Alright, we can all agree that Christopher Columbus was a complete shitbag, right? I mean ok, he rediscovered a trade route, committed genocide of thousands/millions of natives, sold Carribeans into slavery, we all know about that; but he also probably never brewed a DIPA. If you do all that horrible shit and then never offset it with at least a quality beer, then, that’s just babystomp levels of wrong. Columbus Brewing would be the inverted analog to the imperialist mariner: solid land locked people with no boats, no imperialistic aspirations, and they brew a fucking amazing DIPA. I saw this lil elusive minx pop up on the old school top 100, back when the mics used to mean something, 95 was meant you were the shit, now a 99 is like the least you get. Mad props to BlacknYellow for sending me this sticky banger. Anyway, this is fucking amazing and the best hoppy offering to come out of the midwest in a long time. Sorry Head Hunter. This is vastly superior. This one is for you Sendsilk, stop complaining and let’s get up in that Bodhi.

Columbus Brewing Company visit their website
Ohio, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: This is just beautiful. It isn’t that orange julius turbid mish mosh that HF presents, but it isn’t that deep gold SRM from west coast offerings, nor the ugly brassy east coast maltbombs: it is it’s own aesthetic. Looking at it, you wouldn’t think 8% abv DIPA, it looks like a tamer sort of Zombie Dusty affair. The carb held up well and there is light cling and little retention, but you didn’t put this hop porn in for the foamy storyline. You just want those hop oil money shots all in your mouth. Triple ropers.

S: This has a fantastic floral meets citrus boquet that doesn’t dominate on either profile. At first it is a bit aserose and you have sad feels, but then that grapefruit comes through like pith on the backend lightening up the bitter Coen Brothers hop profile with a bit of Raising Hopizona. Jamean.

T: Again, the pine needles are swept gently into a corner with some smashed lemon and yard trimmings in a beautiful medley that is distinctively grassy, resinous, but bright enough to maintain that complexity. It is the halfway house between shitty east coast malt bombs and simplistic refreshing west coast citrus profiles. The ABV is masked impeccably, you wouldn’t even know there were bricks stuffed up in the spare moving mad weight up in this whip. Pine cones soaked in grapefruit puree, bottled with unfiltered sunlight. Straight ratchet and worth the hype.

M: This is exceedingly thin and all the better as a result. In racing they say “if you want to make your car do everything better, reduce the weight” and that is essentially what is going on here. This is a stripped down malty 240z with a fucking 350 of hops dropped into the chassis. I am not sure if this amount of resin to citrus ratio is street legal, but it def gives southeast asian kids erections. It washes away clean with an almost dry finish due to the oily bitterness that leave you with little recourse besides getting face down in it for another taste.

D: I killed this entire growler on a weeknight and wondered just what the fuck happened the next morning. My Roomba looked on in cold disapproval and swept up all the smashed goldfish from the entryway. This will get you on that Mossberg swerve to the point where, who knows, maybe you might get banned from a local establishment and/or beer website. Anything is possible with this minx. Highly recommended Boneyard/Alpine level shit. Seek this one out, srs.

Narrative: Dwayne Clark knew that his grill was illfitting and he didn’t care to address the issue. The lack of balance was his calling and the street youth loved him for it. In urban circles this was an issue of ultimate reproach and he instead chose to clench his bicuspids defiantly. “What type of cheesy gordita crunch would you like?” “mhm.” He just felt the pang of knowing that his vestigial dental accessory was somehow subpar to the most luxurious on the block, but ornate and amazing in execution. “I shed, jush a regular scheesy gordita, crunsh.” He gritted his jaw knowing they were mocking his ostentatious purchase, the precious stones obfuscating his speech. It was sheer excess, to be sure. WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO? TAKE IT OUT? That is simply not an option when you come so close to regal greatness. No sir, he resolved to show this grill in all of its majesty, despite the “minor” problems that he may encounter on a day to day basis. Dwayne would tend the danky vines in his grandmother’s basement and wait for the day that Interscope saw the true genius behind his radiant flows.