OH MAN, French Apertif connoissieurs hold onto your hairy salami nips because Three Floyds is pulling some IRL Kaufmanesque trolling on its consumer base with this recent offering.  This beer exists as a testament to just how important it is to get either session A or B tickets, or say fuckall to the DLD variants.  The second I saw the deviant lineup of Dark Lord treatments this year, my scope narrowed to a harrowing iris upon this offering.  Cinnamon. Dessert Wine. and most importantly Cardamom.

Only those who have lived through the night tremors of Biggleswade know that mortar shelled taste landscape that coridander salvo pounds into your mouth terrain.  It is relentless and hellish.  Spice waves pushed upwards like so much Belgian soil in the second battle of Ypres.  Look upon the dark altar in stern contemplation of power and attendant responsibility, like a necrotic Uncle Ben pushing his cinnamon laced fingers up through the obsidian soil:

Like the charcoal smeared face of a child refugee, the darkness of a single photo tells hundreds of tales of anguish.  Let’s be clear, I could have taken this entire bottle to the dome in theory.  Like  I once again could have hazarded a solo session of racking myself upon the breaking wheel.  This time I brought a friend along for the Raccoon City nightmare, so that these Elm Street undulations could be confirmed.

To qualify this beer, it certainly is bad.  Like in a global context, you would get an Achievement Unlocked trophy for clearing the 4oz bar.  That being said, it isn’t quite as bad as you would expect. I mean that in the “Hey the Subaru Baja isn’t completely horrible” type of qualification.  Biggleswade is worse, hell even Trump and Pump was worse in a more focused purely Stevia manner.  Muerte was less drinkable but more fun in a sort of “gourmand Fear Factor” sort of way.  This doesn’t ravage you as fully in any one way but it spams spice damage that is difficult to dodge roll or palate parry.

You get almost zero cinnamon.  If you are a bitch about the cinnamon, then prepare to be a chai complainer in the most final form.  The whole thing is like Indian icecream: rosewater, jasmine, sandalwood, weird funky eastern spices and a sort of sweet Tandori closer. It smells like stripper dust mixed with Nana’s musty earthy perfume. “Geriatric dollar dances” would be an apt qualifier.

The taste has so much spice that Marco Polo nods in solemn distrust.  It is brownies, and unwatered Dr. Pepper syrup mixed with the oddball spices in your rack that don’t get much screen time: cumen, tumeric, hell, even black salt.  The closest thing I can compare this to is the equally odd Pugnog.  Thankfully, the screaming from the cardamom is so loud that the barrel treatment serves more as a chocolate Pedialyte stickiness in the background.

This can be filed decidedly under the “What the fuck did you expect” folder.  My level of surprise cannot be expressed as a rational number because I was lazy and went in for this punishment willingly.  For every round loaded into the predictable chamber, the charge is lost because DDB intentionally turned the barrel on itself.  The result is the feeling that even this review is uninspired and consumed by the syrupy depths of this beer.

Sure, the beer is bad.  We all knew that would be the case.  What can DDB contribute to improve the framework of the derision?  I can offer this sage advice: this beer falls into the “so bad it’s good” realm and ACTUALLY has an odd utility that makes it highly valuable.  You need one of these at a tasting.  This is the smelling salt to revive your palate at a huge bottleshare.  Everyone will have some mirthful statement of hyperbole and feel like a Coleridge of beer pejoratives and THEREIN lies the merit.  The expression of bonhomie amongst people in REACTION, not in the experience itself.

Sick gains, Claire Danes. Deal with it.

For that reason, drinking this alone is a failure and surveying the twisted countenances of friends writhing in spice and brownie cough syrup IS THE PLEASURE.  No other beers will hit the benchmarks for reflection and everyone will cast their dull coins into the hat of disapproval.

But as a discrete standalone experience, I would rather have an anal pap smear before I again give up a Cut and a SARA beer to troll my friends IRL with this Kafkaesque experience.

Let’s be clear: I usually cringe when people offer to send me homebrew. How many crystal malt DIPAS or tired ass clovey Westmalle strain Saisons can you tick without getting a twinge of forced veneration. Sometimes though, there’s someone who is up to some wild shit on the low. These are usually meticulously crafted, wildly expensive to produce, detail obsessed offerings from “novice/nonprofessional” Brewers. The usual refrain is that you could never scale these up and then you have to sit through a mandible grinding speech about how challenging a 30bbl system is to work with.

I get it. Professional Brewers hate this shit the same way I hate when people compare DDB to basically anything because it is the pinnacle of modern American prose. 

That being said, this is really fucking good. It’s tough to say that hot on the heels of a Kyle Jukes post, I promise this won’t turn into some esoteric beer site where I only review 50 bottle sole comp/nano/pico brewery releases. It is more staggering to note that this beer is the closest iteration in coconut quality to Snowed In that I have ever experienced. There are waves of non synthetic coconut and waves of synthetic Mobil 1 viscosity in the body. The lipids play lovingly in sheets along the bicuspids. Somewhere between macaroon and almond joy fingerblasting, the flaky white flesh of this beer clumps like a confectionary treat.

The rye barrel is understated but chaperones the whole experience with a watchful brownie batter toblerone eye, making sure the moves are never too sweet or contradict the will of Jesus Coco our lord and savior.

Reviews like this are entirely pointless and I get it, I guess it’s just PROPS where there are due. 

Bc coconut.

Man fuck you guys.

Denver is full of the most laid back, Subaru driving, Vibram wearing, compost toileting beer traders in the game.  With legalized weed, high elevation, and immunity from Midwest Shirtlordery, the results in their beer trade forums have been fantastic.  Not unlike the home growing hot house lights, some of the beer for [basically anything] trades have pushed things beyond RARE CORAL (fn1, 2010 reference, id.) to a bold new realm.

Let’s take a quick look at what those kids have been up to:

That’s right, a crib and bouncy chair for porters and saisons, WELCOME TO THE BARTERLANDS.

“You’ll never guess what I paid for these tickets! No…you literally will never guess. It was a Casey Cut.  Oh that’s a beer.  Nevermind.”

TFW when u got all the dro ass seeds but no Casey joints. The thirst is real with these CO-ttonmouth Kings.

If you can’t be bothered to swap saisons for seeds, cut out the middleman and get str8 dro. Break them farmhouses down get these cones stuffed.

A quick peek into the Fall of Rome type of generosity in the Denver beer forums. Thirty. one. for. one.

THESE TRADERS LIVE LIKE KINGS WITHOUT ANY CHECKS OR BALANCES.

Imagine how much weed that Troy Casey could be blazing if he just did these trades himself.  He would be ripping fatty milkers on his hop cone vape rig. WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE.

“This Untappd review doesn’t make sense, it just keeps talking about how dank Combos are and then complaining that Dominos takes forever to deliv- ah, Denver.  This makes sense now.”

“U can do so much porn on this lappy, make big cums, ISO saisons LMK”

I feel like a weed smoker in Seattle would be all over this one. What’s the Griffey to Cecil Fielder ratios?

There’s so much to take in that I can’t even present any Buzzfeed shit tier commentary, it is glorious. Just look.

Then he gets called out for the qual of his rosin.

There are no words.

Beer Trading is on some next level shit.  St. Louis only has maximizing secondary values, but Denver traders are taking shit to some dystopian madmax open air Bazaar levels.

Enjoy your memorial day weekend knowing that this exists.

Such a vast improvement over his already solid other babw. Waves of caramel and butterscotch, sugar daddies and peanut brittle with a light malty pumpernickel: an unbelievable homebrew.

There’s no point in me hyping these, but credit where it is due. Holy hell.

Took a shot of nilla I been goin brazy brazy 

They say they got my whole tasting crew under investigation

Talk that tick talk

They know we talk that tick talk

Started sippin syrupy stouts I been geeked ever since

Ah good old David Sakolsky, from his salad days at Hill Farmstead to his unceremonious ejection from the sinking garbage barge that was Blue Lobster brewing, I have enjoyed following his trials and tribulations.  Now, partnered with two far more caring/rational people, he has opened the doors of Deciduous Brewing.  Let’s see if this has those leafy greens your body craves, or if it is just a mammal shedding its teeth.

Stating in front of God and everyone that you are brewing a lambic outside of the Pajotenland is sure to get the manchild breasts lactating in anger. Even the prefix might not be enough to temper their ire, this is a sect of Magic the Gathering meets Yu Gi Oh type of obsessors and even the most staunch bando would call lambicphiles “maladjusted.” But can they get away with it like Allagash does? The carb is ample and doesn’t give the Degardian sucrose crackle and then peaceout.  It is frothy and maintains a lovely cap of coin op laundry foam. The nose is hilariously citrus to the point of being almost too much.  There is grapefruit pith, tangelo, jamba juice interior, smashed clementines and a sort of chalkiness/minerality that makes one think of Le Croix sparkling water.

The taste is sharp and acidic but has the poise to cut it with a lightly yogurty body so it never is too infringing. It follows the orange tones with a Donald Duck OJ feel and a mimosaesque closer, crackly white grape in the bubbles.  Entirely crushable, so pleasant, your brunches are remiss without this gem.

Cumulation is a gose that is aptly named because it toes the line of innumerable hamfisted goses with accompanying punny names, but refused to join the flock.  This is demonstration of that patient balance that is so critical in a relatively stripped down beer.  The likes of Troy Casey know how beers with a small ABV stage and malt profile need top tier execution to resonate in a meaningful way.  As such, this never goes hard on the salt or coriander, there’s no wheelies like jasmine or spruce tips, this beer sets itself apart with a lightly tart but also faintly alkaline foot rubbing the inside of your calf.

The beer is endlessly drinkable and represents that segment where Michelob Ultra wishes it would legitimately occupy: the old post cycling, post-zumba, post-partum accessibility that feels refreshing regardless of the context.  Pop one of these at your next conjugal visit and listen to those tales about how the COs just aint right. It is NaCL Gatoraide with a frothy lemon meringue panache.  If you can handle that, then pull out your diva cup and let it flow.

Every leaf bush contains its thorn though, and Dimorphic is the crystal malt black eye in the brewery’s lineup.  This is such an anomalous entry that is totally divergent to the rest of what Deciduous is about: clean, dialed in, ultra efficient, low plato beat drops.  This is more akin to something Founder’s would roll out in the late 2000’s.  There’s a sticky sweet malty body that feels like zero calorie American Barleywine.  With the other offerings so rooted in tropical drinkability, this feels more like a Warrior/Nugget/Tomahawk trudge through the most coniferous of tundra.  It masked any abv and did not have a lingering honey type of drag that is endemic to the hopslams/knuckle sandwiches of the world, but it felt far heftier than its 8% abv would let on.  Based on the rest of the offerings, this was a let down.

It’s hard to clack their testicles too resoundingly since this was probably one of the very first batches of DIPA that they ever made, so for now I will give this a “Revisit in 6 months” in my Outlook calendar and return to complain at a later date.

Let’s close with what I consider to be their best beer and a clear flagship entry that needs to be on deck perpetually: Auroral.  This would be a “no shit” appraisal, but Deciduous has Berliners locked down.  This is Alkaseltzer’s lemon water that fizzes with delight, a radiant citrus nose that feels welcoming without the lamentable albatrosses of kettle sours: eggy, sulphuric, ridiculous lactic profiles. This beer feels very similar to cumulous but ultimately reminds me of those ultra watery and refreshing plays from the old Southampton playbook.  I don’t expect anyone else to remember Uberliner or that stupid 200 bottle OG whale, Berliner, but this is very close to that.  Usually a show stopper from a brewery is something that pushes the limits of what is known or acceptable, but this excels in how flawlessly accessible it is.  This beer represents the Squire Stratocaster of the sour beer world and it should play a critical role in drawing people in to the nuances and potential of seemingly “simple” styles.

I could drink a gallon of this and still drive an Eliminator jetboat straight into the lake dock without any concerns.  That Pellegrino fizz with the lemon wedge swallow is a one two punch that anyone can appreciate, and so few brewers do this well.  If you want some well executed, highly enjoyable berliners/goses/wilds/etc. then peep these guys, before they get a canning line and there are 3 hours lines for fucking Dortmunders, or whatever the NE is up to these days.

Apologies in advance that this entire site isn’t dedicated to RareScoop vs. Existence battles like the rest of the internet.

Alright so the chronology of this review is going to be a bit confusing.  Some of you at home might be wondering why DDB is reviewing a DIPA that came out three months ago, and just now giving impressions about a BA stout that had oxidation issues: FEAR NOT MY NEGLIGENCE HAS CLARIFICATION IN TOW.

I originally drank Lambo Doors and Spruce Gose before they were released and was ALL SET to do this triple review, but then I upgraded the DDB manor due to an influx of clickbuxx so the BA Maple Double Negative was in wine storage cryostasis like Han Solo.

In the interim, a bunch of rumors of pedios and lactos and oxos surfaced, but notwithstanding, let’s grip both these syrupy balls and drain them without fear.

If I have to hear another comment about the return of the toaster, FFS.  Alright so despite the rumors of this bottle’s impending demise, mine was not only fine, but it was really tasty.  It has that intense roast that I loved in the base beer, but it doesnt rely so heavily on the barrel character that it overshadows what the base does so well.  You get the toasted pumpernickel, with a healthy dose of Denny’s fornication, tobacco and syrup. The body is thin and almost feels like a cousin to Darkness in many ways.  The thin body and bitter char to the taste keeps it from ever being too sticky sweet or cloying.

In fact, the biggest complaint lies in how drinkable and NOT commanding it is with regards to your contemplation.  It is all seamlessly integrated for a beer that feels like an imperial porter with the adjuncts turned down in the background.  Sure this isn’t trying to swing a residual sugar cock and leave ropey Vermont loads like KBBS, CBS, Puga Maple, or See the Stars: but it doesn’t need to.  While buying one might be gamble, it is well worth spinning that chamber and pressing this sticky dripper to your temple.

A spruce gose, oh boy here we go.  Sometimes I wonder if this was some kinda Ale Apothecary riff, or merely a desire to make the punniest beer ever, alas here we are.  So you have the lightly tart base beer, fine.  Then you have this fine salinity, alright so we are at basically Gatorade, go ahead.  Now it is time to go full on King Fir Christmas Tree fingerblasting.  This has this weird vick’s vapor rub menthol thing like your stepdad has been chain smoking a pack of cools, but then you see him kissing Mr. Jacobs in the parking lot and you are all kinds of confused.

It has the eucalyptus, but also a foresty woodruff, and then the swallow is energy drink and Powerade.  It isn’t hard to drink but it sure is confusing.  It’s like when you are on suspension at work for looking at Reddit Gone Wild at a public terminal, it’s like, just let me know what I can and can’t do ok jeez.

This shit is some secret secret, Other Halfy, Tired Handsy, sniper creaminess straight from the Treehouse teat.  This isn’t too silky and mushy like that cream of wheat that these guys are pushing these days, but it isn’t clean and crisp like the recent Monkish stuff either.  The answer is that fantastic medium that the likes of Doppleganger inhabit.  You get the residual cling of alpha oils that are tropical with a bitter leathery closer.  There is a heft to the frothiness, like a whiskey sour made with real egg whites, that is complimented by all the guava cum de aserose aspects.

Grimm is the golden solution in this world of 3 hour long lines for canned hops.  They are relatively accessible, fresh as hell, inoffensively priced, and hit a lot of the same benchmarks that the 16oz heavyweights command.  For some people, paying someone on backpage for a GFE is less expensive than having an actual GF. I don’t want to compare Grimm to Craigslist whores, but they will bring your cones to full oily completion in the same efficiency.

These cans are also like 3 months old by now. Thanks for the hot tips DDB. No problem, keep it under your cap.

Man I am exhausted from making all these Cycle Scoop memes.  I am only one beer site.

  
Their private stock is fucking awesome, even as a non-Ba old Ale. If they toss this bitter, caramel meets sandalwood base into barrels, it’s going to be some top tier bb4d/aftw juice. Please make this happen. My anoos is prepped for smithing.

I believe I already shared my impressions of bottled Hawaiian, on draft there’s a touch more soapiness from coconut flesh giving a bath and body works meets suntan lotion. The draft has a blast of far more vanilla, that waxy oiliness drags on like cake batter.

  
Bought some Donald Trump piñatas to prepare for Mexican speedway.

Hammerhead I actually prefer the one dimensional blast of the bottles. There’s a bit more roast and depth on draft, but again almost tooooo much coffee. A moderate but turgid improvement on regular ass, salt of the earth, world class speedway.

Mexican speedway, I was waiting to do a Leche Boracho side by side, but oh well. The nose has a touch of agave sweetness, burnt honey, shattered honeycomb, with a herbal mescal finish. No spice bomb here, it feels considerably more restrained and the coffee is noticeably playing a back line support role. The taste doesn’t lead with any overidingly dominant note, typical alesmith shit using harmony and restraint, making my job harder. Because it is so well integrated you almost want to believe the odd harmony is from malt massaging. The faintly vegetal aspect from the cinnamon/chocolate leads and sets the stage for a sweet agave nectar stickiness. Coffee is completely dominated and this becomes something outside the typical tired realm of Barrio Stouts.

  
It comes across in sum like a less substantial, but oddly sweeter version of Ba speedway. This is probably one of the least remarkable bottles from the BAlesmith canon, but not because of the tequila, because of cacophony of elements at play. They simply do not shine in this Floridian element of adding things to things. Glad to have tried it, but I don’t see this entering the annals of Smithing. 

So, where the fuck is the BA PS. Please. That’s all I want.