This is the worst Three Floyd’s beer that I have ever had. That isn’t to say that this is a bad beer, it’s just that Three Floyd’s is so consistently good that, when I stumbled upon this style that I already do not enjoy, it was made even more clear. So let’s get loose with it and let Bruce Bruce hit it in today’s review.

Three Floyd’s Robert the Bruce
Scotch Ale, 6.5% abv

A: There is a murky deep mahogany that almost comes off as black but the light reveals the deep almond hues. There is little carbonation, and not much lacing. Sorry to wake you up BRUCE, sorry for bothering your WITH MY FRIENDSHIP.

S: There is some oakiness, some turbinado sugar, a tiny waft of whisky notes and overall a very mild disposition on the nose. The inoffensive light caramel is gentle and understated, not the flavor bombs that 3 Floyd’s usually drops on their consumers. Maybe the subtlety is in the taste?

T: Wrong again. The taste mirrors the smell and imparts a woody taste with some smokiness and overall just malts for days. This is not exceptionally chewy but the malt complexity makes you wonder what the grain bill on this beer looks like. It almost has a cigar smoke tobacco taste to it, which I am assuming is smoked chocolate malts or something to that effect. The hops are there in a very faint way, if only to make this beer taste like it isn’t just completely charred.

M: The mouthfeel isn’t sticky and for all the flavors that the malts impart, it isn’t that chewy or expansive. The thing you are overridingly left with is a bittering from charred malts that tastes similar to well done ribs. The oaky notes underscore this and make the beer even more drying instead of sticky in its finish.

D: I didn’t really enjoy this beer. This is the first beer from 3 Floyd’s that I have ever had that I did not enjoy. It is acceptable for the style but I feel as though they were treading outside of their element, with lackluster results. It isn’t a bad beer by any means but, I certainly wouldn’t seek it out beyond testing it out as an extra. You can do worse for this style, but you can do a lot better overall.

Narrative: “Bob, BOB, this is a break room, not a god damn comfort inn, put the OSHA posters up and get back to work.” Robert knew that something was amiss. His avid Christianity seemed to have missed a mark in his previous life, he awoke confused just hours ago within Pizza Party Land, as an assistant manager. “Fie, but canna ye know as to waere mae family bae?” he questioned imploringly and looked around dazed from the new shock of this reincarnation. Just moments ago he was leading his men on a Holy War, reuniting Scotland and declaring his people’s independence, now he was taking a ten. “Your family? God damnit Bob, just clock back in and restock the token machines in Gametopia, we are short staffed today and I don’t have time for your games,” Sheila sternly commented and walked away speaking into a walkie talkie. “Aye, tis a strange betiding, praeth as to wha ere aye be.” At his core, Robert the Bruce was misinformed of the tenants of christian doctrine. When his heart was reburied in Melrose Abbey, his body was reassigned to a compatible spiritual equivalent core. “Too kains,” Robert muttered and thumbed the medallions like Spanish doubloons. From national hero to assistant manager in the matter of centuries, just another day in the life of a god damn Bruce.