Yearly Archives: 2012

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Cantillon Fou Foune, Loonz Beside Me, Swerving Through Traffic with my Founes Behind Me

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Enough killing off 2 liter growlers like Spaniards and Native Americans, time to get back to our Belgian roots. I don’t need to really say anything about this beer 1) it is Cantillon 2) it is their inimitable apricot fruited lambic, Fou Foune. People always get their stone fruits all juiced whenever this beer gets brought up, opened, or even discussed. I once took this to Cabo and drank it on the Tropic of Cancer, and it was an Italian bottle of Foune. So that means it went from Belgium, to Italy, to Ireland, to Florida, to California, to Cabo San Lucas. That beer is more well-traveled than most Americans from Alabama. Anyway, let’s get that juicy juice in today’s review:

Sipping Foune in Cabo, well this Friday now appears immeasurably shittier.

It’s like in Cold Mountain when Jude Law looks a pic of his long lost love and, wait what-

Fou Foune
Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 5.00% ABV

A: This has that classic turbid Cantillon straw meets orange juice sort of pulpiness to it, but the frothy carbonation seems inviting like a water park that is just clean enough to seem legit. The lacing is minimal but, did you really expect some massive frothy nitrogen head? You unrealistic bitch.

Send her an apricot lambic, girls be loving apricot lambics.

S: I can’t begin to tell you how amazing this beer smells just short of taking you to a Kentucky apricot orchard and rubbing sweet straw in your face. Maybe pull a Jansport backpack over your head, squeeze a bit of peach and crabapples onto your face, get things real tawdry up in this mix. That’s essentially the experience, but is it ever inviting. Some people like aging this, other haters just open it fresh and let God sort it all out. I have had both, EVEN ON DRAFT, and it is amazing regardless of circumstance.

T: This takes the old lactic base and musky wet leaves from the OG gueuze and dials things up a notch to a nice apricot meets acidity level that is impressive through and through. There’s an intense apricot skin and dryness that hits your gumline with nana’s peach preserves in town and light sort of biscuit quality that just gets its head held underwater mercilessly by the delicious acidity.

Fou is like an old friend who comes back from the past to warn you about a Founeless future.

M: This is crisp and dry like biting into a granny smith apple that happens to be coated in chardonnay and peach jam. The balance is incredible despite the excoriating acidity, and the 750 never lasts as long as you expect. I would suggest seeking some out but most trades for this beer are one way streets. It is an anomalous situation where people trade for Fou, but no one ever gives up a Foune. FEEL ME.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and will give you gurgle guts on par with the State Fair. But like the deep fried Pepsi, it is entirely worth it. This is a world class fruited lambic and it is better than Blabaer. I said it. I defy you to find someone who believes differently.

Running out of Foune is strangely disturbing.

Narrative: Kelly Chancery seemed sweet enough. She gave her friends rides to school in her lemon yellow Mini Cooper, never asked for gas money, and even tutored the water polo athletes due to their abject inability to circumscribe triangles. Deep down, she hated each and every one of them. At age 12 her parents sent her to a strict Belgian exercise summer camp. She was served nothing but overly ripe pitted fruits and engaged in vinegar diets and extensive cleanses. Her taste buds were so badly burned in the enterprise that she returned a jaded, bitter shell of herself, figuratively and literally. “Hey Taeler! Hop on it! Are those Rock N REPUBLIC!? OMG you are such a hot BITCH!” she quipped and stared down her brow as she grinded her mandible. The tiny convertible held 50 lbs of explosive materials and ammonia nitrate in the trunk. She sucked deeply onto her Lemon Sucrets and waited for that sour day that she would burn them all. Kelly Chancery only seemed sweet enough, she was sour to the core.

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Minneapolis Town Hall Brewery, Three Hour Tour, For People Who Like to Drink Milk Stouts While Shipwrecked

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Another 2 liter, draft only adventure? That’s how we do it on this site, always on the grizzy. Anyway, this little gem pops its head up once a month on the top 100 and has consistently solid ratings so what’s a ticker to do, for every thousand I rate, another relative sues. Someone told me that they only filled 50 growlers of this, so guess we have another draft only rarity on our hands. Just another day on this site, I know. A gracious CO local hooked up this MN growler and I gave it the business and was left with a sticky sweet milk stout mustache. Does my body good.

I would need more than just 2 liters of beer if I was going on a Three Hour Tour. Step up your oceanic mariner game, Minnesota.

Three Hour Tour
Minneapolis Town Hall Brewery
Minnesota, United States
Milk / Sweet Stout | 6.10% ABV

A: This is going to be a huge shocker, it is a lightly frothy baby stout with wispy carbonation and playful little baby duck carbonation that bobs in the quay. Just look at it, it is too adorable to finish an entire growler of. After taking down 20% beers, a 6% stout feels like something you drink in between racquetball sets or during a crossfit workout. It has dark hues at the center and light mocha at the edges, adorable all around.

This beer reminds you of sweet things from your childhood, only…different…

S: This is sweeeet. Maybe even more “e”‘s are warranted. There’s definitely the lactose element and it comes across as a achingly decadent milk chocolate like those janky chocolate rabbits you get at easter time. Shit gets Cadburry real quick with a mild coconut and vanilla batter aspect. This doesn’t scream stout, it calls out cocoa liqueur.

T: This is light and again, just a diabetic’s worst nightmare, sticky cavity inducing sugars through and through. The sweetness came off as a bit synthetic with this sort of oiliness in the finish that just seemed out of place for a milk stout at 6% abv. You get the chocolate and the Nestle Quik thing going on and the finish is like an Almond Joy that went through the wash, crumpled up in your JNCO jeans.

I find myself questioning the authenticity of the coconut in earnest.

M: This is incredibly light but at the same time spraypaints a line of glucose all the way down your throat so that you aren’t super stoked to take the next shockingly sweet sip. I can handle sweet stouts, I take 50/50 Eclipse to the face like a Brazzer’s video, but when you don’t have a solid malt base to level things out, it comes across like chocolate Kool-Aid with far too many residual sugars. I dislike char in general, but this needed something to level the 6-4 frame out to keep on rolling on those 808 drums.

D: This would be exceptionally drinkable in every aspect if not for the cloying sweetness. You know those was bottles with the juice in them? The juice is great, but you dont need all this pageantry when you just want juice. Similarly, if you stripped out this adjunct coconut aspect, you would have a solid porter, and I would be fine with that. This was just too much for my childish palate and reminded me of Darklord 64.

Tickers be so quick to upload beer complaints. I will upload my beer diploma never.

Narrative: “Dr. Ira? The Kensington boy is waiting for you in bay 4,” the dental technician called and pulled the x-rays for Dr. Ira to review. “God. Damnit,” Ira stated to himself as he looked upon the monochrome disaster. It was like this every 6 months, the tattered enamel looking more porous and similar to a drive by shooting in an MS13 neighborhood. “Well Brayden, I don’t need to tell you anything you don’t know. Have you been using ACT as we discussed?” Brayden folded his arms and wiped a streak of milk chocolate from his stained lips. He looked as though he ate a box of Milk Duds just prior to walking into the office. “Well Brayden, you see, your teeth, you have them for your entire life and that means-” as he continued Brayden pulled out a Fundip and began judiciously applying coats of powdered sugar to his teeth as the fluoride was washing away. “This child has no regard for his dental well being, he cares only for the sweet decadence of mandibular destruction!” Dr. Ira called out in a strangely effusive manner to the other Chatsworth Dental patients.

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Dark Horse Monster29, Two Liters of 20% Abv Double Barleywine to the Dome Piece

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I know what you are thinking, “a DOUBLE barleywine? What manner of chicanery is this?” Fear not, I have this one under control. This beer is a brewery only, growler only release from Dark Horse. Why this brewery chose to growler a 20% abv beer in two liter format is beyond me but, here we are. I am told something to the tune of 30 growlers of this were filled and it was $50 a fill, so this was quite an undertaking. This is not an iced beer, just straight up doubled down barleywine, so let’s get to it.

No need to worry, this is just another monster.

Dark Horse Brewing Company
Michigan, United States
American Barleywine | 20% (?) 17.50% ABV (?) There are conflicting reports and I am unaware if this was lab tested. Either way, God damn.

A: Just look at that tepid inky blackness. The growler leaked en route from Michigan and getting even a drop of this mahogany darkness on your skin is like tattoo ink or that black stuff from Pirates of Dark Water. There is little carbonation to speak of but just look at that sheeting. The clear alcohol on the glass takes everything like 16th century prelates. There is no lacing, no embroidery, no quilting to tell old Gam Gam about. This beer has zero fucks to spare.

Spread that sticky double barleywine all over the place.

S: The bouquet is outrageously sweet, with notes of caramel, oak, bourbon, vanilla, toffee, and Heath bars. I must reiterate: this beer is NOT ice distilled. Furthermore, it is not even barrel aged, but I am told that Dark Horse has sinister plans of actually barrel aging this beast and unleashing it upon the Michigan public to determine the extent that their livers can withstand. Detroit is basically the nation’s haunted house, so I am confident that this beer will not shake things up in that region.

T: This has an initial huge sweetness that is similar to charred brown sugar, maple syrup, mocha caramel, and some sticky light pine at the backend. This is a complete monster through and through. I shared this at the Bruery with the staff that had just finished the 19.x% batch of Black Tuesday from this year and everyone in attendance was mystified at this beer. This drinks in a manner leaning towards liqueur in the intense booziness and sticky residual sugar profile. I spread this around the attendants of the tasting room like a DUI Fairy, blessing each participant with court sanctions classes and bus rides.

Take this to a club. Share with size 00 women. Post results.

M: This is incredibly sticky and lingers for a long time after the finish. I drank about 12oz of this and that was an incredible feat given the complexity, sweetness, and downright booziness. This is not exceptionally difficult to drink, but it will put you directly to bed. You don’t get the alcoholic burn that you would be expecting from a Manticore of this proportion, but it will still light up your chest like E.T.

D: This is a highly nuanced beer that can be enjoyed completely flat and at room temperature, that being said, this is not exceptionally drinkable. I can only imagine the marketing meeting at Dark Horse where they decided that 64oz growlers were the appropriate serving size for this Chimera. I am glad to have tried it but it was on the upper end of what I can tolerate. I have to remind you, this is reviewing it in light of TNP, Five Squared, Double Black, and the other “ultra-beers” that I have tried. This warrants an entirely new style classification. In sum, a great beer that should be shared without hesitation.

If you open up a 2 liter growler of this, the time for fucking around has long since elapsed.

Narrative: Clarence Cimmerian was born in Madison County, Illinois to humble beginnings. The water birth was a success and he shed the successive husks of his nascent shell in accordance with the waning of the lunar cycles, as was tradition with the broodlings in his bloodline. His foster parents weren’t sure exactly how to treat him, what with his 7 clicking sticky mandibles and front hooves oozing acrimonious gel. Sure, he was a “monster” in the loosest sense, but what is a monster but that which has not been classified? The Cimmerians patted his smooth carapace and handed the sack lunch to one of his writhing metatarsus and motioned for him to board the bus. His compound lenses scanned his classmates and excreted a putrid larvae onto the classroom floor, for first grade was even more taxing for the dark grub harvester, Prince of a thousand reliquaries.