black note, bells, midwest and then girlscouts arent holding their liquor
Monthly Archives: April 2013
Imperial ba Abraxas huna. Fuck your couch.
So imperial
Chocolate bunny cask aged Balls Black Nut
Don’t even ask. Video forthcoming
Time for some ‘Tomes and Tums
I ain’t afraid of no ghosts
2004 Pissenlit because Shogokawada is a hater
On Instagram straight flexing.
Vintage tomes exorcise my bones.
Birrificio Le Baladin Xyauyù Fumé (Islay Whisky) – Xyuken, Shoryuken, BALADASKINPEROOKIN
Well what ornate kinds of shit do we have going on in today’s review? Just another imported $50 500ml bottle NOTHING TO FUCKING SEE HERE. This is the legendary Xyauyu barleywine but one of the even more .RAR variants, aged in Islay Whisky barrels, so you know things are gonna get pretty peaty up in this bitch real quick. It came in a circle box, in a waxed bottle, you remove the wax and uh oh the princess is in another castle. A fucking cork. Not just a regular one either, a long deep cork that pounds way inside. When you finally open up this genie bottle, shit goes off the chain and you can see what those lazy ass italians are up to when they aren’t groping foreign women and pissing away the value of the Euro.
A barleywine, that is flat, that is corked, that is capped, that is waxed, that is in a circle box: Xyauyuception
Birrificio Le Baladin
Italy
English Barleywine | 14.00% ABV
A: The cork finally eases out and this 2008 beast is ready to go full throttle. Well not exactly, this beer is famous for being flatter than 10 year old Kate Upton, and having absolutely no gas to it. For some people, they just write this beer off as a “poor man’s” Utopias, but haters gonna Baladin I guess. I could give a fuck less about the lack of lacing or carb because look at that beast. It sheets harder than southern Reconstructionists, and is just as furious. If Kuhnhenn can release massive flat barleywines and everyone’s foreskin is all pulled back, why not the italians, renowned for their foreskin?
ONLY A TRUE BEER NERD CAN APPRECIATE THE COMPLEXITY OF THIS SITUATION
S: This is seriously 1) the most peat forward beer I have ever had and 2) easily one of the most complex. I am gonna pull apart this strata like a horny geologist so you can get all up in these layers. First the peat and barrel sets its feet firmly in the paint and starts screening out every other aspect. This is like Home Depot garden aisle with a bit of Costco tire aisle mixed in. There is a huge smoke and earthiness not unlike sulphuric oak and deep char rounding out the profile. When the wreckage is cleared, there is a terrified citizen in the bombed out peat building, smelling all like caramel, mallowfoam, toffee, butterscotch and peanut brittle. Shattered to the core.
T: This is incredibly smoke and peat forward and the entire first taste is akin to just straight up sipping straight up peaty Scotch. The dude from Islay dug peat samples from six locations across Scotland – three of which were peat bogs on Islay. A practice steeped in tradition, lends “a sense of place” to the whiskies of Islay, playing an important part in the mysterious chemistry of malt whisky. This shit is no exception and just unloads both barrels in your face with deep oak, smoke, peat, and intense whiskey profile. The peat aspect is incredibly earthy and totally unlike the rauch aspects that some people may be thinking of, the shit is like hardcore gardening, planting GLADIOLAS MOTHERFUCKER. The backend is this fantastic sweet caramel, Rolo and Sixlet candy, a sticky sweet caramel apple, with some dank ass Heath bar finishing the experience. Very strange and inviting, like that volunteer gym coach who wasn’t on the school payroll and would just show up at games.
If you buy a $50 beer before you lose your virginity, congratulations, you just reach beer nerd god tier. Enjoy being a eunuch.
M: This is hot, drying, and incredibly sticky at the same time. The entire experience is a clusterfuck of different elements going on. The oak and smoke take front seat and contribute this cloying cigarsmoke finish that leaves you feeling like you have drysocket, but then the sugars replace that feeling with deep cavities, shit is straight up occlusal real quick. Go ahead and Bing that word, I will wait.
D: This is an incredibly difficult aspect to address because it really isn’t drinkable in the classic sense. I mean, it is tough to want to hang out with a 14% abv asshole all the time without getting in mischief and soaking the entryway down, smashing goldfish crackers on the carpet and shit. But in a certain way, this brash overpowering jerk has a certain charm. It took me 90 minutes to finish this 16oz bottle, and I don’t have no pussy palate. I am not going to address that inherent euphemism. But on a long enough scale, this is enjoyable as something that could be savored as a rare treat, tugging it along gently, massaging your palate’s lower colon to push for deeper results. The experience is worth it. $50 worth it. Stop being a sweet dick and embrace the peat.
Maybe you think you are bad ass for drinking this, maybe you are just a raging pussy who cant even handle this power? Who knows.
Narrative: The baggage line at Moline/Quad Cities airport was really nothing to write home about, in the classic sense. It was a single carousel of lacluster luggage, largely from lamenting languishers, awaiting trips to Iowa or the 312. One bag had a special secret. Reggie Darwinson pulled the Samsonite equipage from the line and examined it at length. “Sir, you are gonna wanna see this-” Reggie radioed to his supervisor and massaged the cool wet exterior of the canvas bag. “What is it Reggie? Oh god what is that smell?” his superfisor fumed and examined the soggy sack, sticky and rancid, like a box of soaked cigars. They opened the bag and found a perfectly measured sack of fertilizer with Italian customers paperwork soaked in the muck and the mire. “Who would pay $50 just to send this? There is no baggage tag, just country of origin…Italy,” Reggie noted and pushed around the wet bog, discovering a series of obscure Italian chocolates in the muck. “I have never seen anything like this, sir…I am going to hang on to this,” Reegie stammered and wheeled the smoky mess home. He started at the luggage and wondered what would possess someone to do this, but it gave him a strange comfort to have it sitting there, in his shitty midwest apartment.
TheMind would lose his shit if he ever took a batch 2 Consecration to the dome
Dude was jizzing over fresh Supplication.
Just had my first Yuengling and I don’t even Pennsylvania that hard
I thought Anakin killed all the Yuenglings.
15 IPAs to Try Before You Die
No Kern River. No Societe. No Boneyard. No Wisdom Seeker. No Tired Hands. No Three Floyd’s. UPDATE: if you follow the link that Huffington Post lamely omitted and sourced the list from, Heady and Abner are mentioned. Still some glaring oversights.
Casual list is casual.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/08/best-ipas_n_3038362.html#slide=more290706
I am disappoint
AC Golden Peche, Squeeze Dem Peaches Until You Get To That There Juicy Pit
Alright, let’s see if this micro with macro parents can run with the big dogs in today’s review of Peche. American wilds might be the hardest fucking category to classify one’s beer in. When you adjust the ratings for style you basically have to crush it out of the park to even turn someone’s head. This beer won some GABF awards, but let’s see if it really puts the tires to the pavement or if that power is all lost at the barrel aged flywheel in today’s review
No granite backsplash for today’s review, classing shit up and going modern.
AC Golden Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV ?
A: This beer comes out disinterested as fuck and just kinda lays there like a discount escort, but for $80 off of craigslist, were you expecting some kind of Fantome excitement? The lacing is non-existent but for the style, this isn’t exactly the foamy soapy pillow fight that people anticipate. The SRM looks good and juicy, there’s a brassiness to the middle with light yellow radiance to the edges like illuminated holofoil rares. Venom vs Spiderman Marvel Masterpiece level.
Wild ales in general dont present a shameful display. Even when they are mediocre, they are pretty bomb
S: This has an incredible nose to it and reminds me a lot of Cascade Apricot in the high acidity and fruit that is just getting manhandled by the lactic aspects. It is difficult to ascribe depth and cheesiness to this because the musk is almost non-existent and a boost of some Brett C would have been a nice inclusion, but maybe I am asking for too much. This is certainly a pocket knife and not a Swiss army knife. It has utility and executes well for a single purpose but doesn’t present a crazy panoply of aromatics. Sometimes you can pop in Twisted Metal and appreciate the simplicity of pure destruction.
T: This is incredibly sour and delivers on the tannic peach front and has a drying finish that just assaults the gumline relentlessly. The brett that was missing on the nose shows up and peeks its head at the finish and sheepishly carries the books of the popular kids, in this case the peach and acidic profile. Similar to the nose, you get that Cascade sort of one trick pony that makes this good but fails to mystify on deeper levels of musk and funk. If Michael Bay made an American wild, it would be this spectacle that tears shit up but leaves you ultimately aware that you came to the movies alone.
I wont say that this is the most alpha Wild Ale that I have ever had, but it battles on a different field.
M: This is incredibly dry and save for a few fleeting moments of juicy peach in the middle, this is your dentists worst nightmare. Unless you have PPO insurance, don’t pound this on the reg because that acidity will catch up with you and you will get the old “Lambic Gurgles” when your insides get turned out harder than a Plan B overdose. It is incredibly acidic and the peach serves as a trojan horse to leave the charge to your lower intestine where the magic happens. Deuce crew for sheeze.
D: This is incredibly drinkable and the ABV is non-existent. Aside from the sheer pain of drinking a highly acidic potation, this has utility amongst those of the XX chromosomal order because, dem peaches. This would be good to have on hand for those times when you don’t want to go balls out on fruited lambics, but lightly acidic beers dont seem to be hitting your lactic spot. Fans of Grand Funk Ale Road and Upland Lambics will appreciate the direct approach of this sour, Fantome ghost hunters will long for a bit more complexity. At the end of the day, everyone gets a reluctant hand job.
The ultimate irony is that beer nerds, the least impressive people in the world, are the hardest to impress. Paradoxes abound.
Narrative: Chelsea Rosacaea was an offputting tart little beauty of 20 years. She was brash, acrimonious and honest to a fault. Her parents always warned her that being too forward and harsh was a bit intimidating for young suitors, but she cared little for pageantry and grace. On one date, she went to a Sonic Burger and began to prostrate at length about the sorry state of the Chevy Cruze that her male counterpart had picked her up in and gave a full dress down to the Coney Dogs section of the menu. “I mean really, I wore a dry clean only dress for this? When am I supposed to be impressed? At the crest of the banana split in a plastic tub? This courtship might fly in South Carolina, but I feel like an enterprise such as this hardly warrants some titty groping,” she demurred to the poor young man who had no idea that with the sweetest of peaches comes the largest of pits. She was a bit harsh, but refreshing in her simplicity, like so many .ROM files lost on hard drives along the way.
dontdrinkbeer 