Happy New Years eve. No one is reading this shit because they are all out at Forever 21 buying stupid sequin dresses or racks and racks of InBev products to usher in a January of broken resolutions and 11 months of self medicating by pushing lasagna into their gullets. Don’t worry, I will be here for you. Today’s review is of the elusive LeBlue from Ithaca up in New York.

Ithaca Beer Company
New York, United States
American Wild Ale | 5.40% ABV

A: The appearance of this beer leans toward the goozey with a dull radiance and some wispy carbonation that peaces out like when parents roll up to a Mormon dance. There is a pencil lead crackle to this and no real lacing to speak of, but the old AWA was never the bulwark of foamy excesses, go to Saisonland if you want that ride. My saddle is waiting, ride it, jump on it.

S: This doesn’t put that fruit foot forward, and I dare say I am not receiving Fruit by the Foot or any unit of measurement. My experience has usually been that those gentle blueberry skins and juice profile largely get wiped out by more lactic base beers or they dominate shitty wheat profiles like SeaDog and Wachussett This shit or this jammy jammer or even this elusive berry stomper. This is no exception and the lactic profile kinda has the dominating lactic profile that Cascade sometimes pushes onto its addicts, but in a more refined manner. You get a light berry profile, but it is buttressed by acidic balustrades and not unlike the Medici era paintings, it is difficult to all take in at one time. I would like some more fruit, but I also want a substantial sour punch to it, and this execution favors the latter at the expense of the former. Everybody’s nips be still all blasting though, halfmast with anticipation.

T: This further confirms my prior suspicions and essentially presents itself as almost lambicesque in execution with light fruiting in the aromatics and in the finish. You get lemon pulp, grapefruit dryness, a ripe tangelo with oakiness maintaining the oeuvre. Finally, at the close of the third act, blueberry sheepishly walks in and ties everything together with some flavors that seem natural and gentle not like that “OOPS ALL BERRIES” sort of synthetic adjunct bullshit that other breweries (Hey, Shipyard, listen closely) USE THAT EVERYONE FUCKING HATES. I don’t want a shot of torani into a janky lager, I want real fucking berries. I know because I made a shitty bleuberry lambic and forced it on my friends, much to their chagrin. I have seen some shit in the produce aisle.

M: This is dry but doesn’t start tearing at my gumline, it has the AWA presence that gives a balance to the acidity with the yeast chewiness to add a layer of depth beyond just loose butthole palate scorching that some lactic lambics set forth. It is better as a result. That being said, don’t expect that blueberries to save you, you will need a glass of water with this otherwise cankersores are forthcoming. Not HSV, CANKERsores, you assholes.

D: This is very drinkable if it is the only thing that you are setting out to drink on a balmy evening. I mean that this will accomplish two things if you attempt to mix and match other beers with it: 1) your palate will be pretty fatigued after this and your bitter/sweet zones will be taxed harder than Scandinavian prostitutes. 2) this is pretty dry and you will likely grind your bicuspids and swallow a good portion of the inside of your face as a result. If the flavor profile is worth it to you, or if you are doing a lame 19 person tasting where you have .8 oz of it to brag to your other beer friends who really don’t give a fuck about your untappd account or your janky ass tumblr account, because seriously, why would they want to read that shit- wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, this is good in moderation or as the only beer, given its dominating profile.

Narrative: Dexter Natbony reclined in his supple calfskin office chair and looked upon the 14 monitor display at the YouTube videos cascading in, faster than he could even count. “This is sweet and yet so bitter at the same time, I LOVE IT!” Dexter exclaimed and popped a berry into his mouth. He was the mastermind behind a secret private interest coalition to ensure the lowering of teenager self esteem across the United States. This initiative was backed by Olay, Kraft, Tony Horton, and Neutrogena, among others. Dexter’s newest brainchild was to upload a torrent of “AM I PRETTY?” videos to Youtube, and watch the backlash from users and copycats alike. The posters were sweet in demeanor and usually sought some kinda of validation for their shitty lack of depth and hormonal imbalances. The balance of the sweet was kept in check by bitter comments from other insecure people, pushing the flotsam levels to critical acrimonious depths. “IT IS FOOLPROOF, these girls will hate themselves and in turn hate on one another,” Dexter quipped to his hairless Sphinx cat while savoring a tart smoothie. It was this balance of sweet and bitter that allowed cockmouthed corporations to control insecure individuals, keep them oppressed, bitter, and longing for the sweetness delivered in simplistic RomCom plots. For only with the promise of sweet, could the bitter be tolerated to this degree.