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