Yearly Archives: 2012

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Cigar City, Either/Or Black Ale, EITHER This Beer is Awesome, OR Kierkegaard is Wrong.

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Cigar City either blindsides me with a gem, or you open something like Vuja De and don’t know what the fuck to make of it. This beer falls in the former category and my only complaint is the old amorphous “black ale” title that initially put me off to this. Let’s call this what it is: an awesome imperial stout er…maybe a triple imperial porter…fuck. I don’t know it is EITHER a stout OR this is a shitty pun.

Oh, ok. Either and Or are the same beer. Ba dum tish. Dichotomies about.

Cigar City, Either/Or,
Black Ale, 11.5% Abv

A: What a novel gimmick, two beers, the same beer. Sounds like an expensive bottle labeling maneuver. I was expecting some earth shattering Soren Kierkegaard business, but this wasn’t particularly mind blowing…AT FIRST. This has a kinda watery look to it of freshly pressed ink from a baby squid. Murky but shiny. Mild lacing and medium carbonation. It’s like a halfway home for abused porters and baby stouts.

You can enjoy huge black ales and get super dreeze, heck, enjoy nature, just don’t be a dbag when you take it to the 11% abv dangerzone.

S: There is a Huge hop profile, wood, oak, nice black licorice, and a toasted maltiness. It is like a low-cal version of Hunaphu’s. Low is relative, I GUESS. Actually it is more like a more svelte blacker Huna with some smoothe cocoa swagger.

T: This has a great chocolate/anise taste to it that it sweet but with a nice bitterness to it, without being medicinal. It’s like when you were a kid and had too many delicious Flintstones vitamins, only chocolate and tobacco flavored, and no diarrhea. Not yet at least. WE SHALL SEE.

Discover an amazing black ale, realize it is sold 3000 miles away. Shed manly tears.

M: This has a nice coating and mild stickiness to it that washes away but leaves a little something behind, like a crafty clingy first date that wants you to think about her again. YOUR TRICKS WONT WORK ON ME. Ok well I sought it out again so maybe those tricks worked, who knows? I would gladly go after this again.

D: This has a cool hybrid drink ability to it and is very delicious. Overall the complexity isn’t overwhelming but it makes it all the more appealing. Plus in the 12oz format you can come and go as you please, no need to be a deatbeat dad about your black ales, leaving them all around town. You can gently nurse them and pick up another at your leisure.

I don’t know, what the fuck, is going on.

Narrative: “And that’s how you fit 22 slavs in a phone booth!” Yurgis exclaimed with his own eastern European sort of aplomb. “Yes, er uh, thank you for that Yurgis, Mr. Chalmers, Yurgis is our exchange student and he sure does have an INTERESTING SENSE of humor, pass the peas please sweetie.” Walter succinctly stated to his supervisor. This family dinner would decide the fate of his career for the next half decade, if only his disheveled ukranian house guest would keep quiet. Mr. Chalmbers was the new CFO of Texodyne, a chemical manufacting plant whose operations were largely based out of Uzbekistan, apparently a locale that Yurgis had plenty to say about. “And when the streets run red with the blood of the nonbeliev-” “ok ok ok, thank you Yurgis.” It wasn’t that he was particularly bad or dark, he was actually kinda sweet in his own third world sort of way. Most people just had a tough time looking past his penetrating darkness. “Good and bye Mr. Chalm-bers, I want for to make love to your daughter in soon time, we will be good friends!” The family hung their heads at the prospect of another 5 years without a raise.

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Lost Abbey Cable Car, Ring a Ding Ding, The San (Diego) Francisco Treat.

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What else can we way about this amazing sour that hasn’t been etched in the stalls of homosexual nightclubs already? This is an amazing beer. I have only had this beer three times and each time I nodded contemplatively at spending a pretty penny to try it, not even mad tho. This beer sweeps the leg and makes me want another, not unlike giving a mouse a cookie, he is going to want a vert.

This beer is only for sale at Torona- WAIT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?

Lost Abbey, Cable Car, 7.0% wild ale

Oh wait, let’s not forget about the Cable Car Kriek, not even fucking around on this review:

Take an amazing sour and then take it to the kriekzone. Feeling like a cherry popping daddy.

A: Light pilsner color, mellow gold, a refined golden ambiance. The kriek technically deserves its own review but I will just ad lib this shit, the kriek has a bright radiant hue like cherry afterbirth. Amazing beers on both aspects.

GOD DAMNIT I need moar of this beer. You must understand my frustration.

S: Strong sour geuze smell, crushed sweettarts and a melted fruitloops wafting. There is a mild funk of wet hay and a deep crisp granny smith apple note going on that is super cutty.

T: This beer is intimidating at first, strong smells and notes, but ultimately this is a calf that you can wrangle without oppression. It is akin to mutton busting, something that seems difficult until you tackle the sheep, and pull its majestic fur to the ground. At its core, it is temptation with milder souring, lighter drying effects, less tanins in the grape aftertaste, and finally champagne crisp apple notes in the finish. Nothing you can’t handle but an exceptional balance. It is the lovechild of gueuze and champagnes of the mild brut variety. I love the dryness even if it slows me from enjoying the white grape and fuji apple notes.

This beer is unique, yet respectable, strange, yet friendly.

M: Fantastic, crisp and light, the entire experience has lemon zest and feels like a Hootie and the Blowfish Album. You can dispense this pellmell and no one will look askance. If not for the oppressive Toronado’s standards, this could be something everyone could enjoy, if not for proprietary despotism. This is well worth bootlegging, well worth epic trades. Just really good, but if you want to tread this road, there are more refined paths as smoothe as marble for your wanting cart, should you not have epic cellar gems to take down this beast.

D: Again, fantastic but competing in a league of legends. I would drink this all day, fixing my carburetor, prepartying for the charity gala, snuff film exposition, you know, guy stuff. I find myself in a love hate resolution with this beer because I love what it is but I hate the air surrounding it. It feels like seeing a person with a TOOL shirt on. you love the syncopated rhythms and complex melodies, but you dislike the fanbase in general. The faux highbrow ruins what would be a fantastic experience.

I need more of this sour gem, I cannot stop thrusting.

Narrative: Sir Fredrick Willingsly is repossessing your car. You can’t hate him for doing his job, but, without a 1998 civic DX, these pizzas arent going to deliver themselves. You hate him, with his cliche antagonistic handlebar moustache and fogged up monocle. However, his wry quips relating to Howards’ End and class struggle made it all the sweeter. “And thence upon from which one has had, none shall take without” he declares with a cloud of aplomb that almost makes you lighthearted in his usurpation of your chief economic asset. He is akin to the Mr. peanut of recurring vengeance. your pocket despises him, yet you respect him for his casuistic enforcement of the law. “God speed Willingsly, dont scratch my sick mugen exhaust on the dip. Godspeed.”

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Funky Buddha No Crusts, Pack This in Your Child’s Lunch, Crazy Trading Power At Recess

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Do you like peanut butter? How about sticky jelly? You like being drunk? Well here is the solution for you, drunken PB and J explosion. I had this beer on two occassions, last June it was amazing, last January, it was like peanut butter Consecration and half the bottle erupted. In the interests of fairness, I will review the amazing first foray. Drink those Funky Buddha bottles early, guize, srsly.

Who knows, maybe your shining face will appear on this very illustrious beer website as an alecreeper. One can only dream.

The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery
Florida, United States
American Brown Ale | 6.00% ABV

A: This beer had a nice fluffy appearance and great transparency to it with lucid brown hues throughout with amber at the edges. There’s a tame stickiness to it like a turbid glass of sticky chocolate milk.

PB and J beer? Next level ale maneuver. Fucking smart.

S: This is bizarre through and through. It has a deep peanut smell to it. Seriously. It smells like a burnt peanut/walnut with some oiliness to it. There is a grape skin element to it as well. It smells like an uncrustable.

T: This will be incredible easy: this is a pureed peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That is all that needs to be said. A grape juiciness is imparted in the middle with a huge dry peanut finish. I cant believe that I just typed that but yes, it is a peanut and grape beer.

This beer reaches for new heights and scores hard in the paint. Peanut butter alegasm dunking on fools.

M: It is light and lingers gently with a peanut oils finish. There is a huge amount of sediment in the bottom of the glass. It washes away clean and tastes incredible. I have no style guidelines to base this on but its is just simply amazing.

D: I have no idea how that they did this but it is incredibly offbeat and amazing. This is my introduction to this bizarre brewery and I am incredibly impressed. I feel like I could drink a ton of this, in the same way that I weighed 120 lbs in 5th grade. I love PBnJ sammies. Hands down.

I am content, but I want this many more of these.

Narrative: The Ukraine Gulag was oppressive and cold. The winters were harsh and provided little reprieve to its prisoners. Fyodor broke granite slabs in the dry cold winds day in and day out. The prisoners would have no hope were it not for one thing: the smackerels. Sergeyevich, the local lifer had developed an incredible knack for taking the hard tack, provisions and crafting delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from them. The prisoners bit delightfully into the sticky messes with careless abandon. “To the devil with the proletariat masses who keep us within these walls brother Sergey, for a single bit of your smackerels, I would brave the plains of the Gobi desert TWICE OVER!” An overseeing magistrate rapped his cane hatefully on the metal railing twice and the prisoners meekly demurred. “for your jelly…I will live on.” The prisoners nodded in concurrence. Sergey raised a single palm and sagely advised: “I don’t think you are ready for this jelly. No Alexey, you are not ready for this jelly.” He exhaled with indolence and continued to smash granite slabs, looking out upon the icy plains.

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Avery Maharaja Double IPA, Hoppy Kisses from a Stern Sultan

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In the days of hop bombs, this old warhead was a standard in my arms department. Back then, hop oils were a sticky libation and upping the pine was a sign of strength and endurance. Ah the late 2000’s were a crazy time. Anyway, here’s a throwback to hoppier times.

Ah those good old herbal gems from yesterdays before I was boiling Hill Farmstead on a spoon in an alley.

Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 10.30% ABV

A: It has a pale amber look to it, or very dark yellow depending on the hue you see, similar to most imperials, but with a bit less carbonation, perhaps that was due to my pour. The lacing looks nice and has a pillowy lacing to the edge of the glass.

If you drink powerful, ultra hoppy beers, give up on girlfriend dreams and prepare to enjoy life in the friendzone. Skyrim still loves you.

S: I smelled this aroma from over 3 feet away, the hop profile is overwhelming. when you get into the mix of it its a cascade of various elements, sweetness, but with a lemony followup, a bit herbal, but nothing exceptionally bittering that makes you think of juniper or the ilk

T: Wow, where to start, first the warmth of the alcohol is nestled between a cacauphony of cascading tastes, it is present but takes a back seat like a patient master, waiting for his minions to dispatch until the final cleaning swallow. Mixed metaphors aside, the first taste is a sweet candy apple hop finish that quickly sets in to a deep bitter hoppiness, foresty, verdant, and kudzu? viney? it feels like a fresh camping trip is the best way to describe this. There’s almost a zucchini zest, a strange unifying element of herbal tastes on the finish that makes it a bit intimidating, but very satisfying.

If you don’t like hoppy beers, you are failing at the beer game. There’s more to life than lambics and sticky RIS action.

M: The mouthfeel is as expected, not too malty, with a crazy character for the alcohol and hops to duke it out in the thin canvas. The mouthfeel is nothing exceptional, but considering there is a complex battle for sweet and bitter being fought in the foreground, it hardly loses points in this area. I would like several, however, I dont feel that I would comfortably enjoy more than a bomber in a night without moving on to other pursuits, simply due to the overture of minor, major, and mixolydian notes playing in concert at the same time, it is fulfilling yet exhausting.

D: very drinkable. the finish is fast and ends abruptly, you ruminate on it a moment and you are left with a piney citrus taste wondering what happened to the various elements taking place moments before. I enjoy this beer, but it is certainly not a session beer and its abv 10.5% certainly precludes it (well depending on the demons you are escaping) from being so. Enjoyable, but not one to keep in the stable as a hackneyed coach.

I like juicy hops, what the fuck is this pine I don’t even-

Narrative: “Place my equipage on the center rug and take care not to scuff the well adorned mahogany sides” You work busily to comply with his requests but his bitter nature and biting commentary is almost too much. “A little something for your troubles.” he presses a crisp $100 bill into your hand, for what? Bringing some cumbersome trunk to the front foyer? This is treatment you can handle, and somehow welcome. He walks and surveys the split landing of the threadbare banister. “THIS WILL NOT DO.” running a finger lightly over the worn wood, he looks to you for approval, you somehow gain a sense of commoradery in his majesty, knowing the complexity in his thought and manner, here you just a vagrant chimney sweep moments ago, now bitterly at the receiving end of his jansenist nature. “What do you feel this is a vestibule for peregrine mendicants? obtain your composure and tend to the rest of my articles, as resolutely as I am sure you are capable.” That was his way, you saw him cooly surverying the premises in his ivory suit, casuistically wiping the sweat from his brow in a manner that showed poise and decisiveness. The drying extraction of his remarks place you in a humble yet hopeful state, not unlike a teeball coach whom you welcome the reprimand if only for a dose of the gratifying approval. “Also, you…you take care of yourself…” his eyes glint a flash of knowing understanding, as though he too had been one toiling with luggage and taking care not to scratch the italian marble, a harsh but culling master, your maharaja.

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Reinaert Flemish Wild Ale, Almost As Wild As Oscar Wilde, But Not Nearly As Sassy

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Time to start dredging the old reviews to see what the world used to be like when even a trip to the corner store was an exciting adventure before I was a Fedex dependent asshole. Anyway, let’s see what is shaking with today’s wild ale, a spicy lil belgian gem that is pretty widely available.

Wanna know what it looks like out of the bottle? Too bad, old me didn’t have that kinda foresight.

De Proefbrouwerij (bvba Andelot)
Belgium
Belgian Strong Pale Ale | 9.00% ABV

A: very light color, pilsner almost, golden to dark yellow, nice three finger head with moderate lacing, little crackling to it like when Johhny Five gets hit by lightning and is imbued with a sassy new life.

Hipster bunny approves of wild ales of all styles even HOPPY wild ales.

S: This has citrus, sour grapes, a lemon zest to it and a kiwi undertone. There’s a bit of fall and DMV musk to it, but overall, a pretty tame affair as far as “wild” ales go.

T: This wild is very mellow on the palate, imparts a sweetness similar to most belgian goldens with that biscuity maltiness, pillowy soft sweet finish, not exactly comparable to the American wild ale type, but still very well done, the sourness of the Bretanomyces is very restrained, the sour undertones come near the end and are almost hand in hand with the light hops. The untrained palate would almost mistake this for a more malty pilsner. I guess if you feel like a light challenge this is where to go. Then you don’t get the shit beat out of your mouth like playing Battletoads on single player.

I am not saying that wild ales should destroy your mouth but… aliens.


M: This has good coating for its light appearance, it takes a few seconds to absolve the taste, but then there’s some good coating and lingering aftertaste of mellow hops. I can polish my monocle and enjoy this lazily by the Seine river, or in Alabama, either way.

D: Overall, very drinkable, not exceptionally noteworthy, and rather cost prohibitive for the average wild ale consumer. For the same price you could drink damnations all day which I feel is superior in almost every category, alas that is comparing different classes of beers. One thing I will note is the exceptional covering of the 9% alcohol, it is imperceptibly hidden in a sweetness and the floury maltiness. Perfect for entry level beer drinkers with ABV interests. ABV-curious if you will.

My face when wild ales don’t bring the sour rage.

Narrative: “nah nah, just a couple days” he lazily smiled, “just until I get my things together.” How could you say no? He was such a close friend in high school, sweet, cloying, palpable, but now he’s dominating 2/3rds of your living room as his capricious abode. “See the plan is, I am getting my pilots licens-” you start to dreamily daze off while looking into his eyes, there’s something empty to him, yet intoxicating at the same time, “yeah so basically after I fought that guy I was out of Cici’s pizza and it was a shithole anyway” he continues. Why are you letting him stay here? there’s nothing exceptional about him but you just incurred signifcant expenses making him a nice dinner, it, wow his eyes look like poolwater, just a sweet discountenance that lures you in. “OH SHIT NETFLIX! ABOUT TO ADD SOME TITES! Thats what I call titles” ok at this point he’s getting a bit irritating, but the way his bicuspids fortuitously lean against his incisors, that smile, he could leave his ASICS gym bag on your Z Gallerie coffee table all week. “Sure..sure..” you meekly reply, knowing that this short stay will be fulfilling, yet deceptive.

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Goose Island Matilda, Naming Beers After Geriatric Women Tops New Beer Trends

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Ah my first dance with Goose Island was with sweet old Matilda. She was gentle but instructing at the same time. Oh how we’ve grown on to sample the other “rarer” madames in the GI lineup, but I don’t see Bourbon County waiting for that 2 a.m. call, only sweet old ‘Tilda. Anyway, let’s check her out in today’s review.

There was a time when I thought that this actually passed for a beer pic. Oh how we have evolved.

Goose Island Beer Co.
Illinois, United States
Belgian Strong Pale Ale | 7.00% ABV

A: the head is a full two finger affair that subsides after a moment into some gentle lacing, nothing out of the ordinary, particularly for the belgium strong style. Strangely calm color, inbetween brass and copper, nothing too menacing here, a step above a pale ale in its appearance. She’s a sweet old lady who can always jitterbug with light white lacey doilies for your cup of amber tea.

I can’t stay mad at you, old Matilda.

S: This has some grapes (white), pear, a bit of honey dryness, clove, nothing musky or out of the ordinary. very sweet bouquet. This has a huge distribution and is my air raid shelter from shitty BMC when I go to overpriced West Hollywood bars.

T: This ale is very sweet on the palate, no hoppy finish, almost sweet through and through, the finish is a mild crisp ginger almost, reminscient of a saison, not in the style of a belgium strong. the sweet fruit notes come through and linger shortly.

When I am old, I will still do my chores like a baws. Or better yet, no chores for me because I am fucking old.

M: the straw appearance gives an upfront note as to what you will be expecting, a quick burn that doesnt coat especially well, but the yeast is present and allows the spiciness to gently pass. Upon tasting a creaminess develops to enhance the fruit notes, but again, passes rather quickly. It was like that Chimpanzee movie, come on Disney, a “movie” that is 78 minutes long? Come on.

D: A solid blend between a saison style and belgium table ale, I feel the “STRONG” is a bit misplaced, but maybe my american palate is too jaded for extremes, however, this is made in Chicago, where are the meat packing houses and the spirit of the Jungle, the bitter cold, the inclement people? This is a solid Nissan Altima of belgium ales, very drinkable but not quite notable in any respect. In light of the pircetag, probably will not purchase again, pound for pound. The 7 percent is nice, but with the hops and ABV arms race out there, you can get pilsners in 7 percent so its particularly not a heavy hitter for its style.

The perfect drink to raise your children on before they get into heavier shit.

Narrative: You said this would be the last time, you curse yourself, breath swilling cold in circlets from your lips, “you ARE A BELGIAN ALE” you told yourself that when you looked in the bezzled mirror, you told yourself when you filled up your handbag, dont sell yourself short, you can do this. A john approaches in a Mitsubishi Mirage, not exactly your market but hey, “Belgium strong, what’s your pleasure” he looks displased…is it…my color? No…I look almost how I should..” YOU? You’re a belgizn strong? I had you pegged more for a French farmhouse girl…what’re you into?” He’s judgmental, and I am nervous, he knows, he knows I am mediocre and he’s smelling it as well “I am into whatever can foot the bill sweetie” He gestures knowingly that this baleful ale will be costly but ultimately fulfilling. The mighty 4 cylinder revvs towards consumption. It was a tawdry sham, but it was still fulfilling deep down.

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De Struise Aardmonnik – Earthmonk, For Those Times When Spacemonks are too Terrestrial

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Ah Struise, these crazy mixologists always roll out noteworthy gems and I always love getting these on my doorstep. Today we step away from their stouts and take a dive into their sourer side for some Belgian kisses in today’s review.

The Ansel Adams of beer photos up in the club popping bottles.

De Struise Brouwers
Belgium
Flanders Oud Bruin | 8.00% ABV

A: This beer is completely flat. I am talking like day 5 of bottle conditioning flat for the novice home brewer. I poured it with anger and, nothing. It looks like a murky quad with some deep amber tones against the light but overall just a deep cola color.

The perfect beer for baseball season. Have fun.

S: Holy hell, this lights up the nostrils with a bouquet of cherry, currant, red grape, and a huge vinegar profile. There’s a sort of delicious nail polish remover aspect going on here, but with figs. It’s like M.A.S.K. vehicles that look all janky until they transform into some bad ass robot and get sued by the Transformers lawyers, except, no one gets sued. WHICH IS ALSO BAD ASS.

T: This imparts a cherry juice sweetness at the outset and then, like bosses when you chip away that their HP, it turns into this deep brown ale base the finally fades into a bitter merlot. This is similar to Veritas 009 in that it is just completely confusing. At the bottom of it all there is a bitter cherry aspect stacked on top of a flat brown ale. This 11oz bottle was more than enough.

This beer is weird, dark, but I like it. Don’t ask me for a full analysis, it just works.

M: This has a flat, stinging, drying aspect to it. I don’t know if that was an intentional Brew Dog tactic to attempt to push the envelope but it didn’t resonate too well. Part of me doesn’t want to keep it swashing around my mouth to determine the coating. I will give this a moment to warm up to determine if it improves.

D: Ok so, it improves a bit with some heat on it but, the result is that it turns into a bottle of Rodenbach with a bit of age on it. Only more expensive. I don’t want to have to buy an Accord and wait around for it to turn into an RSX. That seems wasteful. I guess this is drinkable if you have the time to age it, or sit around and wish for better days. I like my beers good out of the bottle, not with all this molly coddling. To be clear, sours and wilds are my favorite style and this Oud Bruin should have been lazily draping its arm all up in my palate, cuddling within the ambit of my tastes. Sadly no, I can’t recommend this with more accessible and delicious things taking place all pell mell.

When you see it, you will realize this book was published in 1990.

Narrative: “Kenny, good to finally meet you, please, come in-” Mr. Jennings motioned entreatingly to a palatial foyer, a mere pre-foyer to another foyer, the transition from French to Portugese marble was an option that was specifically selected during construction way back in 2006. “Have a seat son.” Kenny’s palms began to sweat profusely and he wiped them upon his finest jeans, purchased from Nordstom Rack. The boot cut ¾ standard common to last year’s denim was not unnoticed by the constituents of the home. “They know, I can tell they are judging me.” he thought to himself scornfully. “Now Kenny, Miranda tells us that your parents own a fruit packing conglomerate, that sounds fascinating. Please, tell me about it” Mr. Jennings leaned forward importuning Kenny gracefully. “Well it’s uh, pretty interesting with the cans, and well you know the-” Kenny looked down, “they can tell that my parents own a modest preservatives operation. Why am I even bothering?” He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, “hey son, relax, I know you aren’t who you say you are, but, I respect that” “Sir, I” “son, the pectin on your shirt sleeve, the wax seal stain on your jeans, it’s obvious you are not who you say you are, but, I like the cut of your jib.”

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Johnathon Wakefield Fruit Berliner MASHUPS, For Beer Drinkers with Scurvy and Dental Insurance

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Alright so let me see if I have my facts straight here, renegade brewer Johnathon Wakefield from Florida has been cooking up crazy new sours/Berliners/wilds for some time now. Cigar City had him come on as a hired gun to make Dragon Fruit Passion Fruit Berliner for Hunahpu Day and people’s jimmies were rustled so hard. Anyway, I have 4 of his fruited berliners for todays mega-mashup review, FOUR TIMES THE REVIEW FOR YOUR ZERO DOLLAR INVESTMENT.

Well let’s start this off with the titleholder for Ratebeer #1 Berlinerweiss, Dragon Fruit Passion Fruit Berliner

DFPF, hot sticky sour action, NSFW, 18+ only.

Just look at that beer, god damn. It looks like someone at the Juicy Juice factory decided that toddlers needed to sip on some purple drank. This wheat beer has some serious purple hues, majestic magenta, and radiant pink hues at the edges. The smell is like a bag of tropical jolly ranchers, all the obscure fruits kids know only in sucrose and high fructose corn syrup form: guava, mango, passion fruit, durian. The taste is sharp with a high and tight acidity that hits my bicuspids first and starts tearing shit up like a meth addict on Christmas morning in a tropical rehabilitation facility. There’s notes of tropical starburst, Welch’s grape/passion fruit blends, and things girls order when white sand beaches are within a 5 mile radius.

When I poured this out of the growler and saw girly purple drank, I was like-

Verdict: Probably the second best berliner that I have ever tasted, which bring me to MIAMI MADNESSSSSS

The original name for this was Cleveland Madness, but that beer was bitter, full of depressing riverwater, and unemployment.

This beer finally addresses that old conflict I always seem to be running into: drink juice or beer for breakfast? Well, now you get the best of both worlds, seriously, there is so much juice and fruit exploding from this beer I hesitate to state that it is technically “on style” but Funky Buddha’s berliners weren’t on style either but god damn are these beers delicious. The smell has a shipwrecked aspect to it of apricot, huge pineapple, and not in an alpha acid hop way, I mean like acidic juice in your eyes pineapple. The waft continues with some tangelo and a brackish aspect to it that somehow works in this beer. The taste reminds me of an ultra classy greyhound or top shelf jungle juice with huge citrus and tropical acidity like a mai tai. I can’t stress this enough, the fruit is overwhelming and casts a lunar eclipse over the wheat base beer toiling below like a Morlock. The finish has a thick coating of juicy pulpiness.

Juicey acidity, tropical fruits, and a german weissbier? I don’t even know what this site is about anymore.

I love this beer, despite the overload of nutrition presented, but then A NEW CHALLENGER APPEARS-

In collaboration with Jamba Juice, the chunkiest wheat beer this side of Nordstrom Rack.

Holy chunkadunk. This beer has coating in a realm usually reserved for Abyss, but in an entirely different manner: STRAWBERRY RHUBARB. Part of rhubarb will kill you if you eat the wrong part. First we get juice, now straight up vegetables on this site? I know, this isn’t a Jillian Michaels crossfit nutrition guilt trip, just a chunky thick berliner to sip on while you shop for size 42 jeans online. The smell is straight up strawberry, tart jolly rancher, red skittles, and a light raspberry. The taste flips the shit switch and goes into a strawberry voltron that packs a light milky lactose aspect, yogurt, and jamba juice vitamin C boost. Again, the fruit just serves as overlord to the wheat aspect of this beer. SPAWN MORE OVERLORDS.

Four amazing Berliners in one night? Damn, I gotta prep for this one.

So we have seen the tropics, jamba juice, and the inside of an alcoholic crossfit studio, now we wander to latin america and taste some sticky watermelon sex-

Holy murky Prussian mouthgasms. Not sure if this is the dregs of a Cuban fruit cart or a tart treat from Florida: TRICK QUESTION THOSE ARE THE SAME THING.

MORAL IMPERATIVE WATERMELON BERLINER.

Well, this may not be the prettiest beer in the world, but I am sure saltwater aquarium enthusiasts will be on board for this one. The murky nature just lets me know what this berliner is hiding underneathe, like those M.A.S.K. toys where a boring ass gas station turns into a battle station, this beer mobilizes for war like El Salvador. The smell is water watermelon pulp, O BANG, Mexican restaurant refreshments, light vegetal aspect, white seeds, and a sharp acidity on the back end. The taste follows the nose like Toucan Sam and takes you to a seedy burrito spot in the Mission almost instantly. The pulp and murkiness just serves as a vessel to the D-Day fruit war that is your back palate, the heavy artillery shells with sour bombs on the bitter zones throughout and several fruity purple hearts are awarded to all. YOU MADE IT SOLDIER. The vegetal aspect is the only “authentic” aspect I have a real complain with, the white rind seems out of place but adds authenticity to the brew. “Tell…tell my mom I died honorably, not juicing watermelons for an esoteric ::COUGH::: weisssss-”

This was my least favorite of the four, but it was still pretty cool, Mr. Heisenberg.

So there you have it, all four done in one review, and NO ONE SAID IT COULDN’T NOT BE DONE! And let me allay your concerns, no narrative today you greedy cocks, I can’t assemble these four beers into a fruit Voltron to- wait…that’s a brilliant premise. Maybe with the next Wakefield series you can see the chilling conclusion of what happens to Fruitron: Protector of Dade County.

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Lost Abbey Veritas 007, Secret Agent Wild Ale, Busting Tart Spy Missions All Up in your Face

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I feel like I have been wrestling with Lost Abbey lately and constantly looking in my rearview mirror, but one thing that I know is, aside from Duck Duck Gooze, this is probably my favorite sour that they have ever made and, spoiler alert, it is damn good. If landing this beer wasn’t such a kick in the taint, I would seek it out all the time. Let’s get this sourgasm going on today’s review.

Again, I forget if this is V009 or V007, you dont care, just close that Brazzers tab for a second and pay attention.

Veritas 007, Lost Abbey
American Wild Ale, 7% abv

A: This beer has a radiant glow to it and makes me suspect that Witches Wit or some golden was the base beer but, absent some searching on Alta Vista or AOL, the world may never know. Pathetic crackly carobnation and non-commital lacing make this beer ineligible for Jdate. Not sure where the tremblant red colors came from but, hey, belly up to the bar non-standard coloring, even a crazy off pink hue is welcome in these parts.

I can only assume that this beer will get more bad ass over time. If that is even possible.

S: This has that funky Jolly Pumpkin signature wet bandaids with sobbed upon cardboard smell to it. Sure there’s wheat and a tart finish but the trials of a broken breakdancer are the soul of the enterprise. Also, cherries and that aggressive raspberry that ruins everyone’s game and takes over shit rapaciously.

T: This has an incredibly expansive character with cherry and raspberry at the forefront. It mellow a bit, I was told but that is like saying that the kid with ADD is doing a little bit less shitty at math. This is still incredibly tart like a cider rampage but with more dryness. Somehow, skittles got invited to this bruja and decided that archetypical tart fruits would follow up the swallow. This is orgasm in a cup for a 6 year old palate. That, no I mean, it is what a 6 year old would really enjo-, shit nevermind, next category.

This beer is bizarre yet strangely refined.

M: This is super drying and light but refreshing. It would be more refreshing if I wasn’t so stressed out about drinking it at all. I can’t fault it for its existence. Sometime when I drink a rare beer, that comes through consciously and I am aware of it, denaturing the experience. I once drank ISO:FT and loved it, and then when someone told me what it was I bemoaned my fast gulps and distention to detail. This is a fantastic beer and the mouthfeel just served a self-destructive function. It was gone so quickly, said the Lotto winner, sobbing into a 4 seated jet ski.

D: See supra, this is beyond drinkable and, if I didn’t lack the temerity to seek this out, I would do so. Someone give me another bottle and I will write them a short story, just for a chance to indulge on this epic treat again. It is within the ambit of the best 10 sours that I have ever tried. It is like in Cold Mountain where Nicole Kidman falls in love with Jude Law after only giving him lemonade like once, WHAT? I didn’t even see that movie, I MEANT THE BEER WAS PRETTY LEGIT. That’s all.

Great in the morning, great as a nightcap, doesn’t matter, this beer is amazing, when Veritas is on a bagel you can drink V007 any time.

Narrative: The structure of Horatio Alger works and rom-coms had led poor Devin Terpin to believe that it was possible to transcend class structure immediately, if love and a 90 minute resolution was involved. “Repeat again Devin, ’And henceforth, the mandate shall remain tattered dicta’” instructed Ethyl Balmington, his social correctional instructor. “Hens for, this man-date is a tatted dick.” Devin stumbled out warily. Ms. Balmington shook her head reproachfully. “Devin, if you ever hope to attend this Laguna Nigel wedding, you need to work on your diction and content.” Devin sighed and kicked a patch of wild raspberries before him. “Wait, Devin, what is that?” he glanced down and the plant seemed to pulse at his distinctive Riverside dialect. “THIS STRAIN OF FLORA, it is highly combustible with your 909 prototype upbringing!” Ms. Balmington an experienced amateur florist snatched his Metal Mulisha bandana and ground some tart berries into a fine paste. “Now swallow this.” “OBVI!” Devin cried out and made his fraternal sign and downed the berries not unlike the sickest bro. These will take effect in approximately 90 minutes, and all of your romantic problems will be solved. “That sounds like the reprieve of some petulant candor, to say the least!” Devin retorted, astonished. His lifted Silverado changed into a Pumpkin Carriage, then it was on some sick twanky deuces, then it was a bagged pumpkin carriage, which, was pretty cutty irrespective of circumstance. A mere 90 minutes had passed and Devin joked with a pun based upon a portmanteau of Portugese and conversational Greek to one of the guests. “WELL I NEVER!” she cried out while polishing her monocle. “AND I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU HUSBAND AND WIFE!” the reverend shouted and credits began to roll, over the expanse of the life of the sickest bro. The berries were poisonous.

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Terrapin Sun Ray Wheat Beer, An Evil Genius From Georgia Has Constructed a Sun Death Ray- in Ale Form.

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I like Terrapin. I am not the biggest fan of hefs. So who will win this tug of war? Maybe people from hot humid ass areas know how to work that wheat stalk? It worked for Live Oak, let’s see if they can bust some thistles in today’s review.

Buy a Tool poster, some incense, move to Athens, Georgia and get hella into toasting wheat.

Terrapin Beer Company
Georgia, United States
Hefeweizen | 4.50% ABV

A: Cloudy tangerine color, nice radiance to it, looks like Hi-C but with murkiness to it. Carbonation could use some work and the lacing is non-present but, for the style, that’s not a deal breaker. Again, it is like a sun ray in a glass, but the sun can also burn your eyes during a lunar eclipse so, there’s also that.

When I first popped open this bottle the radiance emerged, blasting my corneas to dust. The sun doesn’t fuck around.

S: Tons of nectarines and tangerines, a bit of a chemical tartness detected, but that could be from a variety of things. Obviously a huge wheat profile with biscuity cornbread notes. If you’ve been the hef rodeo, this is a solid bull that will get up on your orange haunches and give you a solid buck to your wheatstones.

T: The initial taste is sweet like a tangerine with a bit of orange hidden at the back, it fades into a foamy wheat profile that is expected but what really is noteworthy is the way that it just resonates for days with a genuine citrus note. This isn’t a citra/simcoe false citrus, this is like they actually squeezed it into the beer or something and it is really fantastic. This is a bit chewier than I desire for the style but that’s not to say that this is some malt bomb by any means.

A sun beer for people who are constantly punished by the sun. The irony of nature is not lost on me.

M: I love the way the feel coats but just exits like a 7th grade drama student, promptly but making a lot of noise off stage. The juicy notes just sustain like a telecaster note. The hops are incredibly subtle as though they are a kinda of a negligent babysitter letting the citrus profile just run rampant. Overall, very accomplished wheat beer. Particularly since I find this style to be shallow and pedantic.

D: This is incredibly drinkable. I can only assume that they sell this in the south in no smaller than 30 packs given how fast it can be consumed on a hot day. I don’t even own a Mustang 5.0, but drinking this beer makes me want one to work on. I don’t even have to be doing anything, just lay under a mid-80’s mustang with this beer complaining about corporate fat cats. It’s that kind of crisp refreshness.

If you take down about 9 of these, you will feel like a complete hard ass, but then again, if you take down 9 hefs in session, you are probably an overweight Sigma Kappa anyway.

Narrative: Walter Burrs was the sweatiest turtle in the Splishy Wallows. His course obese hide spilled through the furroughs of his shell. “Hey….:::wheeze:: hey fellas…how’s the algae bed today?” The others groaned as he pushed his wide carapace in between them. “Whew, hot one out there today!” he bemoaned his thick fat terrapin breasts rubbing against the face of his peers. “Even the algae is warm” his sticky plastron rubbed against the others, making them exceedingly uncomfortable. “God damnit, it isn’t even hot! Why is he such a sticky fat bastard?” “Myommm nom nom” he exhaled while swallowing, his brow wet with a sticky, acidic sweatiness, his mouth covered in wheat grainy goodness. “Later we should go to the rive-zzzzz” he sticky hot breath billowed across the group as he passed into a grain coma.