtake. That’s fine, stay with me and go Google Thomas Nast like you were about to.

Portsmouth Brewery
New Hampshire, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 12.00% ABV

Today we class it up with a representative allegory, oh shit, street knowledge takes a back seat ONE MO GIN’

A: This stately old woman is a firecracker but maintains her slim figure and delicately splashes into the glass like a size 4 woman into a wading pool. There’s a gentle mocha whip to the poise and sticky lacing that clings to the glass like those texts you wish you could avoid from Jdate. The color is light cola at the edges and lets you know that this playful minx isn’t here to ruin your night, but to get it started. You are expecting more of a boisterous presentation, but the subtle glove of a caring Katherine is only one of her nuanced gentle charms.

Kate’s court was severe but loving at the same time, and you are edified as a result.

S: There is a sweetness that rivals bayou Sundays after church. Mammy brought home some milk chocolate and bottles of Portugese wine. Those porties are famous for their wines and Russians sure know how to cultivate cacao in their icy hateful tundra. The court begins a delightful scherzo and lovely Kate guides you amiably and you can feel the coffee mantua bounce with surprising acidity as you look across the deep plum overtones from the walls ordained with imported Rococo crown molding that buttressed the vaulted deep fruit ceiling with ornate care.

T: The dance picks up with a chocolate Bourrée or wait, is that a port wine gavotte? The steps are so thin and quick that it is difficult to discern where Katherine is leading you. Countess and courtesan has fallen beneath her tender anise toe steps but she will pick you up, despite the power in her 12% offset steps. A mahogany deep fruit rag wipes the drops of sweat from your ascot and the Court looks on lovingly as Kate performs her signature molasses menuet that exercises grace and poise, the likes of which make the boorish Count Van De Stone IRS look clumsy by contrast. It was a once in a lifetime tryst that lasted scarcely the frame of a Handel opera.

The short stays that are endured with Kate are enjoyable and opulent in the fashion of the finest repose.

M: Katherine leads you deftly out to the outside terrace and the grace of her chiffon mahogany dress peels lightly from your lips and, despite your unworthiness, you retract knowing another touch of pinot grigio and chocolate vapors will come shortly. She is a cruel mistress of terse demeanor, but you can only seem an aggressive Ivan, terrible by juxtaposition in light of her diaphanous dress and light airy nature. It takes little equipage to prepare such a rare specimen of beauty, the dressing would only weigh down such a figure of balance, coffee and port, chocolate and roast, the newly discovered Americas coupled with a deep baltic tradition. In a strange manner, she reminds you of a strong female porter you met on a Scandinavian whale hunting journey in how capriciously she could handle both the blade and warming blanket in a loving fashion.

D: The night had passed in a way beyond comprehension and you found yourself wishing for just a single measure of additional contact. Alas, the 22 beats are gone, the band has retired to a gentle repose on the balustrade and you have returned to a lowly barrister class. You seek another court, another tryst, but to your chagrin the sweet succor of this caliber should only be enjoyed in short bursts. Little would you know that a smattering of inferior short dances would follow this, with a series of imposters all claiming the be Kate’s equal. Nothing will rival that coffee and port soaked evening in the greenery.

Despite the gentle scherzo, the 3/4 step was completed all too soon.

Narrative: If you seriously expect me to write a narrative after all that, you are an asshole.

1

Lost Abbey Duck Duck Gooze, This Amazing Beer Puts Me in the Mush Pot

|

Whale week chugs along with another gem from years past that we consistently see people offering trifling recent releases trying to land, the inimitable DDGeezy. I will say this is one of, if not the absolute best American Wild Ale that I have ever had. I want to white Nike and bamboo up this boo, introduce it to G4 pilots on a first name basis, you know, nice shit. Well let’s see if we can taste the duck adjunct in this gooze:

You might not recognize this beer when given a real pour and not a janky 2oz splash, use your imagination.

The Lost Abbey
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.00% ABV

A: Get out your stunner shades, this beer is radioactive bright with radiance highlighter yellow hues blasting in your corneas. There is a slight wheat base that is murky but supports an eggshell wispy head that crackles away like an acid phantom with not a single fuck to give. This is beautiful and strikes like the Care Bear stare straight in your pupils.

This is an old beer that has always been a bitch to wrangle. Oh well, raters gonna rate.

S: Get your hazmat suit, this initially lets you know that the lemon zest is here to burn down your nostrils in effigy and the ripe granny smith apple tones are not unlike Jolly Ranchers. There’s obviously an oaky dryness with deep white grape and lightly used running sock muskiness. The duck notes come through strong in the funk and Scrooge McDuck remains adjusting his vestigial spectacles.

T: Get your Sensodyne toothpaste, your teeth will hurt after this citron bomb goes off. This isn’t incredibly complex due to the hot acid slugs being popped off from the P90, but it is too damn balanced not to love. You get tart apricot, lemon, sweet ruby red grapefruit, and tiny unripe apples picked before their time. The funk has a nice wheat backing to it to suture the open wounds the acids just created.

To most beer nerds, this is the God of all American Wild Ales. I can’t help but pay homage accordingly.

M: This is incredibly dry and makes Chardonnays look like a gatorade by contrast. The oak works with the funk and bugs to give you that pale white tongue with cankersores inevitably following. That being said, it is amazing to sip and taste the liquid roll over each zone as it imparts sweet and sour in the same breath. It is thin but carries a ton like a fireant, stinging all the way back.

D: This is astringent, tart, raw, and uncut but it is still fun to take shit to the danger zone and come back for more after each drink. I would be a bholdface liar if I said I didn’t crave this gem from time to time but, given the fact that the new batch wont be out until Summer 2013 at the earliest, the desire pangs are substantial. Worth the hype, worth pushing the envelope to lock down.

WHAT I IF TOLD YOU, you should seek out this rare sour gem? Go forth, and get your cellar raped.

Narrative: Derby Duck wasn’t your average Merganser duck. To begin with, his birth was a melange of cloacas between his mother and a 1 year old 2 year old and 3 year old father ducks. He was subsequently abandoned after he hatched. The other hatchlings couldn’t stand to be near him on account that he would sweat Propionic acid through his ducts. The trail in the Woodson Pond glowed irradiated with his acidic droppings. Even top tier predators would not harass Derby, believing that he must contain predator blood. The only other companion that he would muster was a bullfrog, Tungtung, born with gustatory problems. The two of them would take their bitter souls and ruminate about other animals lack of taste and make themselves elusive in the animal world. Tungtung had no tastebuds and chewed anise roots regularly shrugging off the rest of the disapproving world. Derby’s moment to shine came one fateful day when one of his duckling brothers was snatched by a rogue fox hiding in the whippoorwills. Derby fired a scorching hot stream of ph1 discharge right into the fox’s nostrils, severely burning his nasal ducts and freeing his unappreciative sibling. Life wasn’t easy being a sour motherducker.

3

Goose Island King Henry Barleywine, Time to Commit Some Regicide

|

I have a conflicted relationship with this oppressive monarch. Initially I went after this at the brewery release on Black Friday, landed it, drank it, and that was that. Landed a few more bottles and thought nothing of it. Then all the Johnny Come Latelies jumped on the bandwagon and all of a sudden people who discovered Blue Moon last August thought they were slaying whales. Technically any beer that had 12,000 bottles available off shelf shouldn’t be mentioned during Whale Week, but oh well, after enough demands to review this beer, the time has come to depose this asshole.

The King has left the building. Or at least the ability to trade for the King has left the building of reasonable values.

Goose Island Beer Co.
Style | ABV
English Barleywine | 13.40% ABV

By way of background, here’s the deal behind this beer:

Aged in Pappy Van Winkle 23 bourbon barrels, previously used to age Rare Bourbon County Brand Stout. King Henry is a burgundy hued English-style barleywine with aromas of vanilla, oak, and dark fruit. Caramel and toffee flavors blend together with bold notes of bourbon delivered in a smooth body followed by a malty finish. No matter the occasion, King Henry promises a regal drinking experience.

A: This beer is a bit dark for my liking and seems to have picked up some of the residual traces from the barrels. I don’t like my barleywines cross polinated with huge stouts, but call me crazy for that. The carbonation is dead on and the lacing looks like a B-Roll from a haunted house combined with a Lil Jon skeetfest.

You gave up 4 bottles to land a King Henry? Dood wut?

S: As much as I have distaste for this beer and what it has done to the trading community, I cannot deny how amazing this smells. This is the archetype of BA Barleywines on the olfactory profile. You get a full brown sugar, carmelized sugar, sticky caramel, marshmellow foam, light roast, and turbinado sugars. I have reviews that list a ton of items because it connotes “seriously? You picked up all that, liar.” But seriously, there’s a huge medium of dark cherries, currant, and plum on the backend. Those usually belong in quads but I will let it slide this once, I GUESS.

T: This tastes incredible. There is a nice sticky brown sugar that is as decadent as a trip to Gene Wilder’s house. The taste could never match how it smells but it is still incredibly well done the sticky sugar notes integrate with the smashed dark fruits. I would never mix plums and brown sugar but somehow this works well. The barrel presence seems kinda muted since it took the sloppy seconds from BCS Rare, but I guess it bears mentioning that the bourbon aspect is smooth and imparts a light crackle on the backend like a janky sparkler. One thing I have to mention is that it has a sort of chocolatey roast to it that is offputting, not on style, and makes me wonder how much of the residual BCS Rare splooge was left inside the barrels.

King Henry VIII destroyed papal rule and displaced the religion of thousands, this beer shattered the beer trading world and replaced it with false idols.

M: This has a chewy mouthfeel with heavy sticky coating that lingers long after the beer is swallowed. The bourbon tosses a light tingle on the gumline like doing Ajax rails, been there done it. The sweetness has a good balance with the oak and vanilla from the wood and is very refreshing for a massive 13% abv. I am just glad that I drank my last bottle of this so that I can be free from its tyranny.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and maybe that it the reason so many people are jumping headfirst into the trading came to lock it down. The bottom line is, you don’t need to go name brand on this when world class “Shasta” BA Barleywines will do. The following barleywines are AT LEAST as good as this beer:

Alpine Great
Kuhnhenn BBBW
BA Owde Engwish
Sucaba
Arctic Devil

The list goes on. If you can try this, go for it, but don’t pawn nana’s broach collection to try this.

This beer reminds me of so many other amazing offerings that are slightly off but far less expensive.

Narrative: The Wars of the Roses were raging in the streets and the public discontent was palpable in the air. Despite the decimated and overtaxed populace, King Henry VII turned to more pressing matters: making sticky treats for his court. The pressing from the Papal dynasty was reaching intolerable levels and yet Henry was left to wonder how he could improve upon sweet bread puddings and brown sugars that most vassals would never even lay eyes upon. “Sire! MY LIEGE! The Earl of Warwick is mobilizing forces and marching upon YORK- sire?” “Mmmm nom, awhh yeah that’s the stuff there” Henry moaned decadently while dipping mallow foam into a pool of baker’s chocolate. The smeared chocolate ran down his pronounced jowls. Henry had become everything that was wrong with the ruling classes, a hyped up product of yes-men and an illegitimate dynasty. It was his turn to rule, but at what cost? The masses were teeming in support but destroying house, home, and industry in the process. “Nahmm now we take the apple slices and mmm awh yeah” he exhaled an epicurean sigh that reeked of beef jerky and chocolate while dipping apples in what appeared to be chocolate milk and vanilla extract. The court looked longingly on the product of their support, an inflated, overbearing beast.

Standard
3

Hill Farmstead Biere De Norma, Norma-tive Statements Abound

|

In continuing with our theme this week of beers that were not easy to come by, we turn to lovely old Norma. This was a Hill Farmstead release, 180 bottles released to the public, 1 per person. Do the math on that one and figure out how easy this one was to lock down. Oh, and it is also completely amazing, so there’s also that going for it. Let’s develop the record in today’s review:

Norma-tive and Prescriptive ontology both declare that one must rationally seek out this tart gem.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Bière de Garde | 7.00% ABV

A: This pours in a similar vein as the other Hill Farmstead offerings but instead of the hazy straw this looks a bit more amber with some murky orange tones at the edges. The radiance is undeniable and the halogen lighting doesn’t do this one justice. The carbonation was incredible and took a while to subside into some tattered lacing on the edges like zombie clothing. Norma is beautiful.

The sour nature will burn your face off and make you stronger as a result.

S: The lactic aspect of this beer is undeniable and straight out of the gates it sets to work scorching my eyes and nostrils with tropical juicy fury. The funk is really apparent and there’s a certain hay, fallen leaves, and cobweb panache to this beer that delivers the tartness with a strange aplomb.

T: This just gets to drilling my bisucpids right away and there are no fucks to be given about my dental care. I get ripe oranges, tangelo, papaya and acidic grapefruit sans the bitterness. There’s a solid malty backend on this beer that is like fresh buttery sour cornbread that exudes old barn musk. If that makes this seem undesirable, let me rephrase that, it is incredible and well worth the repeated failed efforts it took me to land it. Incredibly puckering and musky at the same time, like gym class at the Sunkist fruit factory. We’ve all been there.

When this finally arrived in the mail, I was like BOOYA! Borderline racist caricatures from Tostitos.

M: This is as dry as Diane Keaton’s vagina and just as refined. Every aspect of this beer exudes poise and refinement while completely tattering my incisors and gumline. Despite the punitive aspects, I come back for more, obediently seeking tart lashings. Again, the review uses off-kilter comparisons that might convey negative aspects but I mean this with incredible reverence, this is a great beer. It is hardly a Biere De Garde, but awesome nonetheless.

D: This is fantastic and the acidic notes make you come back for more, while working in tandem with the voluminous carbonation to push it down your facehole with staggering speed. I want more but, I think with minimal effort we can get a tally of the bottles that are gone, so cue the sighs.

And eventually, the delicious bottle was gone, anger sets in.

Narrative: Nana Acrimom was a silent old matriarch that ruled her farm home with loving care and a tender arthritic hand cased in iron. The children would scamper home from school up the dirty path reeking of the floral presentation that only autumn in Vermont could deliver. The leaves were crushed in their hair and trousers with careless abandon. Nana Acrimom had a special method of allowing her tart apple pies to cool in the barn amongst old cars and her leatherworking equipment. When the children would dig their hands greedily into the tart batter, the musk from the barn would rise to the sky sending a cascade of old denim, dust, and dried hay into the air. They wouldn’t have it any other way. Later, the children each underwent orthodontic surgery for enamel destruction, but those special summers eating face melting pastries were the bee’s knees.

0

2008 Narke Stormaktsporter, The Calm Before the Stormaktsporter

|

Let’s just address this right away: these little 8oz Swedes are a pain in the ass to lock down. It’s a weird feeling to ship away a huge box of beer and receive…this tiny dwarf in return. Sure, this isn’t a Kaggen! But beergers can’t be choosales. Let’s take a look at this tiny bottle complex in today’s review.

It was a narke and stormy night. Wakka wakka wakka.

Närke Kulturbryggeri AB
Sweden
Russian Imperial Stout | 9.00% ABV

A: This beer is incredibly thin and splashes playfully into the glass with capricious glee. The carbonation has held up well over the years, the incredible journey considered. The lacing is pretty minimal but still makes a solid effort, like the Miami Dolphins, deep down you know they are trying.

This beer reminds me of plenty of other beers, but that doesn’t mean it is any less good.

S: This seems pretty par for the course with some light char, nice roasty smoked almond and coffee notes, a light chocolate on the backend. Again, this isn’t something you would lose your shit over if you didn’t know what it was, it could hide comfortably amongst the ranks of several non-barrel aged stouts and no one WOULD BE THE WISER. The Swedes ran the Baltic like a steady handed pimp in the post-renaissance/reformation years so they should know how to keep it cutty on the stout front.

T: This is thin on the palate with chocolate notes at the outset that subside into a subtle coffee acidity. The alcohol is non-existent and you could serve this to Swedish orphans for breakfast without a single complaint at the Ice Farm. There’s an interesting sweetness that is similar to fudge batter and bruised figs. NOT REGULAR: BRUISED. The entire experience is gentle and makes you forget the forced labor in the fields of halogen white snow.

When you give up 4 bottles for a 8oz gem, you can expect some residual anger notes in the taste.

M: This seemed pretty light and tame to me, however, everyone else had different impressions with regard to the coating. I drank this on new years alongside Black Tuesday so maybe I had bottleshock at how MASSIVE THE BLACK TUESDAY WAS. The sheer girth, etc. fill in oblique penis entendres. But seriously, it was an incredibly refreshing stout, which is a strange coupling of traits. It reminded me quite a bit of Czar Jack in a favorable way. Nothing else quite unites that old chocolate meets waterpark feeling like this lil guy.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I would highly recommend this to anyone who doesn’t have to give up the farm to land it. Maybe Sweden needs to step up its distribution game, make more of this, tame its draconian beer legislation and start getting Americans chocolate wasted. How about that foreign policy plan?

Sure, it is small, but incredibly refined and, ultimately, pretty uplifting.

Narrative: The Wilkins family did not personally investigate their new Akron, Ohio home prior to moving in. James Wilkins was transferred from Nestle Co. to the new operations facility and he had little time to adjust to his thrilling new environment. One night while surveying the basement, he found a tiny lamp with Scandinavian writing on it. As he examined the tiny lamp, the spout shot out a tiny impish figure dripping with oily discharge. “Hur mår du?” he exclaimed with childish glee. The basement reeked of sticky chocolate and cocoa beans. “Något nytt på gång?” he inquired lovingly and gripped the leg of James’s Dockers, staining his khakis with black sludge. Mr. Wilkins neither spoke Swedish nor was familiar with Norse gods of chocolate. The impetuous being was placed in the lamp for being too puckish, now all of Ohio would feel his tiny wrath. For a state still reeling from Lebron James separation anxiety, a sweet chocolate demon was just what the people needed.

0

The Bruery Barrel Aged Partridge in a Pear Tree, The Bird Did Not Survive

|

Going hard in the paint for this one, the inimitable, elusive ornithopter that everyone seems to be breaking their backs to land. Did putting a rare bird in a barrel make it better? Is Christmas observed by beer nerds? Can a wale fit in a barrel? These questions all answered today.

And a fat wale in a cellar tree.

The Bruery
California, United States
Quadrupel (Quad) | 11.00% ABV

A: This beer has a beautiful murky brown hue that is ugly but lovely at the same time, like a pug. The lacing is minimal but for style and abv, this seems about right. The turbid slosh lets you know that this beer is tough to excite and the mahogany hues seem inviting but standoffish at the same time, like most real estate agents.

To most beer nerds, this is the unapproachable .rar deity that will never be seen.

S: The bourbon has been muted a bit and comes off in more of a caramel sweetness mixed with some melted Rolos and stone fruits. I also get some wafts of black cherry and mild char, but they are cameos like the pizza guy in a sit com.

T: The taste sits straddling English Barleywine and Quad, not quite committing to either, but the bourbon drags both parties along like a Victorian love triangle. Boozy Mr. Darcy presents his hand and dances elegantly with your palate as the oak and vanilla take center stage in the proceedings. Mild caramel and figs sit amongst the court looking onward as the malts fall deftly underneath his tender hand. The entire affair is brash but calculated, it is far better than the other ratings would intimate.

BARREL AGED PiaPT!!11One!!! time to pump up the jams.

M: The mouthfeel has a sticky coating and that is removed like vagrant graffiti by the taming bourbon heat. The result is a perpetual motion machine, vis a vis, your arm, that empties your glass expeditiously. I try to savor these rare gems, knowing that it will be a complete pain in the ass to land again, but, tickers gonna tick.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and drinking it in June was a fitting mid-Christmas observance of the summer solstice. Things got pagan and bacchanalian pretty quickly but I wanted more. That’s the problem with gorging yourself on whale fat, only so many whales to slay in the day. I would recommend this, but that’s like a dick who gives a 5 star to a Bugatti Veyron and says “GO GET ONE DONT DENY YOURSELF THIS TREAT.” It’s like “thanks, also, fuck you.”

This beer is exceptional, rare, and noteworthy in its own distinct manner.

Narrative: Cardinal Dolcini had granted more indulgences than the suppressed fiefs could endure. This clip clop of his glorious raiment resonated through the muddy streets. In the filthiest district in Burgundy, he was charged with providing sweet succor to the mealy mouthed common people. The simple breads and sweets were purveyed with grimy hands and impure hearts and Dolcini could only look upon the serfs with loving disdain. The feudal classes ate decadent caramel plums and complained of oxidation in their rich “burned water.” The inequities were apparent. The blessings of the rare treats were largely conferred upon a small minority who held them with incredible avarice, never allowing the merchant classes a single taste. Their vaults contained more treats than could ever be sold in a lifetime, much less consumed, but it was their lineage and birthright to stand proudly above the menial machinations of common libations. “Y’er excellency, sweet cubes, 2 livre.” The sweet cubes were so readily available, so common, so unabashedly predictable in flavor and execution that a titled individual would never stoop so low to consume what would surely be a forgettable tryst.

0

Jackie O’s 2010 Bourbon Barrel Dark Apparition, If you gotta see apparitions, at least make them dark.

|

Jackie O’s is the king of Ohio. There, I said it. But that is kinda like being the sexiest person at a Babylon 5 convention, it really doesn’t mean that much. Anyway, they turn out what seems like a billion “limited” ticks, such that I can’t even keep up with the factory assembly of things coming out of there, Brown Reclusive, Cab Man, Dark Oil, Apparition Aphrodite, it goes on and on. Let’s take a sample from their flagship and see if this apparition can scare the shit out of anyone.

Jackie O’s, more like Tickie O’s they make about a billion variants of this fucking beer. Add Oil of Aphrodite into the mix and that’s a cool 500 “different” beers.

Jackie O’s Pub & Brewery
Ohio, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 10.50% ABV

A: See above, it is pretty par for the course but shanks a right directly into the water. I wasn’t expecting something that touts its obscurity to be so…non-obscure…apprehendable? It has a watery sheen to it like Czar Jack that doesn’t exactly have me Czar Jacking off, but the sheeting and frothiness is pretty inviting, I must say. There’s a huge bait and switch going on here as well, pour out a Hill Farmstead growler BAM OHIO instead of Vermont. Quite the rickroll.

Rare bourbon barrel stouts? Why yes, I am interested, go on…

S: The smell has some bourbon oak, sticky vanilla like a macaroon that’s light on the coconut, nice sweet caramel notes and some baker’s chocolate on the back end. It would be hard to pick out of a lineup, IF THAT LINEUP WAS MADE OF WORLD CLASS STOUTS. It’s not a bad thing to be indistinct in that instance. The waft isn’t intense but it is still praiseworthy, like the last season of Blossom.WHOA.

T: The chocolate comes on first with some light sweet bourbon that follows sheepishly with a cadre of the familiar guys, albeit, in a sort of knock off toned down manner. RC Cola vanilla and oak notes, Mountain Mist bits of stone fruits, and a dash of Shasta coffee flavors round out the acidity on the backend. it isn’t bad, it just feels TOO familiar, like a cyborg stout sent to me to replace my loved one. It’s just like…where do I put…eh nevermind.

At first I didn’t know what was going on, but then things got familiar real quickly.

M: As I noted before, this is thin and slick and actually wins huge points for masking the ABV and making this an intensely drinkable stout. The 750ml that I had disappeared like I was straight up shooting apparitions with a proton pack aka my liver. The PK meter was off the charts AKA I had to urinate. It was fulfilling through and through with light coating but huge flavor.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and dangerously light in body and coating so that you glass is empty much faster than your liver would probably like. I would highly recommend this to anyone that needs to convert some non-believers into the dark side.

This beer is big and tough, but fits in with any crowd or palate. Even people from the Garden State can enjoy this gem.

Narrative: And on the seventh day he rested. No narrative today, blame it on the stouts.

0

Cigar City Bourbon Barrel Hunahpu’s Stout, Get Swallowed by Stoutstro the Whale

|

After months of hunting on the open seas, the harpoons finally entered the hide of this elusive beast. So there were something like 200 of these made and the feeding frenzy at the event reached a fever pitch of beer nerds when you had to PICK A LINE. Massive swaps ensued, people were trying to figure out which was the best, and when the neckbeard sweat cleared: A WINRAR WAS THIS. This is a legit top 100 bruiser that runs the yard. Enough pussy footing, let’s get that Hell Yeah Fucking Right HYFR review in today’s sesh:

Grab ye harpoons, t’day we be heeding the cetacean call and slaying Ishmael grade walez.

Cigar City Brewing
Florida, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 11.50% ABV

A: This looks pretty similar to the original Huna but lacked that epic carbonation that made the 2011 so fun. Frothy tan bubbles all up in the mix like a Costa Rican foam party, not present in this one. This pours raven black with a sheer that coats like Paddington Bear’s jacket, deep and thick. The sheeting is like a convict on PCP and shows the power beneath. It’s the liquid form of cyber sex, you aren’t sure what you are in for but it is likely dangerous in some capacity.

This poised beast will blow you away. ZJs for everyone.

S: This has a nice sweet tone at the outset like figs, deep chocolate, the peppers and chilis are muted and the bourbon takes center stage making that cinnamon follow him around holding his pocket. I kinda wanted some coffee but this continental breakfast is serving nothing but bourbon AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

T: Holy hell, the taste takes that crazy manticor that was Huna and adds another series of heads and flaming tails. You get the chocolate, pulling a red rider wagon full of dark fruits and oak in tow with nice vanilla stickiness for all the kids and then OH SHIT OLD MAN BARRELBOR JUST SAW YOU ON HIS PROPERTY and things turn very bourbon, very quickly. The four roses barrel imparts more of a sweetness, per usual, but it works well given the crazy complexity of the base beer. This is like a Mars Volta solo that just goes on and continues to ruin undergrad educations.

OUT OF NOWHERE: Bourbon Huna blast to your periodic tabledome.

M: The coating is straight up Sherwin Williams and blacks out like an overweight person on Supermarket Sweep. The glass is permanently stained and looks like it was dropped into the Hudson river, filthy and decadent. If you drink this at lunch, just go home from work. You are done for the day and those kids can find their own way home from school.

D: Well, I guess this depends on how gluttonous you are. Can you tank a series of Home Run Pies? Do you sigh when Marie Callendars give you the “small” slice of chocolate mousse pie? This is for you. I had a solid pour and enjoyed it as it warmed but I didn’t draw hearts around its name nad wonder when we would meet again. It was a one night tryst, but you can brag to all your friends how you…ok well…no you can’t brag about shit without some serious ridicule and derision.

I feel bad for the countries that SHOULD be enjoying Russian Imperial Stouts, Florida doesn’t even need big stouts. They need OFF! and government subsidized showers.

Narrative: After several months at sea, even Jericho had lost faith in the elusive ebony whale. It was rumored that the crew of the HMS ISO:FT was taken down in a swift blow once the majestic chocolate mammal burst upon the scene. After months of scanning the horizon with little more than guppies and schools of cuttlefish, he had all but lost hope. Suddenly on the starboard bow, a jstof inky black spew fired into the air, cutting the murky clouds with a frothy cocoa mist. “THAR SHE BE! Grip ye threadbare poles and prepare for a series of REJECTION MY MEN!” The Hunt was on. The beast dove deep, demanding much of the crew, pulling them left and right with their tiny vessel and cellar in tow. Bixby James, a belgian longshoreman with unnerving superstitions jumped down from the flying jib and rubbed tart lychee upon the tip of his blade and watched the coffee shadow underneathe them. “For them the sour inside shall SLAY THE BITTER BELOW!” He cast his acidic spear deep and aimed for the monster’s rare weak point, striking a critical blow. The men sampled the decadent oil from the blowhole with khaki stained teeth, one of the remaining 189 beasts had been laid to rest in solemn reverence.

5

Kern Brewing Citra Double IPA, Finally: THE UNASSAILABLE COMETH.

|

I have danced around this several times, lithely referenced it in almost every DIPA and IPA review, now it is time to cut the shit: TIME TO REVIEW CITRA. I will say this, this beer is in my top 3 favorite Double IPAs of all time, if not my absolute favorite. Enough prestroking, let’s get down to business in today’s review: FUCKING CITRA TIME. FCT. 9:34 a.m.

God damnit. Just looking at these pictures makes me PINE for the next release, HOPFULLY it will be soon.

Oh shit, bonus pic from the newest batch, BONUSES.

Kern River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: God damn this is a beautiful beer, it is mildly turbid at first pour, subsides into a radioactive hue that burns the eyes and nostrils and finally the rage liquifies into a palpable form. The lacing is huge and the frothy head presents cloud strata to rest your pocketwatch upon. Shit gets classy real quick.

“MY LIFE FOR KERNVI- line?”
“Aiur…the line is Aiur”
“MY LIFE FOR KERN CITRA!”
“CUT! damnit.”

S: This is the purest, most perfect olfactory assault that a DIPA has ever presented: in order of appearance: kiwi, mango, pineapple, tangelo, orange peel, and finally tangerine. This beer reeks of a Salvadoreno’s hands. It smells like fruit carts in downtown LA and it sticky with hop oils in the brightest way possible.

T: This is a delayed dirty bomb of hop oils and sticky tart oils. In hurt locker a car detonates and this would be lemon rind, oranges, grapefruit, pineapple, and an mild hint of grass clipping that rip through your face. This is best enjoyed fresh but I have drank a total of say, 20 bombers of this, at various ages, and it is always amazing. The beer evolves like a hop sensai and teaches you as your palate evolves. I have waxed off at every single release and the pints of Citra that they sell for $5 at the brewery are downright offensive to the general beer industry if for no other reason that this beer slays indiscriminately like a hop Kratos.

I WANT CITRA ALL YEAR LONG. I will drive the distance. Despite all of my rage, etcetera.

M: The mouthfeel is watery thin and imparts the deep tropical fruit aspect kicks your throat and hides the alcohol without a single hint of the ABV. In renaissance times wine was more pure than still water and, regardless of our advances, I want to drink this at every meal. The vegetal aspect is tame and ratcheted to a very mild dryness that makes this almost completely perfect for the style. I cannot wait for the next release.

D: This is insanely drinkable. I have to drive over 320 miles to the brewery when this is released and each time my bottles last, what, 14 days? It is the bagel bites of the DIPA world, when Citra is in some water you can drink Citra any time. I hate HATE the limited availability of this as I could retire from the beer review game if this was always available, but the sunny days wouldn’t be as bright without the days full of malty east coast DIPAs. True story.

This beer hits the incredible upper atmosphere of beers and still presents a cuddly amiable nature, without being offputting.

Oh and by the way, I did a shootout with Heady Topper and Double Sunshine, all fresh, this beer won. To avoid bias, I wont rank them but this is an amazing beer, hands down.

Narrative: After years of toiling in the remote Sequoias, Kyle had finally accomplished his dream: an advanced cyborg that ran exclusively on tropical fruit juice. At present it was being ran by a conglomerate Starburst fruit battery, but the built in juicer in the fuselage made the companion more powerful with each inundation. “WAKE UP CITRITRON!” Kyle clapped demonstratively and the powerful beast pulled itself to a bipedal position. Its glowing orange eyes evidenced a deep artistry and hateful power, acid and oil running through its veins. “INPUT COMMAND TROPICAL MASTER:/” Citrutron requested. Kyle waved his hands “don’t call me tropical master, I am from Lodi, alright, there have been some Budweiser fans hanging out at the local Pizza pl-” “AFFIRMATIVE I WILL MELT THEIR FACES” Kyle staggered backwards, “NO! God damnit Citrutron, you can’t kill anybody” “WHY” “You just can’t!” “WHY” “You just cant.” Kyle wiped the mango juice from his hands and tossed the rag into a bucket of papaya extract. “Listen Citrutron, I built you to show the inherent power of citrus and refreshment, GO TO THE PIZZA BARN, destroy their adjunct lagers, SHOW THEM THE TRUE POWER OF YOUR HOP BATTERY!” Citrutron entered battle mode and his scorching hot alpha oil cannons raised like a deep carapace from his shoulders “AFFIRMATIVE.” Kyle wiped a juicy tear from his eye as his creation covered the local 16 year olds of Kernville in sticky bitter hop oils. “GODSPEED CITRUTRON!”

0

3 Floyd’s Bourbon Barrel Aged Alpha Klaus with Plums, Adjective Stacking FTW

|

I know what you are thinking “another rare Barrel Aged 3 Floyd’s beer? Give that shit a rest.” Alright, fair enough, but BA Behemoth was beyond amazing so I can’t stay away, the game needs me. This is another one of those 391 bottle, generic barrel aged bottle releases and so far, all the prior releases were amazing. Let’s see if this follows suit or IF IT DOESN’T HAVE THE PLUMS TO DO SO

Keeping it Alpha as fuck with Victorian literature.

Three Floyds Brewing Co. / Brewery & Pub
Indiana, United States
American Porter | 10.00% ABV

Oh shit, bottle number 221/391, .rar bonus.

A: This has that inky squid discharge look with the nimble porter wateriness that you’ve come to expect from those charming offerings. The splishy splashy cola notes give it a flat soda look with some moderate carbonation. It looks pretty legit, through and through, although some middle carbonation wouldn’t be a total turn off. But this isn’t a Hustler spread, so let’s leave these fictional dreams well enough alone.

Whenever I open a barrel aged 3 Floyd’s Beer: I HAVE THE POWER.

S: While it is plum, I get a deep grape and black cherry from the nose, mixed in like a Cordial with some chocolate and a marshmallow froth. There’s some booze holding this kraken back, but the whole thing seems sweeter and purple Flintstones vitamin more than chocolate rampage.

T: The plum kicks into a deep sweet grapitey grape rampage. Statutory grape, if you will. The plum comes across in more of a light tannin fairy dust sprinkled throughout the fracas like feathers in a sorority girl pillow fight and the chocolate and roast look inside through the malt window with visible erections. It reminds me of a purple fanta meets yoohoo outing that is neither suitable for hikes nor sitting by the hearth, discussing Roosevelt’s re-election. Like a plum bachelorette, neither classy, nor explicitly trashy.

This beer pulls of some strange stunts, which you appreciate but are not sure how to apply in a larger medium.

M: The mouthfeel is dead on and cartwheels into a nimble posture, tossing black cherry shurikens pell mell. It washes away clean but the booze hangs out on the way out, looking for trim on the way down. I would not suggest this to novice beer drinkers unless you want to hear a bunch of irritating adjectives that will denature your experience, “OH MAN IT IS LIKE A TAFFY BURNT TIRE BRO” see I can’t even make them shitty enough to impart realism.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, but I am torn as to whether I like it more cold or warmer. Cold it is more chocolate with tame fruits, around 60 degrees this shit starts getting into Fruit Stripe Gum territory real quick, which is tasty and original, but maybe not as drinkable. If you focus on the lingering chocolate and cocoa phosphate aspect, it is fulfilling through and through.

Porterrr….plumssses…..bourbon….now….build me a dam sweet Indiana muses…

Narrative: William Goyette gripped his temples and popped another prune into his mouth. His status consistently garnered no showering of likes, thumbs, approval or otherwise. “GOD DAMNIT THIS GUY AGAIN!” he exclaimed and looked at his minifeed cluttered with “THE DOCTOR SAYD YOUR HAVENG A GIRL!” with 56 likes. Another status from a marginally attractive Mormon girl said “each day is a gift wrapped in a sunrise” that received 34 comments. “THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE,” he thought to himself and took a bite from a juicy plum. William lives strictly off of Farmer’s Market food, did crossfit, read H.P. Lovecraft and thought that he was edgy as fuck. He still could not understand why the goldpan of life passed his pithy statuses by. “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what LPs Real Estate are going to release next fall” he could not understand how that gem of relevance and ultra ironic but self deprecating tone of metacritical commentary rolled in auspicious knowledge, somehow failed to elicit “likes.” Likes are the lifeblood and currency of the insecure. They feed the Williams of the world with a sweet succor of post-collegiate relevance. It is the sweet nectar for his race, the rare and relevant, the cloistered tiers of esoteric civilization. He popped a dried plum into his mouth from the Ronco food dehydrator and he began his 43rd screenplay, this time a SciFi re-imagining of Howard’s End. He was edgy as fuck.