It would be a massive understatement to note that St. Louis is enjoying fertile fields of trade crops.  The rains are bountiful and regular, and even the “dismissed” releases like Fuzzy b2 compel other regions’ finest offerings.  As such, between the massive cliffs of Frambois du Fermiers and the sheer face of Tete du Cuvee lies a valley of cool babbling brooks.  These shaded offerings are the seldom tread paths and uncelebrated riparian streams laced with glinting gold waiting to be tapped.  The regular Bles, the dismissed Grisettes, even then brow furrowing Marietta: the secret StL gems.

Today’s review is the finest trap door farmhouse spider, lying in musty wait for the unwary consumer to stumble into the lemony web.

I had my suspicions about this beer.  The grisette in my estimation was better than many of the highly touted “raffle time” ticks.  These feather soft, low abv, soft spoken libations get stomped far too regularly and for all the time people spend prolapsing their buttholes to obtain Derivation_X-subscript.DLL  this beer presents a comforting alternative.

The pour is effervescent and crackles with orange pop rocks and a mild sustain of foam without lacing.  That De Garde ground bloomer of smoke and sizzle that immediately subsides, dem sucrose krausening tones on the 1s and 2s.  The nose has a clean intense alkaline minerality like lime Pelligrino, tangerine zest, construction paper and above all else, lemon lemon lemon in your eyes and nose.  We need more lemon pledge. eh no….ehh no.  Mr. King no es home.

This is no Avril nor is it a mug of chamomille on a cold day.  You will face acidity, but it will never reach the labial vestibule.  Like a tightly crafted timepiece, this flows with sun soaked radiance that almost reminds me of a baby Brute, for those of you who are old enough to even remember Ithaca Brewing.  There is a jasmine and clementine juciness that makes up for the water thin body.  Part of me wants a bit more of a substantial yogurty grist to the body, but then again, maybe I should realize this isn’t a grisette and appreciate it for what it is.  Notwithstanding, the comparisons to Clara and Lady in Gray are inevitable and this takes a more tumble dry heat in contrast to the musk and funk of the hangline drying attendant to the former.

You can crush this beer and it quenches thirst without drying or bleaching the your palate’s butthole.  If you have ever been poor enough to make a GatoradeMosa, then you will already anticipate the light carb, faint salinity, and lemon lime squeeze to this.  It’s the type of shit they serve you at a day spa while you wait for you garish mud scrub or whatever the shit that recent divorcees are spending their alimony on these days to feel actualized.

By all means, still go ahead and chase the Arts and Westlys, no one is saying dont do that.  All I am saying is this is something akin to the Mazda speed3.  Sure no one will lose their shit when they see it, but deep down you know you got something special on the cheap, even if it has a gaudy FUBU jersey mesh interior.

What are we even talking about again