Oh shit bringing more muscles from Brussels, them Kentellen one-offs seeing what french people are doing to copy American wile ales, and all those timeworn bits of levity. So everyone became a hilarious Ray Romano overnight making jokes about this being a fake bottle. BECAUSE I SAW A THREAD ABOUT IT TWO YEARS AGO ITS STILL FUNNY RIGHT. Jokes in the beer world are like the Yo Mama levity of the schoolground that fades far after the beers themselves. Anyway, this is a real bottle, crisp N edges, rounded corners, all that shit. Oh well, hater tickers gonna hate, I let my bottles hang somethin like my Jesus piece.
Let’s pop this goozie, after 4 bottles of sour these hater tickers start feeling woozy.
Brasserie Cantillon v
Style | ABV
Gueuze | 6.00% ABV
The third in a series of beers made for the Mi-Orge Mi-Houlbon beer store in Belgium and Jean Le Chocolatier chocolate shop. A blend of 1, 2 and 3 year old Cantillon lambic from Red Bordeaux, White Bordeaux and Cotes de Rhone barrels.
A: This has a graceful clarity to it and that eggshell head that sticks around and lingers for days like lemon merengue giving that classic goozie cling on the edges with the finest microcarb that you could ask for. The silky carb sits gently with a frothy collar like them Vivid pearl necklaces, graceful and top tier stickiness. Beautiful beer top to bottom, I keep red bones up in Belgium to watch these sour barrels twerk.
S: God damn this is a musky beast. For anyone who can’t tell the difference between normal classic and this, or the age old “WE DID THEM BLIND AND CLASSIC IS BETTER LOL!” then those tickers aint on this Radio Rahim shit. This is a far cry from classic in many ways, most notably, this beer is simply more gentle across the board and funky for days. This has a huge leathery lemony waft that gives that attic full of tepid dust where you used to hide them Hustlers at, full musky muff on that late 80s jam. The gruyere and cheese is mixed seamlessly with the chardonnay oak. It isn’t exceedingly lactic but seems the most “traditional” execution of the classic style, ironically more so than Classic itself. I OWN A FUCKING TIME MACHINE OK I HAVE HAD FRESH GOOZIES DURING THE REFORMATION AND THE ENLIGHTENMENT. You ever sip geueueuze with Robert of Orange and burn protestants? I didn’t fuckin think so.
T: This again is just a paradigm of balance, straight Yoshi in Mario Kart of the goozie world. If you have a blunted american palate that loves Upland Kiwi lambic and like your sours like a communications major (one dimensional, sour faced and cantankerous) you will find this to be lacking simply due to the delayed payoff and nuance. The cheesiness just lingers with a lightly herbal oakiness and this prickly gentle tartness that is restrained and gives you just enough to allow the musk and funk and wet comic books to do their thing. It is certainly tart, but more like the restrained lines of a 911, it is endemic to the grace and poise of control and stability over time. This might be my favorite Cantelleon one off to date, certainly better than 50n and rivals Helena with cool stability.
M: This has a wonderful creaminess that coats despite the bone dry finish. The white wine doesn’t come through in a ham handed way, it is the keystone that supports an arch of musk and funk that unites the experience from coming across like them mid-2000s Fantomes. It is multifaceted and lingers along the gumline like sharp cheddar that slight bitterness and muskiness parting the red sea like spreading some Louboutins.
D: This is the most drinkable Kentaleon that I have had this side of 2008 LP Kriek, but for different reasons. The appeal of the fruitiness from the LPK stunts hard on the muskiness and balance to this. This doesn’t stunt hard with that sharp acidic nose like an Aventador, it is more nuanced but packs a certain grace and poise like an Aronofsky film. If you don’t get it, people will shake their heads and make you feel like a dipshit. You probably deserve it, this beer is phenomenal and most tickers are on that Romcom game, that offshelf Ryan Reynolds game.
Narrative: Patroclus Invixus wasn’t the most impresive magician in the Boise Illusionists Guild. He was not known for over the top escape acts, he never cut an assistant in half with a blade, hell he never even attempted to perform low level sleigh of hand. Where Patroclus was lacking in pageantry and showmanship, he excelled in simplicity and amazing feats of illusion that even the most noteworthy could not solve. His soft amarillo jacket glowed under the rosy hue of the magic club as he awaited his turn to perform his act. He took the stage with a meek confidence, his stability inspiring confidence from the Wednesday contingency. “And you sir,” he began “were you not deeply affected by being struck by birch switches as a youth?” he questioned one unsuspecting man. The man was deeply affected by the sheer balance and insight that the Mr. Invixus had presented. He had a penetrating depth and subtle execution that left everyone nodding in cool reverence for the power that is exhibited in moderation. Patroclus took a small sip from his limoncello and paired it with some semi-soft goat cheese; a modest celebration for a man of incomparable depth.