Cascade Apricot Ale 2009, If You Don’t Have Dental Insurance, Don’t Even Bother With This Facemelter.

Oh Cascade, you have been the boon of my orthodontist since 2008. Bottles of pure delight and gumline destruction, you couple that with my love of sweet stouts and rampant caffeine and my teeth look like a frag grenade went off in my bitter zones. Not tripping on my grill though, got sick platinum veneers coming so got my sours on lock. Let’s see what apricots taste like, I don’t eat fruit.

Keep drinking beers like this, enjoy drinking beer out of a hole in your neck. Don’t be like me.

Cascade 2009 Apricot Ale, 9% abv

A: This has deep gold hues with huge abundant carbonation. The head is light and has huge co2 bubbles that provides middle carbonation throughout. There is no lacing but this is still as pretty as a sunrise in an orphanage. The best kind, you know right before they begin that forced labor making your iphone and they still have the dew of night in their eyes.

mmm I see you made a sour there, yeah, that’s nice, sours are nice, I will just smack my lips over here, sours are tart, I KNOWWWWWWW

S: I don’t get a lot of apricot or even much citrus, it comes off like a Brettanomyces bomb with wafty notes of playgrounds, crushed leaves, and hay musk. My eyes also pick up some dryness in the “danger, that is acid, keep away from your face” sort of way. Instincts you learn in biochem.

T: The apricot must be lost on me because I taste a huge tart sourness that truly, could be anything I suppose. It tastes like crushed up sweet tarts and a type of extreme B vitamin heavy energy drink. It has a distinct chardonnay and white wine character to it that is disturbing and acerbic. It’s like a UFC hold when it grips my jaw and presses it forward in a deeply tart character that “stings…the nostrils.”

RIddle me this Cascade! What’s sour and, oh fuck, I am Joker? I dunno, make the bottles explode or, god damnit why didn’t I even shave my moustache for this role?

M: The mouthfeel is dry and I can imagine the citric acid molecules looking all like those Mucinex guys just tearing apart my gumline. This is the type of acidic drink that canker sores and cavities are made of. Sugar and spice and everything nice. They each have a pickaxe and work the bicsupids hard but, work hard play hard. Some people do lines of blow and have janky ass chompers, mine looks weathered from a hatred for my gastrointestinal system. This shit is monster sour and if you see a homeless person on the street smelling like fruit tannins, don’t contribute to his high class ass habits.

D: For the aforementioned faults, it is very drinkable. It comes off to me like Temptation’s fuck up brother. The one who is really good at math but “just doesn’t apply himself.” It is crisp, tart, and refreshing; no problems there. The problems kick in when there’s just a lack of direction and clarity to the experience. There are no real apricots, no real fruits either. It is as though they were like “we used fruits, it’s sour, what do you want from us? We’re clocking out.”

Cascade knows how I feel about them. They can just search my order history, they just shut up and take all my feels. So many feels.

Narrative: “Red wire to the, orange, this one attaches to the acidic base.” Cornelius Mitchley wasn’t the best chemist, and for terms of clarity, he wasn’t the best bank robber either. “Ok, got it, the apricot battery charge is complete, now time to blow the safe!” he flipped an analog detonator and a slight hum generated from the pitted fruit. “A complete dud? I don’t get it, I presented the apricot, the explosive catalyst, all elements are present!!!” The whir and blaring announcement from the police sirens made him drop his mushy produce in his lap. “Oh sure, mistreat the Wawona workers Cornelius, make them sort peaches in double time, and now this! THIS!”The door burst open and three uniformed officers stood in the foyer, marveling at his intricate apricot battery. “Officers, don’t be rash” he opened his lab coat to reveal a dummy trigger connected to a heart rate monitor. “Look on the screen!” he cried and slid a monitoring device over the to the police officers across the slick bank floor. “What is this? Are these bombs strapped to unsorted produce?” “APRICOTS TO BE EXACT MY GOOD OFFICER! And if you don’t let me walk out of here alive, I will blow them all UP! Every last yield from the Wawona farm destroyed, NO FRESH LOCAL APRICOTS FOR A TRISTATE AREA!” The officers looked at one another and drew their firearms. “Wait. . .what?”

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