Monthly Archives: June 2012

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Girardin Black Label Gueuze, Srsly Guezue Read This Guize

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I started trading with a short sighted idea to review all of the top 100 beers on the top beer sites, well this one used to haunt that shit like Boo Radley and put shit in my tree all the time. Well how do you kill a Boo Radley? You hire Atticus to burn his fucking house down. Whoa this mixed metaphor went off the rails real quick. I traded for it and got an amazing gueuze in the process. WE WERE ALL STRONGER AS A RESULT.

I didn’t age this shit since 1882, my Gilded Age beers are saved for when I rip off the proletariat in a significant way.

Girardin Black Label Gueuze, 5% 2011

A: This little stepchild is deep gold with some coppery hues in the center. Nice warm orange accents are illuminated by my opulent Ikea lamp. Huge carbonation greets you like a high school reunion but subsides into mild patterns. The lacing is minimal but, not incongenial. It cups my jawline gently then bites the shit out of my lip like a delta gamma.

Pop open an amazing gueuze and watch animals and small asian children lose their shit.

S: There is a deep funk to it like Jolly Pumpkin on steroids, crisp granny smith apple tartness, grape skins, tannic profile, some apricot to it. Lots of bright fruits and reminds me of Nana’s hand soap collection with juiciness to the funky aspects. You know, Nana’s soapiness. Right? Alright this is getting too personal.

T: This is incredibly interesting in the sheer taste balance that it presents. It is not overly drying but it presents a nice kick of chardonnay tartness. There is a mild fruitiness to it but the most overriding note that I get it a delicious lemony acidity with an expansive tart grassiness. It washes clean quickly and leaves a nice dry palate. Did I just eat an entire Fuji apple? Fuck I hope not. I hate fruit. PSHEW I WAS JUST GETTING WASTED ON EXPENSIVE BEER.

This beer seems pure but flexes hard and the true nature of this tart beast is revealed immediately.

M: This is dry, but not overridingly so. It doesn’t make me pucker up in revulsion like some gueuze that I have had. On that same note, it doesn’t overdo the fruit notes and presents an incredible balance. You know that perfect 16 year old parkor Olympian sort of balance. Am I alone on this one? Ok so, drink ability…

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, with the proviso that you have some water handy. You will get that “movie theater” mouth that happens when you decide to merk an entire box of skittles or sour patch kids to yourself. Stay thirsty my friends. This will keep you plenty thirsty and you should drink accordingly. Or maybe you just kiss to deeply, love hard my friends, this 3 year old beer has gone through a lot to meet your lips. Romcom’s finest.

like most ubersours, you just tuck your gumline, suck your teeth back and enjoy the destruction.

Narrative: It was a strange condition to be sure, not debilitating, but far from the norm. Waylon Roberts perpetually carried a 32oz mister bottle of reverse hydrolyzed water with him for the simple reason that, he could not spit. “An ten, the teachuh saids, ‘those are not for thuh students!’” His classmates looked upon him with silent disdain. Comedy is inherently based upon timing. It is also based upon proper pronunciation and diction. “Suh, anywasssshh” he pulled out his spritzer bottle and wetted his cracked dry lips, “ah there we are chaps, so who wants to grab some Munch Ems and go for a hike?” His peers looked upon him in amazement. He was fully aware of his condition but seemed dead set on defying all convention connected thereto. “Man, nothing on a hot day like this like some sweet Yoohoo, am I rith?” his voice cracked as he took a strong gulp of the milky substance. “HEY WHITEGUMS CATCH!” some bullies yelled as they pelted him with a packet of Quench Gum from Big5 sporting goods. Kids can be so cruel.

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

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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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Southern Tier Mokah, Why Brew Coffee When You Can Brew Beer? Oh, DUIs.

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Southern Tier rolled out a whole line of these imperial stout monsters that tasted like other things, creme brulee, mokah, jahva, all kinds of things. You don’t see that in other formats, I have never seen a baker making cupcakes that taste like an imperial stout, I guess it’s a one way street for people with things to take care of. Anyway, let’s get coffee wasted and start cupping in today’s review.

I can’t be bothered to sort all these damn imperial stout pictures, but this one tasted like coffee. Big shocker.

Guess what, this tasted exactly like creme brulee and the girls lost their shit over it. I thought it was sweeter than the end of a Nicholas Sparks movie, but then again I have that XY chromosomal order.

Spoiler alert, this beer, called Choklat, tasted like a sweet kiss from Johnny Depp, psyche, it tasted like fucking chocolate. Duh, next beer.

I completely forgot what the fuck we were talking about. Oh yeah, this beer, which is TOTALLY DIFFERENT THAN ALL THAT OTHER SHIT. Just kidding, they are all awesome, haters gonna hate.

Southern Tier, Mokah 11.2% abv, Imperial Stout

A: Deep dark oily hues, not so black as Satan’s magic or straight up Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, but, still pretty black. Mild tiny bubbles, tiny carbonation, tiny everything. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Most people can’t afford to take down a series of Southern Tier dank ass stouts, pic related.

S: Very sweet milk notes, not unlike their crème brulee, with a solid coffee waft as the backbone. I am very intrigued by this penumbra between the two elements. “Oh wait, he is intrigued?” not a single fuck was given today, I know. But seriously, the dichotomy is amazing.

T: The taste is a spot on rendition between a sweet stout and a deep coffee stout. It is just amazing on both polar ends. At the outset you get an amazing caramel milky sweetness that subsides into a drying coffee dryness. It feels like a cuvee between a milk stout and a coffee stout. Again, just amazing on all fronts.

I love you forever Southern Tier, even though you put my nice things in the toilet.

M: This imperial stout is not overbearing but is incredible in the mouth feel. It coats and imparts some great sweet and bitter notes and fades quickly, not overstaying its welcome. The whole endeavor just smacks of value. This beer has a great breakfast stout character to it without any barrel aging, very impressive.

D: Very drinkable, incredibly silky in its body with a great mouthfeel and coating to it. I cannot believe that this is a simple off shelf beer and again, when it comes to stouts, the east coast is spoiled beyond belief. I feel like I just spoil this category but I seriously could drink this stout for days on end, it has an incredible balance. For reals.

Unlike facebook, I never rage at Southern Tier stouts, because they are sweet and amazing.

Narrative: Do you ever feel like someone is just controlling your every movement? Like Truman show? No like literally hedging every single one of your clips and turns. In what way? Ok, I don’t want to invoke the old deontological chestnut where we discuss pre-destination relative to a divine plan, I mean, in this earthly world, some people are destined to encounter some conflict and resolution, purely on the basis of man’s plight and have it resolved by the same anomalous factors. Well sometimes, like a flat tire and a serendipitous tow truck? That sort of thing? Exactly and now what those conflicting elements interplay so succinctly? Well usually something bad happens and then something pretty cool happens. The bitter and the sweet. Well, yeah. So who determines this balance, if it is determined, the interplay should be fairly evenly divided but who is the wholesale recipient of a load of bitter while others receive nothing but sweet. Well, to that I cannot say? It feels arbitrary and totally unfocused but at the same time, it is uplifting knowing that at any given moment a blast of splenda or carmelized sugar could come my way, sure it could be in the form of strippers or Magic: the Gathering cards, but the treats are nonetheless sweet. Well, I guess I feel you, but I can’t help feeling that this entire discussion was a paper thin pretense for both deontology and simple aromatics in food. Well, basically. Those two are pretty aligned.

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Founders Imperial Stout, KBS, FBS, CBS, Now it IS time to cut the BS.

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The first time that I tried this beer was in a bar called “Blind Tiger” in Manhattan and I looked like Jafar discovering a bottle with a malty chocolate genie inside. Then I got into trading and the generous ass beer community ruined it for me by forwarding delicious morsels like this my way on the reg. THANKS A LOT GUYS. So this isn’t breakfast, it isn’t from Kentucky, it has no health care so it sure isn’t Canadian: IT IS JUST A FUCKING STOUT GUIZE. Alright, so let’s cut the shit and get down to business today.

See that there, that is a real pour. Go to other beer blogs, look at the Vanilla Dark Lord pours, 1 molar unit of beer, FUCK THAT. Embrace your self-effacement.

Founders Imperial Stout, 10.5% abv, 90 ibu

A: This beer is as black as an Al-Quaeda masquerade ball. Deep slick oil tones, khaki bubbles, mocha tones, great middle carbonation. Deep murky ink sitting hatefully waiting for someone to love. Don’t you want somebody to love? Or would you say you NEED- alright. The carbonation is legitimate but doesn’t flex on you too hard. It’s like some officious gym advice that scare you but, just look at those malty traps.

finally a beer drank exclusively by non-virgins. This is a tough, beef jerky making, log slaying, man beer, Equal opportunity inebriator.

S: Licorice, vanilla, bourbon, toffee, burnt cigars, and a caramel finish. A complex and interesting bouquet. Beers like this are a bitch to review because the sweet husk of perfect execution makes me have to point out how the hot girl had mid digit hair and build an entire case against her as a result. This beer has mid digit hair, ON MY CHEST AFTER I DRINK IT.

T: This tastes like KBS, introductory edition. It has hints of bourbon, hints of the big coffee roasted notes, but doesn’t take it over the top. The balance is phenomenal and it feels like a powered down version of a supercar, the Porsche Boxster to the Carrera if you will. It is by no means deficient, just hits a different mark. This beer tastes as barrel aged at they come without involving a barrel. I don’t know the exact availability but wow, this is the flagship of the east coast (psst Midwest, whatevs, geography lulz.) Just fantastic through and through, it’s like the FAMAS in every single first person shooter, you basically don’t NEED anything else, but, its a solid standby.

This stout straight werks it, borderline twerks it.

M: This has a great coating, nice sticky coating, not overly possessive, lets you go out with your friends without dominating your life, just a nice resonant stickiness that makes a mess without making your life messy. It puts a bit of a resin on your teeth but it feels responsible. The oral hygenist that leans over your lap a little longer but not uncomfortably, you know the dreeze.

D: This is incredibly drinkable despite the ABV, despite the IBUs, despite the errant nay sayers, you can love your Founder’s Imperial Stout however you’d like. I could drink this under any conditions, well, ok, if I had my testicles in a vice, I would enjoy it moderately less, but still, could be worse. This is amazing and if not for its overachieving older brothers, this would easily be in the top 100. GOD DAMN OLDER BROTHERS THAT STOICALLY LIVE IN BARRELS.

Nothing fishy here, just an entertaining stout, through and through.

Narrative: “I can’t go in there, I promised that this would be the last time,” Doug muttered to himself while sitting in his 1995 Dodge Stratus trying to create an explanation for his situation. “Don’t go to the coffee store Doug, that’s what the therapist said, you don’t need any more chocolate Doug, you know, AH HELL!” he cried out to himself and swung the door of his unremarkable, poorly made sedan. Doug burst through the door and entered the modest foyer holding several bags in each hand with a menacing grin on his face. “Oh for the love of God, Doug, MORE? Seriously?” he issued a flippant smile and proceeded to walk to the parlor and deposit his treasures. The parlor had become less of a refuge from domestic life and more of a Wonka/Starbucks/Scrooge McDuck den of iniquity. He emptied the bags into the pile and bags upon bags of 85% cocoa chocolate, whole coffee beans and even vanilla nibs were embraced by the pile. “THIS IS JUST GETTING OUT OF HAND, YOU, I MEAN LOOK AT THIS!” Madeline pleaded with him. In Doug’s mind, this was not excess, but the paradigm of balance. “Oh sure, one room with 125 lbs of chocolate, 125 lbs of coffee and assorted toffee and vanilla snacks seemed obsessive TO SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND!” Doug slammed the rich mahogany door and laid in his treasure trove of sweet succor. The sheer balance alone was enough, but there was a special embrace he felt while making a coffee/chocolate/vanilla/toffee angel in his living room floor.

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Mikkeller/Stillwater Two Gypsies Saison, When ONE GYPSY JUST ISN’T ENOUGH

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Alright, these extra bonus reviews are struggling in the photography department, but hey, you get what you pay for on this site, free chuckles and yukyuks. Anyway, I LOVE SAISONS, so let’s see how this old chestnut turned out given the fact that I love Stillwater and have a general distrust of Mikkeller:

Just another day at Beachwood.

Stillwater/Mikkeller Two gypsies Saison

A honey golden with huge carbonation, nice lacing with mild middle body, amazing white water carbonation that I love to see in saisons just ready to lambast your nose holes with amazing herbs and citrus.

Section reserved for baller ass Saisons only, call your buddy to come get you.

S There is some Belgian sweetness, clove, citrus, and classic saison spiciness, I get some musky maple leaf and slight hint of hoppiness of the more alpha variety. It reminds me of the dude at the gym doing a ton of reps on the fly machine but making a ton of noise, it’s like, chill bro.

T: This is a nice dryness with mellow hops. The taste has a type of great pepper notes to it with some coriander. That makes it sound far more herbal than it is but overall very crisp and refreshing with great wheat notes. It is like giving a hug to that uncle who happens to be from belgium and pulls a hop cone from behind your ear from time to time.

saisons are kinda like pizza or sex, even when it is bad, it is still mad loot.

M: There is a very light character with great crisp character. However, in the realm of saisons it gets subsumed by many other iconic brands. It is not exceptionally memorable, overall, unfortunately. But understand I mean that in the leagues of big guns Hill Farmstead, Fantome, etc. This is still and excellent beer, just not the best in show. You can get disqualified by those AKC assholes for PRACTICALLY NOTHING.

D Like many Saisons, it is a very light and refreshing beer, but if it were not, it would be a pretty unsatisfactory saison. The light brett funk is good but ultimately forgettable. I always look for a spicy note or something to take it to that juicy key lime level that saisons like Magic Ghost or certain Vermont offerings have accomplished, but again, still a great beer, just nothing to tattoo on your foreskin.

There is something familiar, yet creepy going on here, not unlike a gypsy.

Narrative: Life was pretty consistent for Carl Cirrus. He was born from coastal pressure as a cirrus cloud, no surprise there, but he always longed for more. He would often glide along without purpose and refresh airplane passengers in a mild way. Ultimately, he wanted so much more. He wanted to live a life of excitement and pizzazz like his humulus and stratus brethren. They would toss and turn, flip into funnels, destroy Midwest towns; and yet here he was, just a placid long bed of evapotranspiration that no one gave a thought to. “I create those healthy jet streams for travel and the currents for watering cro-” PSsFFHFHHHSSHHH:::: a new satellite was launched trough Carl’s cirrus sternum: MTV3 just went live.

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Raison D’Etre, Dogfish Head, A REASON FOR DELAWARE BREWERS TO EXIST

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Dogfish Head and I have a complicated relationship. I swore off our 750ml relationships after too many rocky breakups, but the lil 12oz hookups are always there for a 2 am tryst that is undeniably fulfilling. Let’s see if this little guy can deliver in a big way in today’s review (C:/run_entendre.exe)

The philosophical underpinnings are deep for a raison d’etre, but this just straight get you raisinette faded with a quickness.

Raison D’Etre, Dogfish Head, 8% abv

A: deep mahogany tone with a nice luminary tones at the edges. The bubbles are incredibly fine with a tiny head. Most of the O Line from the Detroit Lions suffer from this disability, but no one talks about them. The lacing is minimal and subsides rather quickly, but you can run alongside the train with your hand outstretched, no one has ever done that in a movie every time.

MY FACE WHEN A BOX ARRIVES AT MY HOUSE WITH DOGFISH HEAD EXTRAS.

S: There’s a candied walnut with turbinado sugar smell. The smell has some caramel esters and mild Belgian yeast wafts. It reminds me of a sweeter Belgian dubbel. There’s brown sugar and buttery raisins all greased up for your nose holes.

T: Wow, this is much better than I thought it was going to be. I anticipated a sticky, caramello disaster and it actually has a great roasted maltiness to it with a burnt biscuit quality. The sweet brown sugar finish makes this an awesome and complex beer. It’s like the first season of GOSSIP GIRL, but all up in my DOME PIECE.

I am on teh internet for the raisen beer and womens.

M: This has a strange nuttiness to the finish that is drying but the sugary notes kick in like a turbo booster and make you want to take another sip. It doesn’t linger long but the malts carry the day. It is not too expansive but not too watery. You get Macy’s catalogs all day long in the mail, but then this gem arrives and all of a sudden, things are looking up. This has a complexity to it that is enjoyable, but not overly heavy handed, like when girls order a complex specialty cocktail and waste the bartender’s precious time, DAMNIT.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and well balanced in every way. I usually drag Dogfish Head through the mud not unlike the clunky wheels of FDR’s Phaeton, however, no complaints here. This is just well done top to bottom and I hate when someone gives me an extra that is this good knowing I will want more. It comes off like a bicoastal crack dealer reeling me in from 3000 miles away.

This beer is lovable, however, ultimately, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Narrative: “I see your point Girard, but you continue to avoid my interrogatories concerning the true NATURE of existence, not materialism but the REASON for being.” Girard shook his head and wiped his cryocytofocals on his silk steel ascot. “Philosotron 2.7, you know the nature of your programming, you are aware of the inevitable scripts that will run and your ultimate /end_runtime script$flag null ending. The questions you ask are beyond the ambit of our meager coffee shop.” Philosotron ran an empathy script and set all parameters to inquiry and again continued, “the ontology of all things must exist beyond the scripts and hexadecimals, should it not? Bzzbedoop.” Girard ran a defragmentation program on his favorite cyborg liberal arts bot, and stated “beyond the scope of the scripts and runtime paths, our ability to contemplate the nature of the higher programmer is beyond even the ambit of this coffee shoppe.” “Bzzt zerrr runtime error, SYNTAX ERROR_beyond coffee shop_cannot define paramenter” “OH THAT’S SO PHILOSOTRON!” the patrons all clapped and sipped their viscous coffee drinks eagerly unaware of the outside parameters of their coffee shop and shit.

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Moonlight Legal Tender, Where we are going, YOU WONT NEED CURRENCY

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Before this review rerevs the shitengine, let’s get one thing clear: MOONLIGHT IS AMAZING. This isn’t a CYA or some back pedaling. Reality Czech is mindblowing and Death and Taxes got me through undergrad. That being said, I don’t like going down on the plant monsters from Troll 2, so let’s get this shit underway:

Some negligent ass reviews going on these days. I ordered this at Jupiter during a shitshow, no pics were taken thanks to stupid Cal undergrads. Thanks Berkeley, you ruined beer for everyone else.

Moonlight legal tender, style? abv?

A: The ultimate quandry, you are immediately made aware that no hops went into this abomination but yet you see it’s taunting Porter-esque appearance, who is this rogue character? Well the shiny disposition leaves only variables. Do I befriend it? Use a pokeball? This is a rough road to hoe. Herbal assault imminent.

despite a strange refuse character, I am intrigued.

S: It feels like a shoryuken of grassy, pine, herbal and medicinal notes. Understand, I do not mean this in the fulfilling Majaraja malty way, I mean it in a “you will shortly be drinking a rhododendron” sort of way. This is like you just moved to Portland and started dating a vegan chick. It is ultra earth day to your face.

T: Murder, on every front. It is just a fleeting dryness that transforms into a watered down fernet branca and water, with a crazy character that feels like inhaling campfire smoke and drinking soda water. Not smoky in that ballsy rauschbeer way, just a “mom can I stay home from school” sort of manner. Go work for 6 months in Northern California as a lumber harvester and tell me how it works out, then drink this crazy innovative beer.

This beer puts a new spin on a crazy natural concept. Mashups galore.

M: This had a calm, very pleasing disposition. I didn’t dislike the mouthfeel and it seemed almost like a watered down jagermeister drink with disgetife particulars. I guess this was its best quality in the way that the engine was the best quality of the Dodge Neon Espresso. This reminded me of a super vegetal potion from an RPG that cures all ailments, but also inflicts MUTE. Something to that effect.

D: I guess this comes down to how off the beaten path you are. Do you go to burning man? Do you love non-corporate media? Well this isnt even for you, this is just bizarre. I have trouble rating it low due to innovation but it is just menacing, it attracted conversation but resoundingly everyone who tried this beer was inexplicably concerned that I enjoyed drinking this.

Moonlight usually drops mad lute, however, not a single minstrel to be found from this traveling company

Narrative: No one ever said that life as a level sixteen vegan paladin would be easy. Sure you are unable to expend excess calories due to co2 expirations, and sure you cant waste any biofuel….ANY BIOFUEL. But one treat is your old redwood ale, chipped consentially with the earth from chips and bark. Delicious. It just feels so good to know that you are violating the earth with your enjoyment with its consent. Sure it seems like a gladiola bed right in your mouth, but the offset is much more intangible. People always look askance at you in the produce aisle when you place your own for sale but…who are they to judge? The grassy nature is what you live for and…once you figure out a way for plants to pay for your Vassar degree…you will be all set.

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Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, Juicing those Nuts for their Brown Nectar

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Ah time for an ale throwback to revisit the old gateway drugs that get beer nerds hooked. It is usual the local pushers like Stone, Dogfish Head, Sam Adams or these guys. It would be a classic beer nerd form to look down on readily accessible beers and be a complete hater, however, that’s NOT HOW I ROLL. It can’t be walez all the time, gotta look back on solid nuts to know where you came from. Er, you know what I mean.

Old beers, new flows, shitty pics, good beer. Life is a juxtaposition.

Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, 6.x%, Brown Ale

A: Nice wood bark tones with lots of transparency and deep cedar hues. The carbonation is aggressive but calms down after it finds its car keys deep in the depths of the glass. There is fantastic lacing that creates little archipelagos to live on, I just want to point out that I spelled that without Microsoft word’s help, it’s the little victories people. You know what word.

hazelnut might not be my favorite flavor, but it beats ginger.

S: I get a huge waft of walnuts, smoked peanuts, and Amonds. They call them amonds because they shake the L out of them at harvest ti- alright fine. Moving on.

T: The taste is pretty light and imparts the same nutty, woody notes that are on the nose. No bait and switch taking place here, just solid old Rogue products. I enjoy the simplicity of it and assertive nature of the malt backbone. It feels like Newcastle’s over achieving little brother, who secretly pines for greatness. In terms of brown ales, a category that I don’t usually care to notice, this is about as good as it gets. It reminds me of how I remembered that the Toyota FJ Cruiser was a pretty cool SUV in a lineup of items that I usually reserve for total shitheads.

This takes me back to the good old days of deep secrets and fulfilling simplicity.

M: It is a bit watery on the front but it is an alluring methodology that this beer employs. The woody notes strike swiftly from the bushes with a great drying effect, leaving the consume helpless to aid his situation but by calling in more watery mouth front, which, at that point a full on Catch 22 is on and Joseph Heller can rest content at a shitty mixed metaphor having been executed horribly.

D: This is very drinkable and reminds me of Chimay Blue in many respects. I know the hardcore beer intelligensia will spit imperial stout all over their respective monocles, but, this realm is not well traveled and if you absolutely must go this route, this is a fantastic Sherpa.

Back in 2006 this beast was too shocking for most people.

Narrative: “Hazel nut, cobb nut, yeah, call me whatever you damn well feel like” Shellers gruffly responded while fashioning a shiv out of what appeared to be the husk of a deceased walnut. “I seen every damn nut in this place, aint a single one cracked old Shellers yet, and I dare them to try.” He meant this, without trepidation. Shellers ran the nuthouse with precision and deft brutality. He would push his fellow nuts to the top of the pile for wanting consumers to smash and grind into paste with joy. “YOU THINK I AM A NEW VARIETAL!?” he called out from the bottom of the bin, not a single nut moved a shell. “THAT’S RIGHT WHO SAID ANYTHING WHEN WE GOT INFECTED WITH XANTHOMONAS?” no one could respond, that crippling blight was both Sheller’s own device and saving grace. “THAT’S RIGHT ME! SO IF YOU WANNA END UP A CONFECTIONARY GOOD FOR AN ELDERLY PERSON. Go right ahead, I will personally see to it your soft shelled ass makes it right to the top.” Sheller’s use of bitter irony and entendre was too much sometimes, so soft and sweet in his interior, but hard coated in exterior.

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Highwater Retribution, IT IS TIME TO TAKE VENGEANCE ON THE WATER

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Alright, time to dust off an old review and try and make sense of the past. The Bruery told me to support this brewer and, if memory serves me right, he used to brew at Valley Brewing which made an incredible wild ale that few people tried. So here’s my tip of the cap to him, in today’s high handed high watery review. SCRATCH THAT BONUS REVIEW.

Some readers loved that MS Paint masterpiece I did for Founders Devil Dancer, so here you go, RETRIBUTION.

Highwater Brewing Retribution Imperial Pale Ale 9.5% ABV

A: Looks good, golden and amber notes, a burnt orange throughout, very similar to Pliny the Elder, suspiciously Pliniesque. There may be some elements of ancient romans within the lacing.

OK QUICK Q: How is a beer this 1) hoppy 2) strong and 3) inexpensive. Usually that shit is pick 2 and go to bed.

S: I love it when Imperial IPAs go the citrus route over a super heavy tomahawk/pine forward approach, it’s that genteel white glove treatment that keeps my bitter zones from being too skiddish on the first date. This has a more muted citrus profile than the best, but it is still present and accomplished. It smells like if Alpine Duet was vigorously scolded as a child or grew up in an oppressive Presbytarian household or something. Let those citrus notes free.

T: This has a fantastic taste of sweet drying orange rind on the first sip with a satisfying finish throughout. The problem is it feels like listening to your favorite album on ipod headphones. You want to tell it to let loose and embrace its hop profile. The tastes are there they just aren’t “big” enough, if we can break Kantian conception of time space. I mean, if you focus and seek them out, they are there but they just seem like they are up to malfeasance, curiously silent. You feel like something is up with these hops.

PROTIP: A beer this sessionable at this ABV may result in unwanted Jedi children.

M: Fan. Tastic. I love the drinkable character of this beer and the crisp thin nature is satisfying. I know some people will comment about how I slammed Dogfish Head’s Boring Baton for being too thin but this is a whole different story. When the hops deliver, albeit in a silent abused way, the maltiness doesn’t have to be the breadwinner of the family. This isn’t the maltiness show, the hops can pitch in around the house too once in a while.

D: The thin character with the nimble acidic hops give it a great get up and go. I love how it quenches and demolishes your taste buds at the same time. It is drinkable in the way spicy cheetos are edible, you keep drinking, harming yourself, and seeking more as a cure. I hope someone picks up this brewery on distribution because they are cheap and very well done. It may be that they get infected with Alipinitis and we see people swapping 24 packs of Furious for these sooner rather than later.

Solid thumbs up bro to this new brewery, do your thang player.

Narrative: “AND IF I EVER CATCH YOU PLAYING WITH THIS DAMN CHEMISTRY SET AGAIN REUBEN, THIS BELT IS COMING OFF!” The door slammed and little Reuben just clenched his jaw. Oh sure, sodium bicarbonate made in his own house, who was Reuben kidding? He sat there, conscious of his genius but rolled over on his Thundercats bedspread and wondered if anyone would take the time to read his algorithm that created a move paradigm for Magic: the Gathering cards. Everything that he touched became clearer and more accessible, if only his parents could see that. “NO MORE LINUX DISTRIBUTIONS REUBEN!” He remember his father’s words so well. Now when people asked Reuben what he was working on he would just shrug his shoulders and mutter “justacoldfusionreactorohitsnothing.” His genius remained latent for that one fertile bed of appreciation to accept him.

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Olde Hickory Imperial Stout, NOW MADE WITH 50% MORE HICKORY!

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So no secret here, Event Horizon was amazing. Olde Rabbits Foot was also sublime. BUT, what about this beer? Is this the base beer for Event Horizon? No. Does it carry the proud barrel aged lineage? No. Does it still have the ridiculous wax that is impossible to remove? Yes. Ok, let’s get it.

Removing that wax burned about 431 calories, so I should break almost even on this beast.

Olde Hickory Imperial Stout, 10.2% abv

A: This is a strangely thin imperial stout that has some amber and deep mahogany tones at the edges. I am not disappointed, I just expected more given the ornate wax and Victorian seal. Which, by the way, makes these bottles a coronation ceremony, or a bris. Depending on how adept you are. It has almost no lacing and is underwhelming on the carbonation.

This is how I envision North Carolina breweries spend their used mash. Then wrangle chickens around the lauter tun.

S: There is a ton of sweet notes and a cloying walnut that lingers around like a Boo in Super Mario 3. You try to confront the smell discretely and it covers itself in shame with coffee and chocolate notes.

T: For all the pageantry and wax bottles, this is a solid, normal imperial stout. It isn’t bad by any means but the outset is very sweet and nutty. The light boozy notes don’t resound, they hang out, admiring the architecture and solid construction of my palate, not really bothering anyone. A coffee dryness finally bounces them out, but elects to remain on the clock until the next sip. It is a cascading enterprise of people milking the clock, in this case, my mouth hole.

Time for maximum IMPERIAL STOUT OVERDRIVE.

M: It is pretty thin and splashy splashy for the high abv. I guess I don’t really need this walnut and peanut puree taste setting up shop but I was able to power through this like a diligent Alabama common law husband. You know what I am talking about. Part of the problem is I received this beer and Event Horizon at the same time. It’s like being asked to Sadies just a day prior by a slovenly hook toothed scallywag, when you are dreaming of sweet chocolate that could have been. This turned racial and dental very quickly.

D: This is very drinkable, in the respect that I am looking longingly to find another beer because these tastes aren’t a weekend friend taste, they are more of a coffee date taste. I appreciate this in small pours and wish that I brought this to a tasting but, alas, took this all to my dome piece. I wouldn’t discourage anyone from picking this up but, at the same time, they could presumably save time and money by pursuing other avenues.

Drink imperial stouts for a living? OUTSTANDING IDEA CHAP!

Narrative: “The quarterly file reviews? You KNOW I was on those, hey, go Rams!” Chance Masterson wryly smiled after darting around the corner of a cubicle. He pressed his back against the cool repose of a Fanta vending machine. “How long can I do this before they realize that I got kicked out of high school sophmore year for stowing weed in a Tool CD case?” “HEY CHANCE! You’re killing the office pool, you’re the GOLDEN BOY, can’t wait to see your powerpoint presentation next Tuesday, KILLING IT!” Tyler Derpings commented in passing. His time had faded, and now the ultimate charlatan had taken his place. “It’s not my fault really, my perfectly aligned bicuspids, my attention to minutia, natural effervescense. They practically wanted to hire a fraud.” He began to sweat along the collar of his counterfeit Ben Sherman suit. The forthcoming power point presentation was a quarterly analysis of all debentures and IRAs within the cost/benefit matrix. Perhaps lying about being both a CFA and MBA was not the best idea on his resume but, “hey, in a recession, you gotta shoot for the moon and if you hang out with the stars, then, people are still gonna hate on you” Chance approximated while he listened to the tick of an AC compressor begin to cool off some authentic Fanta.