Midnight Sun Brewing Berserker, For Those Times When You Go Berkskerk

Midnight Sun beers are so damn good, so damn far away, so expensive, and not the easiest beers to lock down. Let’s be honest. We haven’t harassed our Alaskan neighbors since that barfly review. Well this is an analog to that beer in many ways, while not as .rar, I actually enjoy this coffee beast more. This is bourbon, coffee, maple, red wine and everything fine all rolled into one. Let’s start drilling for imperial oil in today’s review.

So many words up on that label, so many flavors all up in my face.

Midnight Sun Brewing Co.
Alaska, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 12.70% ABV

The label rages on:

“Vicious and viscous, this menacing brew pours opaque black with a creamy maduro-colored head. Its aroma offers seductive whiskey, chewy red wine, dark fruit and lavish tobacco. Berserker Imperial Stout invades your taste buds with in-your-face flavor. Weighing in at almost 13% alcohol by volume, Berserker is completely out-of-control. Give it a good fight. Berserker Imperial Stout was aged in both red wine and whiskey barrels.”

A: This is to the numbers an imperial stout through and though. Just look at that, it looks like press pot coffee mixed with triple brownie batter ice cream. The mocha head lets you know that the malts went through some serious dark ended shit in that 120 minute boil. The lacing is tremendous and the carbonation rises to the top despite thick sticky adversaries holding it back like a bunch of bubble haters.

This comes across like a progressive spin on something that you feel like you’ve experienced before. The result is a refreshing new experience.

S: This imparts a deep coffee, merlot, leather, oak, sweet milk chocolate, there is some char and roastiness but at least this beer has the decency to hide it and doesn’t just wave it around like Barfly sees it fit to do. The whole affair is welcoming but incredibly complex. This is an amazing beer and all I am doing it snorting rails of carbonation.

T: This goes overboard in every area like on Diddy Kong Racing when you unlock Drumstick. You get deep caramel and vanilla from the bourbon, then milk chocolate starts slapping titties, tobacco puts a cigar out in your vodka soda and red wine strides in looking like Prince in mink coat. The whole entourage is menacing but welcome, like those Thing 1 and 2’s that break all your shit, but rhyme the entire time.

uniting bourbon, red wine, and coffee is like discovering the triforce of imperial stouts.

M: This is incredibly viscous and shoulders the ranks of Abyss and Huna with that deep oily murkiness that only the most hardened BP workers can be cajoled into talking about. You take a sip of this, might as well just call in sick to work, you will look like a boozy asshole. Why are you drinking this in the morning anyway? After a full bomber of this, you can just listen to Purity Ring and stare at some shitty Z Gallerie artwork because nothing else is going to seem relevant after what your mind and palate just went through.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, without qualifier. I know it is huge, boozy, chocolatey, chewy, and almost 13%. You can finger your own dick hole if you disagree, this stout just goes HAM and doesn’t care who knows it. I would advise seeking out a ton of this, but the trading curve has already taken off sky high, so good luck with that one.

This beer is huge, brash, but endlessly entertaining.

Narrative: The bubbles danced menacingly in front of your face as you watched the others propel themselves effortlessly through the water. Your cephalopoda eyes glow red with rage at the sight of their white, thin streamlined bodies. you were born this way, to harbor the maddening palour of a quadruple sized ink pouch. It is your scarlet, jet black A in your inner bladder. The most irksome, blackest squid in the sea, reviled by your contemporaries you lazily chug through the molasses emitting from your pores. Your beak grits haughtily in their wake, knowing their fortune, a grim death in indonesian nets. Alaskan squid are the most relentless indeed. Your wring your tentacles, obsidian in pigment, thinking of their light flesh reflecting the rays of angled sunlight from above. You could follow them in their trivial, fleeting existence, but you weren’t suited for that life. you were suited for the depths, the cold darkness, colder than your metabolic slowdown, colder than the oppressive atmospheric pressure. In a blast of thick enveloping ink you become one with the darkness and embrace your pure nature, a creature of the depths, all 8 legs propelling towards your destiny.

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