Yearly Archives: 2012

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Troegs Nugget Nectar, Would an IIPA By Any Other Name Taste This Dank?

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Whenever I am confronted with an exceptional red ale, I always scratch my head and wonder who this hybrid style is aimed at. If you like hops, why not just brew a dank IPA? This top 100 red ale just crushes any other beers that approach the throne in this style. I guess variety is the spice of life and there are even degenerates who enjoy hoppy porters, so anything can happen if 50 fucked Vivica. Let’s grind some nuggets up and sip this sweet nectar.

If you have been fiending for hops, this will cure your blue nuggets.

Tröegs Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
American Amber / Red Ale | 7.50% ABV

A: Guess what, this has ruby notes at the edges and a medium mocha center to it. I bet you didn’t see the red notes nestled in there did you? A good looking beer with no lacing and solid carbonation.

This beer throws so many pinecones.

S: great big hop profile pine grapefruit, orange rind, the red is hidden in the malt in what would otherwise be an exceptional ipa, but if they say it is a red, shoot, who am I to object? Would a red by any other name, etc.

T: I have a hard time accepting this as a red given its hop profile. They should just call this an exceptional IPA and stop with the pageantry. Sure, you have the malts and all this yeast run around but I feel it is like when they put glasses and a ponytail on a really hot girl to set her out as a nerd. Problem is, beer drinkers, and adolescent youth (sometimes aligned) can see through these tactics. I want an unadulterated IPA, not this Red with her paint splattered overalls and beguiling Freddy Prinze Jr. crush. Call an IPA for what it is and she will love you more.

“Red ales are a fun style to enjo-” I don’t remember asking you a God damn thing. Red ales are for people who eat at B.J.’s not real binge drinkers.

M: Again, guess what, it has the mouthfeel of an IPA. This review feels like what Car and Driver must go through in reviewing the Firebird and the Camaro concurrently. It tastes like an IPA, it is an IPA, it’s here, it’s clear, get over it.

D: Picture a solid IPA, then add some mellowing malts to it and call it a red. There you go. It is exceptionally drinkable but its identity crisis warrants mentioning, over and over. I don’t know that this compels me to squeeze any nuggets, specifically, but its does make me wonder why this beer is not shipped to the California and we are left to sift through…oh wait…I see why this is not shipped to California.

“I like red ales because they are from Ireland, and so am I!!!” My face when-

Narrative: Jacob Walters could have showed up at Bull Run. He could have showed up at Appamaddox. As a union solider he basically could have enlisted wherever he was needed but, no, he held to his pride. You see, Jacob Walters preemptively joined the United State Air Force, a squadron that would not form until almost 100 years after he signed up for a union military. As a result, Jacob refused to fight in Antetam without aircraft, would not serve on Sherman’s march, absent air support, and was disinterested in any carpet bagging reconstruction unless he were flying a zepplin or a plane. He was a staunch air pilot and no civil unrest would wrench that from his grasp. If someone on the streets of Burmingham saluted him as an officer he would waft his hand and lightly reply “Red…I am a red…ale? Just call me RED ALE!” He was batshit crazy, but the military let him fly his ornithopter just the same.

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New Glarus Raspberry Tart, Get your Epipens, This is Going to Be a Sweet One

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People love this beer. Girls have 100% enjoyed this beer, every single time. Let’s clarify, not in a sexist generalization treating women as a homogenous group, I mean every girl that I have ever poured this for has really enjoyed it. I do not like this beer. When I am drinking beer, it is to forget about the puppy that urinates on everything in my life. When I am eating fruit, it is due to the guilt of drinking too much. Put simply, I don’t need these two worlds to collide in equal parity. New Glarus is the shit, but this beer is anything but. Anyway, step on these berries, let’s get it:

I lost my old pic of this beer, I took it with a Blackberry anyway, so you know that shit would have been in monochrome or something.

New Glarus Raspberry Tart 4.0% fruit beer

A: There is a deep ruby he that almost appears like a muted amber, huge deep red foamy carbonation that leaves very little lacing. There is miminal sheeting and this seriously just looks like a glass of juice or something you give to your toddler in a sippy cup. Hell, in Wisconsin, anything is possible. This beer is on some top 100 lists so apparently someone loves this beer. Some people liked the ending of Vanilla Sky too, fucked if I know.

I don’t know what needs more refinement, my palate or the gallons of fruit sugars in this beer. It’s perfect for the Wisconsin clubs, bottles in the basket pills in the plastic.

S: The bouquet smells overwhelmingly like raspberries, fruit preserves, sweet flowers, and a slight wine/cabernet finish. This is just already far too sweet, I can go buy a bag of Skittles, this just takes things to excessive levels.

T: The sweetness from the raspberries is present and accounted for, almost overwhelmingly. The sweetness has a cider character to it and subsides into an intense dryness with an incredible crisp finish like biting into a granny smith apple, only, raspberry.

I feel like I am too old for this beer or maybe it is reserved for people who read Marie Claire. The correlation is astounding.

M: The mouthfeel has zero coating, zero stickiness, and washes away crisp and clean. There isn’t a whole lot to comment on here since this beer barely toes inside the beer framework. I know there is a cadre of dedicated NG kids who love this beer, I am an adult, I don’t need to drink a cup of Torani syrup to enjoy a beer. Grow up, get high octane, or go the lambic route. This beer just wasn’t my jam, but I will preserve the record for others to PRODUCE.

D: If not for the sugary-juice overload, this would be a incredibly drinkable beer. It presents great utility to those “black sheep” or the XX chromosomal order who “don’t like beer” or “beer makes them feel bloated.” This is an undercover beer that emotes like a crisp cider and presents the ambrosial delight of a champagne. Strictly speaking, I wouldn’t buy this again or seek it out, but that’s largely due to the style. If I was on a boat with some dour faced sad girls, I would provide it like a benevolent Spuds Mckenzie.

This beer ganks your sweet zones with a robble robbel swag.

Narrative: ::TOOOOOT!!!:: the olde timey steam whistled hissed signaling the end of another shift. The stern overseer, Rose Juiceworthington, kept a watchful eye over the employees of the Smuckers’ canning line and made sure that her will was enacted to the T. “Williams! My office, NOW!” the loudspeaker boomed. Williams, soaked in mashed raspberries had a sweet winsome disposition, but a sordid past. “I have seen you down there, slowing on the mashing. . .what’s so funny?” Williams raised raised her glanced slowly, then swiftly smashed a can of raspberry preserves over Ms. Juiceworthington’s head, sending her cascading backwards into a molten pit of bubbling preserves. The gasps for breath made sweet gurgles and Williams nodded a sticky sweet approving nod, not to be confronted again.

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Hair of the Dog, Bourbon Fred from the Wood, I Think I Am Getting a Clue, Oh Wait It is Bourbon Wood.

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Hair of the Dog releases can get out of hand. The last time Adam from the Wood was released, everyone on the trading boards lost their shit and the traders who were sitting on entire cases could not be compelled to let bottles go. Well, some time has passed, wounds have healed, and livers have regenerated. This is the often overlooked analog to Adam from the Wood, Bourbon Fred. Apparently the first release had some carb issues and it affected the ratings but I can safely say that this 2012 release is incredible and it appears that the ratings are spiking harder than a 6 man tournament. Let’s get after it:

If you see Fred up in the club, hit him with a bourbon high five.

Hair of the Dog Brewing Company / Brewery and Tasting Room
Oregon, United States
American Strong Ale | 12.00% ABV

A: This isn’t the most beautiful beer that I have ever poured, but sometimes it is inside what counts. To my amazement, this beer was actually carbonated, unlike so many other Kuhnhenn and HotD offerings. Matt was flat, Adam has been tepid, but this just bursts with excessive lacing and frothy tiny bubbles. It was like every time that I had been burned by prior offerings was amended with this jam.

At 12% abv, this will hit you out of nowhere.

S: This is as barrel as it gets, you get coconut, macaroon, vanilla, sweet heat and nice sweet pancakes smell cum de IHOP. Whenever I see trifling ass beer blogs complain about heat on a BA beer, it is like someone complaining about an escort being “too forward.” That is what you paid for, peep game. This is ready to roll and at 12% abv, things could get way more twisted.

T: This is pretty easy to summarize, the castle door drops down and some gentle maple and Werther’s original flavors enter and then HOLY SHIT BOURBON IS RIDING AN ELEPHANT. There is a harem of servants casting vanilla and sweet oak chips to the clamoring masses. The bourbon is so far forward that it is in the engine compartment. No punchlines, no riddles, I am talking white squares with a stamp in the middle.

This beer rocks crazy vanilla, but is smooth as hell. Word to your mother.

M: This has an incredible dryness but also a sticky malt that pulls from both ends like a sorority tug of war. You are up in your glass communicating with the bourbon like Michael and KITT, perfectly integrated. This leaves residual sugars lingering and nice sheeting of alcohol to think about. The 12’s up in your mouth leave that palate shaking like it got Parkinson’s Disease, but it is so damn fulfilling.

D: If you are accustomed to merking Buffalo Trace to the skull, this might be your session beer. For most people, this is too big, too sweet, too complex, and too heated to session up on, however, the 12oz single is a solid banger. If this was in a bomber you’d be forgetting to pick your kids from school, taking apart the VCR and shit.

I just want moar.

Narrative: It was hard for Malcolm Rogers to relate to the guys. They always rooted for the Big 10, what with him and his fencing hobby, he felt a bit outside the ranks. However, there was one thing that Malcolm could consistently offer that would bring even the most stalwart of opposition to its knees: “DID SOMEONE SAY TOTINOS PIZZA ROLLS?” It did not matter the class, creed, or character of his guests; once those preservative laden rolls hit the table, things were off of the hook, hinges and heezy concurrently. No one really thought much about Malcom’s job, or his background. While others traded people on their fantasy teams, he would swirl 18 year bourbon in a bucket and ruminate on habbedashery. He was too classy and refined for his own good. He made horrible fantasy draft picks based on name alone, and his antechamber smacked of Anthropologie; but they tolerated him. His sweet decadent pizza rolls wafted through the KB Home, securing his eschelon amongst the bretheren.

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Maui Brewing Onion Mild, A BEER THAT WILL MAKE YOU CRY

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Today I am phoning it in with an old ass review. No one reads this site on the weekends anyway and frankly, you aren’t worth it. This beer is from Maui Brewing Company and, as far as I know, it doesn’t make it off the islands. I went to Maui and tried this strange anomaly while I was there. This is brewed with white Maui onions and, you can imagine what this tear jerker tastes like:

I lost the picture of the beer, enjoy a picture of some onions.

Maui onion mild 4.8% abv

A: Deep brown like an Altbier, but much thinner in character. The lacing is moderate with huge carbonation. If you didn’t know what was going on, you might think this was an amber ale, BUT YOU WOULD BE FUCKING WRONG.

I went to Maui and drank crazy ass beers, u mad bro.

S: This has caramel onions throughout, steak and toasted maltiness, it feels like a Mortons Steakhouse like an epic malted Gose with huge stickiness. If you were a 7th grader, your parents would smell this on you a mile away. One of a kind finish and smell. I ordered a Growler for myself just to relive the experience on the mainland. Epic scent.

T: It starts simply enough with a mild sweetness similar to a brown al- OH MY GOD YOU HAVE JUST ENTERED ONION PURGATORY. There is no escape, everything you touch and taste will be onion until your cells die off. The taste of this beer is similar to a Bloomin Onion from Outback Steakhouse, yes that outback, and pureed into liquid form. You get the roasted herbal dryness from the onions, with an odd burnt sweetness. Again, this is just relentless in scope and form.

Maui is all about sun, beer, and falling face down. Smelling like onions while doing that is just pushing things too far.

M: The mouthfeel is slim and watery until the evil genie of onion hatred is uncorked and unveils its evil designs on your social life. You could drink this all day long with its light coating and ABV, but the onion is a stern overlord requiring you to, specifically, spawn more overlords.

D: This is a tough call because I want to say that its delicious taste and light character belongs on a boat etc. but I have a legitimately hard time recommending this to someone in a huge quantity. I had 3 pints of it and I still sweat onion enzymes. I feel like a walking pool of magnesium. If your life can tolerate the smell and vices associated with onion addiction, I.e. you work at El Pollo Loco or Rubios, then by all means, endulge.

I smuggled this back into the mainland in my suitcase. Fuck da TSA.

Narrative: Warren only cried at weddings. And airplane movies. And swapmeets. In theory Warren cried a lot. In practice, this was involuntary. You see, poor Warren was born with defective tear glands. His negligent mother consumed onions day in and out with little Warren, as a fledgling seed in the womb. As a result, Warren would cry at the most commonplace occurrences. Some would see it is a defect, but you should see the look on his supervisor’s face when Warren would ebullient express tears of joy at the sight of fresh bagels in the break room. “Here I was just….looking at these OSHA posters and then, Alan goes and does all THIS!” He sobs gesturing towards the meager spread of picked over pastries. “This is all JUST TOO MUCH!”

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Cascade Strawberry, Just Kiss Me Through the Phone Strawberry Style

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Oh Cascade, you can be so helpful, or such a difficult minx. Sure, you offer most of your amazing sours online for purchase and that is as awesome as it comes. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER RELEASES? Then I have to actually go and FIND a PERSON to go get them for me. This is one such beer. What will I do when Figaro drops? What will I do then? Anyway, this brewery has a pretty stellar record for knocking out incredible sours like oh I don’t know:

Remember this club banger? Me either.

Anyway, so we have done cherries, we have done apricots, now let’s taste that sweet sticky strawberry. Things are getting sexy up on this page.

Don’t eat the green part of this beer, it makes you pregnant.

Cascade Brewing / Raccoon Lodge & Brewpub
Oregon, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV 7.39%

A: This has a nice radiant glow of deep amber and orange with a slight pinkish hue like rose`, Trey Songs be pouring up cups in the club. There’s minimal lacing and the carbonation is there but doesn’t show off. It posts in the corner just whittling a little wispy white profile.

Age probably won’t change this beer. It will still be strawberries and acidity 15 years from now.

S: This has an incredible berry profile with fresh skins, nice strawberry juiciness, kinda has a stripper scent to it, you know that pink dust that you can never get off of your clothes, I mean, not me, but I have heard. Smells like Bath and Body works meets a Farmer’s Market. The whole endeavor feels exceedingly gentle like a tableshower. You just Googled that shit.

T: This follows the traditional lactic Cascade formula and, while it usually works, this mutes the fruits and makes this come off as a kind of a generic tartness that could be really anything. I love the finish and the dryness but the whole strawberry aspect of this takes a backseat to the abusive acidic boyfriend that tells her what to wear and who she can have in her phone. This isn’t the best Cascade that I have had, but it is still a pretty dank offering. This tastes strangely similar to Sans Pagaie, so you Bruery lovers, just pop that and use your imagination. Feel me.

This is sour.

M: This has a nice prickly acidity that stings and delivers along the gumline but doesn’t take things to the Weyerbacher Riserva levels. It is balanced and pleasant to enjoy. I could see myself reading Parade magazine and drinking this, in about 50 years when my life has become meaningless. There’s a nice chardonnay quality and I am sure you could get a Delta Gamma pretty drilled off of this, but that’s not a feat to record in the annals. No typo.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and doesn’t give me the lambic guts. I enjoy just sitting back, listening to Diplo, mashing on some berries and wasting the night away. Your mileage may vary, you could show this to your friends and they think your dick is small, bent, and dark. Who knows. Final verdict: other Cascades are more accessible, and probably better, but this is still a BERRY GOOD BEER.

Sometimes I think my readers aren’t even strawberrying.

Narrative: Most exotic dancers don’t plan things as far in advance as Jezebel. Well, for starters, her legal name was “Jezebel” and that should show her parents’ limited knowledge of the Old Testament. She was All State in Hurdles and got 5’s on 6 different Advanced Placement tests, this was all a part of her grand design. “But why for you are to be in dancing and not in the college making?” her scarcely bilingual Ukranian co-worker once importuned. “Well you see, the State is broke, the Federal Government wants to offer me high interest loans, and desperate Cuban men pay hard cash immediately that is untaxed and does not need to be amortized,” Jezebel explained. “Oh, I am to like dancing but also would like to be making bakery,” Svetlana insightfully added. Some would look with an ill repute and disdain upon Jezebel’s Keynesian economic theory, but she studied during the day while her clientele were nursing their hangovers and danced at night for cold hard currency that she put in a Roth IRA to drive down her capital gains. Smelling like strawberry lip gloss all the time was not easy, but she was a refined exotic, yet entirely approachable in sum and substance.