Whale wale whael. What do we have here? This is another in the inimitable Veritas series (insert V009 qualifier.) So this beer came FREE with some bourgeois dinner and you could even buy a second bottle at this F Scott Fitzgerald ass event. i think the bottle count is something like 200ish on this so, haters gonna hate.
The Lost Abbey
California, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 8.00% ABV
A: This has that classic Duck Duck murky turbid hay yellow aspect to it like a hateful saison full of acidic rage. This has great carbonation and foamy carbonation that clings lightly.
S: lots of funk, apricot, tannins and peach acidity. There’s a mild leather note, and a deep oakiness that compliments the acidic profile. There’s a lot going on, but the Peach just gets pushed under the bed like worn old Hustler issues.
T: This goes incredibly sour out of the gates and almost neglects the fruit notes in a Cascade sort of way. Things are very lactic and push out granny smith apples, peaches, pluots, kumquots and other uots. The sweetness lingers for a fleeting second, but more sourness comes in to beat its ass right away.
M: the mouthfeel is drier than anticipated, light and crisp like biting into an anjou pear, that has been dipped in lemon juice. It is the “Bowser” in the Kart Racer sense, huge acidity top speed and no cornering. This is not an entry level drug into pediococcus, you couldn’t just slip it in without her knowing, assuming that is your modus operandi, clandestine bacteria provisions on the reg.
D: With the acidity and tart brackish finish pulling this overhyped sled, i dont feel that it is exceptionally drinkable. I dont finish a 750ml and wish for another. Let me clarify, I want plenty of these in my cellar because they are amazing, but drinking them backtobacktoback like racksonracksonracks is not what I am looking for. Certainly not an Aladdin’s lamp, just an intense acidic fruit packing factory that has been overrun by barnyard animals. If you are a jamba juice crank fiend or enjoy musky lemonade, here is your apricot jam.
Narrative: “Heeeyyyyy kids, welcome to Papa Crispy’s funtime hayride! Best farm ride in th-” “No, please, we have already been through this, we just want to relax.” For the love of God, another rustic hayride, I didn’t think that these would wear heavy on the nerves but, how many times can you ride in the bed of a flatbed truck. “NOOOOO THIS ONE IS SPECIAL IT HAS LOTS OF INTERESTING ANIMALS AND FUNKY THINGS TO SEE WHY I BET THAT-” My eyes begin to glaze over as we visit the same tired goat exhibit, remniscient of Aunt’s past, the same tired geese aviary, their bleating calls metronomic and underscoring the adventure. “WHY AND IF YOU LOOK OVER THERE, SOME LEPRECHAUNS ARE HAVING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE!” wait what, what did he just say? I am frantically searching for the advertised amazing spectacle that was promised, where are these leprechauns? Oh, I get it, another gimmicky hayride with some imaginary funk to it. That’s pretty low to offer leprechaun orgies knowing you can’t deliver that filthy pot of gold. At least I have this pile of hay to lay upon until this stupid ride is over. Farmhouse funk indeed.