The farmhouse gods giveth and they taketh away. I don’t know how this beer started a decade ago, but this is now a twisted trash fire immolating at the saison altar.
Unless this was the first black saison aged in red wine barrels, something has gone horribly wrong with time. In an alternate universe where HF Edith is a malignant tumor of oxidized dark malts, skoal, cherry home run pies dunked in kikoman: this beer exists. The cork was fine but the beer was awfully oxidized and tattered by the vicissitudes of the green bottle condition. I would have never guessed this was a saison, and instead would have felt bad for whoever tried to brew an Oud Bruin on mescaline. The cherry is the only fun redeeming aspect of this tannic cardboard effigy smoking in the shattered shell of farmhouse fire bombing.
Some American Saisons can hold up effortlessly, but a Southampton Peconic gem, this is not. Time has crashed upon the rocks endlessly wearing this into a clovey mess of turbid fragments.
Brb seeking out SPF45 for science.