Alright, no more pussyfooting around with Penrose’s normal offerings, let’s get to something special: Penrose’s first wild ale. What is this charming, unassuming golden ale on brett? Is this the wild ale to heal Chicago tickers’ PTSD from Blue Lady? Will this be the reawakening of Small Animal Big Machine in resplendent glory? Or will people drown themselves in Lake Michigan like Chopin/Woolfe/literary wheelies.
Let’s put on those northface jackets and hit the loop for some IP action in today’s review. MEAT PACKING COMMENCE.
Penrose, Chicago IL
Wild V 5.x% abv
Wild Ale, Golden on Brett
Holy hell was this one a bitch to open, I tried pulling with my mouth, stroking the neck to warm it up, using my rabbit opener to leverage the shaft, until finally I had to force matters with a screw. OH SHIT GUIZE I AM ALL INTO EUPHEMISMS NOW GET IT.
A: Right out of the gates things are going smoothly with a radiant orange and brassy tarnished tangerine that presents substantial attenuation that cascades in massive clouds like Migos’s dressing room. Versaceversaceversace PENROSE GOT BAKING SODA BAKING SODA. It is just beautiful and the cling is the type that a gypsy ale-seer could read your future with, endless cling and spotty embellishments upon the glass with each sip. Phenomenal.
S: Ok honestly, when a brewery releases their first SOUR I wait with casual distrust but those sideways glances were completely unwarranted: This is fucking awesome. If you ever wanted Temptation to caress Block 15’s Golden Canary: this is your smut. The nose is vibrant pineapple, fuji apple, floral notes like a glade plug ins, tart clementines, a mild musk like autumn carpet and a closer that reminds me of twine or rope. You know the acidity is there but the tropical fruits are radiant, it hurts to look at, CAREBEAR STARE LEVEL SHIT.
T: This is admittedly more sour than I was expecting and puckers in a sort of venomous Chardonnay with light french oak leading the charge onto the bicuspids. It transitions into sour patch kids, a faint sweetness like cornbread, ripe clementine, and a grapefruit closer. It never goes overboard or is painful of which to take large swallows. It follows through with the tartness but gives a light earthiness akin to Armand Herfst, like leaves on the back palate. This is admittedly, very good stuff. I don’t say that with the type DDB qualifier or some backhanded circumlocution: you will drill your entire bottle and not want to share.
M: This is drying on the sides of your tongue but never hits oppressive levels of gumline recession, which was my main complaint with Chandelle. It never becomes too tart, and as it warms gives you a cheese rind waxiness and perhaps a faint diacetyl in the form of apple sucker but it’s more in the exhale and when you lick along your incisors than the actual taste. I am really hitting hardpan trying to come up with ways to knock this shit, it’s frustrating when a brewery doesn’t fuck something up because, then what am I supposed to complain about, label art and shit?
D: This is exceedingly drinkable in the same vein as Brute and the dryness with a tartness that lends for deep sips, your 375 is not a shareable vessel. In fact, that’s one of my main gripes about this: the format is complete bullshit. They know that no one will have a 12 ounce of this and fold their arms content. The musk hits you hard from the back like Sherman, no interception. The white grape aspect alone as it warms is enough to make me want to chain combo these like Kratos, air to ground juggling until the sun comes up and then I have to start working on those job applications like I promised my P.O.
For all the dipshits who attend tomorrow’s Nuthululaulu release, it will be a perfect summary of the current beer scene if this beer does not sell out immediately. Chicago is on its way to crafting a Shasta Beatification that delivers on so many levels.