Yearly Archives: 2012

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Alpine GREAT Barleywine, For Those Times When Good Barleywine Just Wont Cut It

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Mad props to DJ Butters for this one, a long time wanter, first time drinker. I had this the night I got engaged, I was feeling GREAT. This beer calls back to fonder days of Alpine Brewing’s barrel aging program when it wasn’t managed by the Stone BA IRS oversight committee, too soon? Anyway, let’s start feeling hella GREAT so we can keep on dancing.

This beer is GREAT. The coffee in the background was just good.

Alpine Beer Company
California, United States
American Barleywine | 14.00% ABV

A: This is a turbid but milky little beast that lazily pours out of the bottle with low carbonation and zero fucks to be given. The hazy brown stares back at you and makes a nice little constellation of bubbles that foretell your impending doom. The lacing has a tough time sticking to edges because of the nice sheeting of clear alcohol on the edges pushing the malt crabs back down to the bucket.

This may originally be an English style, but ‘Merica be doing it more better.

S: This has a great smell to it, despite the age and the nose bump set spikes vanilla, caramel malts, oak, macaroom, light coconut and a hint of booziness that has been running the yard inside the bottle for years making people hold its malty pocket.

T: This beer is an automatic DUI machine. The taste has a slight hint of booze but imparts a generous amount of caramello, plum, dark fruits, and bourbon like a massive quad with a sweet entourage. I can see things getting dangerous real quickly with this beer, ex-girlfriends will be texted, the entry way will be soaking wet, these are all side effects of drinking Great.

This is a panacea for all that ales you.

M: Think of all the 14% beers that you have enjoyed over the years AND SHATTER THOSE CONCEPTIONS OF REALITY. This beer is exceedingly still and tepid but the dryness from the oak and malts balances out the sweetness amiably. It isn’t overly sticky, nor is it astringently drying, it comes off like a hug that lasts a little too long from a co-worker, but you’re ok with it because it smells like Rolos.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and will wrap that Nissan Sentra around a telephone pole for you. Life upgrades thanks to Great. This bottle is small and so is your tolerance, even if you don’t think it is. Kuhnhenn BBBW could chill with this dude all day and they could tell mercenary tales about the core ass 14%+ antics they’ve gotten into. Again, this beer is a bitch to land so “drinkability” is relative to your Scrooge McDuck vault. Then again, if you still have several of these laying around, maybe you aren’t a Great person.

People may judge you for drinking an entire bottle of 14% beer to yourself, but hey, that’s your thing, you can be into it in the privacy of your home and it’s nobody’s GOSH DARNED BZNSS.

Narrative: Ian Ziering never thought that it would come to this. Just two decades ago he was riding high on life, starring in Beverly Hills 90210, loving the jocular stardom and all the pitfalls that Hollywood could bring. “Direct me to the excavation site Mrs. Gower-“ he commanded as a strode through the track home and into the lush backyard. A Labrador sat tied to a tree visibly curious about what had been uncovered. “Sweet Jesus” Ian Ziering gasped and fell to his knees “this is a seriously rare specimen, Yuban coffee can case, aging looks from the late 80’s potentially the golden Nickelodeon era.” Ian had become obsessed with unearthing time capsules. At first blush, it did not make any sense, and his small business model had several holes that warranted fiscal explanation. “You have quite the find here, notebook paper contracts from 11 year olds with what appears to be an agreement to always be best friends, Vanilla Ice cassette tape, Dino Riders toys. . .yes ma’am this is quite the gem.” Mrs. Gower was entirely unsure about what was so Great about unearthing these old gems, but standing in the presence of Steve Sanders in his aged glory held a special resonance.

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Odell Saboteur, Someone Straight Sabotaged My Wild Ale

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Odell makes some great gems. Colorado beers at large are on the come up like a Tibetan dice game. Sometimes however, wild ales get a little unruly and you gotta bring in the sour stick to get them back under control. Let’s see what exactly is Sabotaged in today’s review.

This pic be ode. No pour photos, fire up that imagination.

Odell Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 10.00% ABV

A: The appearnce comes off as a brown muddiness with light lacing and some ruby tones at the edges. This is a strange base for a wild ale but it looks good, all things considered. I am always wary of dark sours because sometimes the complexity makes it trip over its own bacterial shoelaces, but this one looks pretty legit so far.

It’s like Consecration, but not. Like Rodenbach, but er…something is a bit amiss here.

S: There is a weird hybrid smell to this beer. You get two different worlds colliding at once. The first smell wafts of cherry, dark fruits similar to a quad, and some acidity. The second part is similar to almond with hazelnut and toffee. The smell is simply too busy to figure out what is going on for my feeble mind and nose. It’s like when someone puts on Godspeed You Black Emperor and nods approvingly, expecting you to love it at first blush.

T: There is a mild sourness at the outset that isn’t overly puckering. There is some smokiness but overall it doesn’t overpower or assert itself. It feels like it got pushed into a locker a Sour High School. It is mild mannered and enjoyable, if not forgetable. Again, the whole litany of things going on here makes it tough to pin down for either deficiency or innovation. You remember that dude in Mary Poppins who played all the instruments at once in the park? This beer is kinda like that, his music might suck, but what an undertaking.

This beer is interesting, but not exactly a Nightmare.

M: This isn’t overly drying but it isn’t exactly savory either. It is silky smooth but it also has some spikes and brambles to it as well. It reminds me of Rodenbach Grand Cru, but with a goatee and an eye patch. Just slightly different. It is the nuances that makes all the difference between Friends with Benefits and No Strings Attached.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and I wish that I had more of it, however, the availability and types of things I would have to give up to land this beer again make it less desirable. I could drink this beer all day, and not simply because it is my favorite style. Its complete failure to assert itself is a winning trait that makes it more likeable. Everyone needs a whipping sour you can beat up from time to time. It seems to have only Sabotaged its own chances to making it a truly memorable beer, and those Thundercat episodes aren’t gonna watch themselves.

I am not recommending death, but I would certainly say a solid 25 to life would benefit this wayward wild ale.

Narrative: The flashlight clanked and banged down 34 stories of the central air duct, setting off several alarms. Agent 301x wasn’t the best Saboteur that the Covenant had, but he was the only one currently available. 301x forgot his gloves at home and instead fashioned crude plastic mittens from discarded grocery bags. “I THROW MY HANDS UP IN THE AIR SOME TIMES SINGING AYYY OHHH” his cell phone began to clamor and resound echoing through the halls. He was memorable in his faults and impressive in his victories. The soles of his nonstick shoes squeaked loudly through the halls alerting everyone nearby of his presence. “ACHOOO!” he sneezed and accented the final noise so loudly that a janitor looked at his conspicuous face. “You again? God damnit, agent 301x, you forgot your keys again?” the janitor let him back into his own office; and the grand heist was complete.

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Three Floyd’s Robert the Bruce, Just Let Bruce Bruce Hit It.

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This is the worst Three Floyd’s beer that I have ever had. That isn’t to say that this is a bad beer, it’s just that Three Floyd’s is so consistently good that, when I stumbled upon this style that I already do not enjoy, it was made even more clear. So let’s get loose with it and let Bruce Bruce hit it in today’s review.

Bruce hits it and quits it. So I just preemptively quit Bruce. MAYBE HAVING A GLASS WITH CLEAR NUCLEATION IS THE CAUSE OF IT.

Three Floyd’s Robert the Bruce
Scotch Ale, 6.5% abv

A: There is a murky deep mahogany that almost comes off as black but the light reveals the deep almond hues. There is little carbonation, and not much lacing. Sorry to wake you up BRUCE, sorry for bothering your WITH MY FRIENDSHIP.

I am not sure what to make of this strange amalgamate.

S: There is some oakiness, some turbinado sugar, a tiny waft of whisky notes and overall a very mild disposition on the nose. The inoffensive light caramel is gentle and understated, not the flavor bombs that 3 Floyd’s usually drops on their consumers. Maybe the subtlety is in the taste?

T: Wrong again. The taste mirrors the smell and imparts a woody taste with some smokiness and overall just malts for days. This is not exceptionally chewy but the malt complexity makes you wonder what the grain bill on this beer looks like. It almost has a cigar smoke tobacco taste to it, which I am assuming is smoked chocolate malts or something to that effect. The hops are there in a very faint way, if only to make this beer taste like it isn’t just completely charred.

This beer is HIGHLY ILLO- /run_jokeabort.exe

M: The mouthfeel isn’t sticky and for all the flavors that the malts impart, it isn’t that chewy or expansive. The thing you are overridingly left with is a bittering from charred malts that tastes similar to well done ribs. The oaky notes underscore this and make the beer even more drying instead of sticky in its finish.

D: I didn’t really enjoy this beer. This is the first beer from 3 Floyd’s that I have ever had that I did not enjoy. It is acceptable for the style but I feel as though they were treading outside of their element, with lackluster results. It isn’t a bad beer by any means but, I certainly wouldn’t seek it out beyond testing it out as an extra. You can do worse for this style, but you can do a lot better overall.

What up guize, got some Bruce Bruce to sip on while we watch Requiem for a Dream.

Narrative: “Bob, BOB, this is a break room, not a god damn comfort inn, put the OSHA posters up and get back to work.” Robert knew that something was amiss. His avid Christianity seemed to have missed a mark in his previous life, he awoke confused just hours ago within Pizza Party Land, as an assistant manager. “Fie, but canna ye know as to waere mae family bae?” he questioned imploringly and looked around dazed from the new shock of this reincarnation. Just moments ago he was leading his men on a Holy War, reuniting Scotland and declaring his people’s independence, now he was taking a ten. “Your family? God damnit Bob, just clock back in and restock the token machines in Gametopia, we are short staffed today and I don’t have time for your games,” Sheila sternly commented and walked away speaking into a walkie talkie. “Aye, tis a strange betiding, praeth as to wha ere aye be.” At his core, Robert the Bruce was misinformed of the tenants of christian doctrine. When his heart was reburied in Melrose Abbey, his body was reassigned to a compatible spiritual equivalent core. “Too kains,” Robert muttered and thumbed the medallions like Spanish doubloons. From national hero to assistant manager in the matter of centuries, just another day in the life of a god damn Bruce.

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Avery Brewing Oud Floris, For those times When Yung Floris Just Will Not Do

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What can I say about Avery that hasn’t been said before by myself and then retweeted and reposted, to myself and then forwarded as a PDF to Avery marketing? For those who care and are keeping score, from Avery’s sour program we have received 4 amazing sours and a single misfire. I will let you examine the wicks to determine which one that was, but let’s look at this geriatric flower in today’s review.

I knew a Floris once, she worked at a diner and, in the words of the inimitable Soulja Boi, she “ode.”

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States

Style | ABV
Flanders Oud Bruin | 9.39% ABV

Alright enough of that “oud” joke, here’s the stats on this 237 case release (.rar.)

67% aged in Cab Sauv Barrels
17% aged in Bourbon Barrels
8% aged in Rum Barrels
8% aged in Chardonnay Barrels

You got that mathematicians? Alright, let’s get down to business.

A: This is dark, for a brown sour and even in the realm of the Oud Bruin, this has a deep murky pallor that hates me from the get go, the glass can barely attend to the billowing carbonation and sour genie that I just released. My first wish with ironic consequences is for a strong olfactory profile.

This beer is bad ass in a manner beyond my palate’s comprehension. Unleash the barrel Kraken.

S: Well wish fucking granted. This is granny smith apple tart with acidity that leaps up to your corneas and starts drying with tiny ph1 ice picks. There’s a tart caramel note, red grapes, sour molasses, and strange sweet tobacco smell to it. This is like if Consecration was mutated in a lab with Supplication and we got this Tyrant hybrid, a boss you totally did not level your character enough to face.

T: Wow, this is com-plex unlike a certain magazine by the same monicre. You get a strangely sweet nuttiness at the inception with a deep cranberry infused with merlot grapes. Don’t worry, this is not wine, I won’t flame Avery a second time for treading that ground. This is unmistakeably beer, and very good beer at that. If you have ever wanted your Rodenbach with more balls but Abbey St. Bon Chien is a bit weird to you, then this hybrid addresses your concerns amiably. I must say, as this warms, the astringency becomes more and more apparent, but unlike that complete failure Allagash Vagabond, this beer nails it without going to a fusel nail polish remover route.

brown ale, wine, rum, red grapes…I…I dont know what’s going on guize.

M: The mouthfeel almost hurts. The tartness is like eating a ton of movie candy, but you cannot stop popping in Skittles. The mouthfeel dries like the first time I tasted Temptation but in retrospect, this thing socks plenty of other wild ales in the face and sets to excoriating the first layer of the inside of my mouth like I just got a vintage can of Surge.

D: This is a great beer, complex, but seriously fuck you if you think you can power through several of these in a night. As usual, I drank the entire bottle to myself and that was plenty. It wasn’t that it was necessarily bad, but I felt like small birds could house themselves in the deep holes in my teeth after having this. Cankersores aren’t what most people set out to obtain but it’s certainly a possibility with something this acidity and complex at the same time. How about I use the throwaway word “complex” again. Shadow “complex” is an excellent Xbox Live game. There you go.

“Hey guys I got this little 12oz bottle from Colorado, I think it is sou-“

Narrative: The six heads of the synthetic beast fell to the lab floor with complete exhaustion. Test C734052 had been completed and it was apparent that this entity was capable of learning patterns. “Psshhifffsss” one tail that appeared to be a ream of grapes hissed at the lab monitor, busrting acidic juice on the walls. “Sir, do you feel we have tested the limits of what Napa barrels are capable of? I mean, this just feels like an abuse of our science grant,” Walmsly pleaded pointing at sciencey things on an oversized notepad. “GOD DAMNIT WALMSLY, I will tell you when our barrel experiments have gone too far, WHEN THE UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO BOULDER TELLS US SO-” Professor Vinos exclaimed with terse anger. It was his pet project, technically he was hired to teach viticulturist majors the ropes, but this flailing anomalous being was his chef-d’oeuvre. Who would suspect while the Buffalos were losing game after game in the Pac 12, his lab was pumping deep underground with new acidic life.

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Russian River Pliny the Younger, Beer Predators Always Seem to Go After the Younger Ones

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Boy oh boy, have we really come to this? A week ago we were drinking Rolling Rock and now we are sipping on the world’s highest ranked beer with careless abandon. Let’s rattle off some facts about this legendary (triple?) DIPA. First off, they don’t even bottle this beast because it single handedly submarined the Greek economy. Second, it is only available around groundhog day at a few choice locations, and only on draft. In fact, this beer is in an elite cadre of Draft Only No Growler (DONG) beers. So grab your dongs and let’s see if the hype is worth it in today’s epic review, written in dactyllic hexameter, JK!

When you see Pliny, especially in Younger form, YOU DOUBLE FIST. No questions asked.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 11.00% ABV

Here’s what the brewery has to say about this elusive hopmonster:

“Pliny the Younger, the man, was Pliny the Elder’s nephew and adopted son. They lived nearly 2,000 years ago! Pliny the Elder is our Double IPA, so we felt it was fitting to name our Triple IPA after his son. It is almost a true Triple IPA with triple the amount of hops as a regular I.P.A. That said, it is extremely difficult, time and space consuming, and very expensive to make. And that is why we don’t make it more often! This beer is very full-bodied with tons of hop character in the nose and throughout. It is also deceptively well-balanced and smooth.”

A: It looks like bright, translucent, molten brass with a deceptive clarity to the sheen. The carbonation, at least every time that I have had it, has been minimal and presents a hilarious little pencil lead head to garnish your hop-torn mouth. Did you really come into Pliny the Younger to look at it though? If so, maybe you are doing it wrong. Maybe Pizza Port just didn’t clean their glasses correctly, or maybe people from South Carolina take Boyking reviews too seriously, who IS TO SAY?

On the left, Pliny the Younger, on the right, immature craft beer palate.

S: This smells like the inside of a 8th grade stoner’s backpack. It has a deep resinous pine character that lends to a poplar, aserose, maple, and a sweetness that reminds me of the toasted orange rind garnish you commonly find on old fashioneds. However, as this beer warms, it lets some of the fruits loose to amble around the verdant meadows, and we are all edified as a result.

T: This has much more malt than it’s “older” bretheren and some people prefer that complexity. The bready and cornbread sweetness is damn near mandatory to buttress the hop bill that they have in this hop Basilisk, turning beer nerd pants to stone. The taste echoes the pine and foresty adventures of the nose but presents a new hat trick that reminds me of eating sweet rolls after a long day of raking pine needles. The creaminess of the taste really masks the ABV of this staggering giant and the entire interplay is really something to tip your hat to in the street, downright genteel.

This beer is a reason to lovingly long for Groundhog and Valentine’s day. A sweet solace to the horrible month of February.

M: The mouthfeel, despite the low carbonation, boasts a huge hop profile that works in tandem with the malts to continue the project that Pliny the Elder started, but takes it to absurd new heights. To some, this (D)IPA might come across as a new style altogether, shouldered with Ephraim, Devil Dancer, Knuckle Sandwich etc. however, this is deep down as Imperial as the Chinese shipping empires, and the hops resonate like a street basketball game.

D: Reviews like these are always tough to do, first because I have very little constructive criticism to coast the jokes upon due to the fact that the beer is just too damn good. Then again, I don’t want to knock this beer on accessibility alone, since that is an intentional decision. This is dangerously drinkable and you can’t help but wonder why others have failed to attempt this ambitious undertaking. Is it worth seeking out? Absolutely. Is this beer worth standing in line for 90 minutes and being shut out? No. Is it worth belonging to a mug club or stupid passport promotion to drink? Absolutely not. Is it worth buying $50 of charity raffle tickets only to lose on all of them and be denied access to this beer? No.

Is this one of the best T/D IPAs out there? The answer is a resounding “ya bruh.”

HEY LISTEN, I know you want PtY, but could you not post in forums about getting it in bottles? It makes you look like a shithead. Thanks.

Narrative: The boats bobbed softly in the bay of Naples and Pliny dipped his quill assiduously into the inkwell and felt mild vibrations through the legs of the Poplar table. “I must write in haste, for I fear that I have gone too far in my botanical pursuits this time.” The grumble of the dormant volcanic god, Pompeii, rumbled in the east. “In my quest for taxonomy and discovering different strains of the ‘wolf plant’ I appear to have cross-polinated in a manner repugnant to the soil itself.” The tremors became steadily more severe and Pliny’s hands shook with anticipation. “I seem to have created a strain of hops that defies belief, the root system is so charged with ‘aether’ that is has shifted the contents of the lower core, the oils are just too powerful!” The dirt-floored home shook violently and cast the aging octagenarian to the floor, a copy of Aristotle’s metaphysics lay open at his knees. “Please, tell my kin to abandon this deep curse, may the Gods take pity on my efforts at the River of Sty-” The Pompeiian mountain erupted, unleashing the hot hoppy fury of the wolf plant upon the teeming Romans below. Magma was truly the hottest DIPA that they had ever encountered, bitter coating sheets of obsidian and molten rock were bitter beyond belief. [FN1]

[FN1] entire entry reviewed for historical accuracy

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Hill Farmstead Galaxy Single Hop IPA, A Double IPA with a SINGLE HOP. Hoparadoxes abound.

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You knew it was coming. Don’t act surprised when one of these HF bruisers ended up on IPA week, it was just a question of WHICH ONE. Abner? A solid choice. Harlan? Maybe next time. Double Citra? We shall see. I figure with all of the consternations and bemoaning surrounding the Ephraim news (DONG only, joining the ranks of Pliny the Younger and Exponential Hoppiness) it should be underscored how amazing EVERY OTHER Hill Farmstead beer is. Today’s review is on plenty of top 100 lists and we might as well address this amazing hoppy citrus warhead in today’s review since these Vermont bombs seem primed to blow.

For those times when the world isn’t enough, YOU NEED AN ENTIRE GALAXY.

Galaxy Single Hop IPA

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: Just look at that beer, it looks like the golden reactor inside of a platinum unicorn melted into a radiant mess of radioactive hoppy lupus materials. The golden radiance pulls light in and magnifies it tenfold. I enjoy the turbid cloudy look to this beer, it flexes a haziness to it in a way that would make most saisons blush. That’s just how Galaxy aka the “G DIPPA” rolls in the trap.

It is getting harder and harder to land Hill Farmstead growlers. Pic related: it is that hard.

S: If you have ever smelled galaxy hops, take that platonic idea and magnify it 350 times with some Humean/Lockean/empiricist sense impressions. This may be one of the best smelling beer that I have ever smelled in my life, it reeks of citrus, pineapple, tangelo, grapefruit rind, and a very faint hint of conifer on the backend. It is like a jambajuice gangbang that a park ranger stood idly by to watch, and I love it.

T: This carries on the citrus tradition in a manner that is almost just straight up juice in execution. The fruits drive hard to the hole and impart the aforementioned fruits and start flirting with those listed usually on tropical starburst. You get orange and clementine, mandarin, and the elusive naartjie pokes its head in there for a moment. I can’t underscore this enough, this is citrus with hop oils instead of that annoying Vitamin C all up in the mix.

This is not the most balanced DIPA in the world. Fucks given: 0.

M: This is incredibly light on the palate with the grave exception of the huge hop AR-15 oil rifle that it fires wildly. It is like the little guy who is a demolitions expert in movies, you know shit is gonna get wrecked real quick. There’s a light creaminess that balances out the intense fruit flavor, but it doesn’t toss an albatross around the neck of this raging hopbull.

D: This growler disappeared instantly. I don’t know how else to qualify that statement but, it’s like when you do rails of bath salts and all you want is the loving caress of your Pier 1 Imports dealer. You pour yourself a glass and it is instantly gone. The ABV slides in like so many Greek phalanx into Troy. This is the beer that launched a thousand ships, and then smashed them all. It reminds me of this kid I knew 10 years ago when the WRX first came out and he upped the boost to something like 22 psi on the stock block BOOM hop destruction, but entirely bad ass in the interim.

When my growler was gone, I was super sad.

Narrative: “Hank, he bought more equipment, will you say something to Taylor? This is really getting out of hand.” Mr. Davidoff walked into the garage and saw a mash cooling unit and what was clearly a lauter tun. “Hey, Taylor, sorry didn’t mean to startle you there-” he walked forward and kicked a bag of grapefruits. “HEY! Uh, just science in here, science fair project, that orange battery that I was uh-” Taylor mumbled as he kicked a book titled “Sparging for Dummies” underneath an indoor hydroponics hop growing system. “Listen son, it’s pretty clear you are trying to make beer in here, but son, you are 14. There are far easier ways to land booze than this, and I don’t know if I approve of you drinking.” Taylor’s hands began to sweat “wha? BEER? I don’t even know how, do they even sell strains of cultured yeasts for wild saisons? No, didn’t think so, just science fair and testing that hypothesis that I was er telling you about.” A bolivian man arrived with a wheel barrel full of malted barley sacks and sleepily began unloading them on the Davidoff’s lawn. “You know what, if you want to try and make high-end saisons instead of scoring 4Loko down by the train station…I guess I am ok with that.” Mr. Davidoff threw an arm around his son and spied a freshly emptied 15 gal rum barrel. “THAT’S MY BOY!” high fives were dispersed pell mell.

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Boneyard Hop Venom, The Only Cure for Hop Venom is More Hops

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All those hops feel just like getting boned in the yard.

Boneyard Beer Company
Oregon, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.90% ABV

A: This beer has a light amber to a caramel tone, deep orange, maximal carbonation with a huge 3 finger head with little to no lacing, but maybe I just had a magic growler that imparted extra carbonation, how should I know? You wanna fight about it?

Dont approve of unbalanced DIPAs? Your argument is invalid.

S: Holy unbalanced beer detected, off the charts tropical fruit Skittles, blood orange, tangelo and lemon notes with a light herbal finish. After these East Coast gems, this lack of precision is like a blunt hophammer to the face. GUESS WHAT, maybe sometimes it’s fine to get blasted in the fac- wait, fuck.

T: There is a slight sweetness at the first taste that segues into a deep citrus assault that hits the gumline with a deep fulfilling dryness. The star of this taste is not the first or the second, it is the deep grapefruit aftertaste, which similar to a spiciness, makes you want to take another sip to keep chaining the after taste. It does a great job of hiding the high alcohol content because the majority of the focus is on the tangy citrus stickiness with just light bitter notes so that the warmth of the 9.5 % abv glides by undetected. After one of these though, the extreme drying becomes repetitive, like the 160 bpm of hard house music, it just gets a bit overwhelming and monotanous at the same time. GOOD THING I AM ON MALI WHILE TYPING THIS REVIEW. Psyche.

This reminds me of a series of knockoffs, however, this gem holds its own as a hop Manticor with several hissing heads.

M: The mouthfeel is inviting and smoothe, incredibly thin, but not overly malty. There’s not a lot of chewiness or coating to balance out whatever crazy hop blast that they have established here. The beer is a bit unbalanced, but not in a bad way, it feels like they knew what they were making and in only 2 liter growlers, this shit gets dangerous real quickly. They knew the niche market they were appealing to. Again, the extreme acidity from the hop oils runs to the sides of your mouth and sets up camp for a lingering 5 to 10 seconds, it will certainly jade your palate for other beers that you may have had planned. I am fine with that, this beer is amazing and I highly recommend getting your face drilled by it.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and took a moderate amount of effort not to finish this entire 2 liter growler to my dome piece. But then again, is that anything new on this website of excess? I drink these things so that you do not have to. This beer pairs an awesome sweetness with an addictive deep hop profile that juices your bitter zones enough to beg for the cooling rains of another sip. This happens ad infinitum until your Bend, Oregon dreams are shattered and Fedex is the only winner.

Cats may not enjoy this beer, but cats also can’t metabolize alcohol and hop oil, so fuck cats.

Narrative: Roger spun the chamber nervously trying to appear cool and collected. He had never been to a gun range before and felt completely ridiculous taking the pulchritudinous Taylor Emery to a gun range on a first date. “You okay over there?” she called from the booth, fidgeting with the paper cutout of a man pulling a woman behind a dumpster to be fired at. “Oh yeah, sure! Nothing like my old, er 6 shooter to cool off a day after, FUCK-” he dropped the .45 shells onto the ground and collected them hastily. He noticed a single forest green bullet and slid it into the primary chamber, trying to maintain a cool panache. He handed her the magnum, full action. This was not Taylor’s first run at the range and she gripped the stock with power and as the hammer struck the charge a huge green cloud escaped into a mushroom cloud of sticky splendor that smelled similar to a 7th grader’s bedroom. Minutes later, after firing only a single round. The two agreed that guns were deleterious to human progress and elected to watch Wonder Showzen with the sound off at Roger’s dorm room. The biological weapon developed at the University of Oregon was working to end war, one round at a time, getting kids hopped out of their minds on sticky, dank rounds.

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DC Brau, On the Wings of Armageddon DIPA, Hops as Fierce as a Dragonforce solo

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Now we make our way from the South to the, er, “kinda South.” Whenever I talk about Virginia, people think THAT is the South, but apparently DC is not? When I went it was sticky and dank just like this DIPA itself, so it’s the kinda south to me. However, people from Georgetown might as well be from Canada judging on how out of touch with reality those dryrubs are. Anyway, here’s an up and coming star that is tearing up the charts and was recently bottled for the first time, enjoy

On the wings of a hoppy dream, far beyond alpha acid reality

OH SNAP bonus glassware FTW. Thanks Matt Welling for the mad hooks.

DC Brau Brewing Co.
District of Columbia, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.20% ABV

A: This beer has a nice murkiness to it like Virginia lake water and a shallow dullness to it, like the West Virginia public school system. The carbonation is phenomenal and sends me right to armageddon, as promised. It isn’t exactly pretty, but you’re still down for some reason, kinda like Amanda Seyfried.

This is the most pleasant version of Armageddon since Kurt Russel in “Escape from L.A.”

S: This is a one note punch of Falconer’s Flight and reminds me a lot of Kern 5th anniversary, if we are comparing bad ass IPAs. There’s a grapefruit and honey aspect to this, but the east coast ghost seems to have infected this with a big waft of pale and crystal malt, which makes the citrus elements seem reigned in by contrast to other bi-polar offerings. However, this is far from disappointing, the citrus walks hand in hand with fresh lemoncake and cornbread zest. You can’t always be flirting with these size 1, DDipas, you need balance homie.

T: The taste follows through on the malty promises and goes full ZJ on the hops, even though I didn’t think I could afford it. The citrus is more like the ball boy to the pine slugger and there’s a kind of onion/garlic character hanging out in the outfield. The whole thing begs to be paired with Indian food or some awesome Thai, but it isn’t exactly the trip to Armageddon in the hop profile. For every pound of flesh lost in the hops I am put on a Dominoes diet in the malt zones so I remain with Jenny Craig results. This metaphor got out of hand pretty quickly.

I popped open this beer, hop wraiths escaped, and my face be all like-

M: This coats in a fantastic way with sheets of sticky honey, aserose, pine solvent, maple leaves, and conifers all around. If you used a Redwood tree for a glory hole, this is about what you’d get, with far less shame AS A BONUS.

D: This has a trifecta of chimerical elements going on, nice finish with a lupulus resin, high drinkability, and excellent carbonation. Just the perfect senatorial drink to enjoy after doing absolutely jack shit all day frustrating all legislation from the other side. It is a trip not exactly to hell, but let’s call it, Hoboken. But with more pine trees.

Is this a trip to Hopmageddon? No. It is close to hopurgatory though.

Narrative: You never thought that living in the Bastille in mid-eighteenth century France would be so boring. “Buy a time machine” they said “Meet Voltaire” they said. And yet here you are. The substandard gruel is of the most mediocre consistency and you long for the forthcoming reforms to spruce this place up a bit. BUT THEN YOU NEVER THOUGHT THAT APPEARING FROM THE FUTURE IN A HIGHLY SUPERSTITIOUS CATHOLIC COUNTRY WOULD LAND YOU IN JAIL, IN THE PAST. It was a very intense first few moments, the cobblestone streets, the mahogany bound books, the intensity was in the air, palpable almost. Then the bitterness sets in, again and again, the civil system what with your inability to confront witnesses, until it was just a prison of bitter and sour that you built for yourself. You paid top dollar for a time machine that placed you in a bitter purgatory, to which no amount of sweet can return you. “Loosen my shackles please, I feel that the iron is tarnishing my complexi-” What is that sour taste in your mouth? Bitter irony from a casuistic time traveler.

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COAST Boy King, The Best DIPA from the South Weighs In

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Big thanks to Calton Sparks and Steve Kim for this elusive hop bomb. The DIPA king of the south, finally reviewed as (D)IPA week steams along. You would think the South would be the masters of IPAs, bitterness, hot temperatures, juice supplements. However, it has been my experience that this is not their strongest suit, UNTIL THIS KING OF BOYS CAME ALONG. I had to wait over a year for this stupid beer to be made again so that I could review it fresh for you. That’s how much I care. Let’s get knee deep in the Lord of the Flies in today’s review

For all those drinkers who dream of having a kingdom of boys.

COAST Brewing Company
South Carolina, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.50% ABV

A: The beer couldn’t be more on style with a golden straw, deep yellow color, and subtle brassiness that imparts a 2 finger head of carbonation that dissipates slowly. It doesn’t go all super radiant and has a bit of an amber hue that makes me wonder if this will be a “balance bomb” but, I will let that shit slide for the time being.

A DIPA from the Carolinas already lets you know an evil hop ghost is lying in wait.

S: pine, grapefruit, a subtle citrus note to it like it is winding up a haymaker. Whenever you watch UFC in the south, this could be your hoppy companion for each grapefruit blast to the face. I will add that the pine has both hands in the Doritos bowl which is kinda offputting but, piners gonna pine.

T: great hoppy dryness to the initial taste, not overly bittering though, bitter tastebuds are in tact, the middle has a sweetness to it almost that is balanced with the light malt, the final taste leaves a lingering grassiness that welcomes another drink, the high notes in the initial hops link up nicely with the final notes of the low hops in the aftertaste. It tastes almost identical to how it smells, light citrus with pine grabbing your sister’s ass abruptly.

When I smelled this beer, pine started gripping all on my face and abusing my lower lip. My face was all like-

M: Light and drinkable, similar to most IPAs, not a significant amount of coating on the mouth, the light carbonation lends to the character of the beer, mild body of the beer sets the stage for the wellbalanced hops. The drying effect the coats the tongue with bitterness, it attacks the sides of the tongue and wipes out the salivary glands with a bitter orange rind citrus bitterness, the lack of sweetness/citrus makes the IBUS even more pronounced, the hops resonate upon swallowing and the aroma expands

D: exceptionally drinkable, some 9.5% abv beers would be tough with overly hoppy character to balance the alcohol but this toes a nice line, very exceptional for a casual beer. While session beer is almost a pejorative, this joins the ranks of what I would call “Super Balanced IPA Super Fun Squad.” Pliny, Oracle, Double Trouble, You know the characters. It is on point with those fellows and shoulders their ranks amiably. Buy this and drink this, dont save it, dont brag about it. Just enjoy an exceptionally balanced DIPA.

I have no idea when I will see this beer again, so I will wave goodbye and remember the hoppier times.

Narrative: “Alright, try to calm down” the police sketch artist pleaded “I know it is shocking, but try to remember something…anything.” What could you tell him, it was so offensive and abrupt, you’d almost rather just put it behind you. “Well it was bitter…unexpected…” “yes yes…go on..” God, what do you tell a complete stranger about a man who confronts you and pushes bitter hops in your mouth, “listen, I just dont feel up to this right now,” you still feel its grassy stench in your nasal cavity “ANYTHING HELPS” FINE “OK IT SMELLED LIKE PINE…PINE! Are you happy now?” your jaw lightly clicks in the tense silence that ensues “Did…were there any hops cones or flowers left beh-” “HOW DARE YOU ASK ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT.” The police artist completed what looked like a pirahna plant from Super Mario Brothers 3 world 7-3. That was him. “But, let me ask, what were you wearing?” “I AM OUT OF HERE-“

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Selin’s Grove IPA, Backwoods Pennsylvania Taking Hops Right to Your Dome Piece

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IPA week chugs along with another fantastic draft-only offering. Hell if Taco Bell can do a world class burrito bowl, I figure I can try my hand at rating a world class IPA. Back in yesteryear this was on the top 100 and haunting the top IPAs but it has since subsided into relative anonymity BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT ISN’T AMAZING. Let’s get after it in today’s review

Mashing out on growler only gems, on the reg.

Selin’s Grove Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
American IPA | 7.00% ABV

A: There is a nice translucence with brassy straw meets gold hues. The carbonation, despite being shipped thousands of miles, is still holding strong and flexes hard with moderate lacing. You might be partial to some off shelf selections, but sometimes you gotta walk in someone else’s liver.

This beer reminds me of simpler IPA times, when Ruination was enough to turn your bitter zones inside out like a Gusher’s commercial.

S: The smell was actually pretty tame and almost went a light honey route with some grassiness and playground romping. There’s a dull lemon rind but nothing really blasting my face off with hop oils. Perhaps there is a precision in execution like a trebuchet, but again, for a world class IPA, I would say Sculpin rustles my jimmies more than this.

T: The taste is even more tame and pops a percocet and slides you a small saucer of light citrus, pale malt, creamy middle body like a baked biscuit with a bitter finish. This isn’t something that makes me lose it, and with a 2 liter serving size, I am positive I got my fair share.

I was expecting the R8 of the IPA world and instead got the A4. Which is still nice, but I don’t see Tony Stark drinking this IPA is all I am saying guize.

M: The mouthfeel is incredibly light and washes away clean. There is a sweetness to it with barely any lingering hops. The dank hop oils might be lingering somewhere in there but it feels more watery and refreshing like an alcoholic’s sports drink more so than a big hop warhead. Maybe I am just too demanding, MAYBE I AM JUST LIKE MY BREWER, he’s never satisfied. This is what it sounds like, when hops cry.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, slick and watery and obliges the dancefloor amiably with a waxed surface of water and pine hops, and that is about it. Consuela has done an expert job pulling off the balance between an impressive IPA and something you can drink at the lake. In the end, nothing I would lose my oils over, just leaves me with blue cones.

This is an amiable delicious IPA that anyone can get their mouth on. However, this gentle demeanor makes it less memorable, even the Mouth of the South would agree.

Narrative: Narrative: “I hate yearbooks” you grit your teeth and attempt to conjure up a page worth of something to commemorate all the good times with. “WHATTT WHO HATES YEARBOOKS, TYLER JUST WRITE WHAT YOU FEEL!” You know that Geometry was fun, that the pranks were the best, but what do you say to a person in a single yearbook page to sum up all the good times? How do you commemorate the fading visions of the past? Suddenly it clicks and your pen cannot keep up with your Dostoyevskian insight, eevery phrase parsed perfectly, with Hemingway precision, terse but fantastically executed, insightful self referential quotes fold into themselves like mitochondrial membranes, you scribble out your signature and hand it to her. “You wrote ‘I cant believe that they closed Hot N’ Now’? And then signed it with someone elses name? What does this mean Tyler?” She doesn’t get it, you flip your aviators and walk away, you are too bad ass for memories, too bad ass for yearbooks, and you sure don’t need to spend your life living on a semiglossy page. You are Tyler and you live in the moment. The smell of the IROC tires lingered in the air, peppering the masses for effect.