Six Unrelated Midwest Pours: a study of recent cetacean activity

At the outset let’s just acknowledge that these “reviews” are limited impressions predicated upon 5oz pours.  The very model upon which I heave derision is now being leveraged for content, I get it.  Let’s just grit our teeth and suffer through these quotidian appraisals. The pics are out of focus and the reviews, more so. I get it.  I don’t like what DDB is doing either. Let’s get today’s review over with, you get what you pay for on this tirefire of a wordpress site.


Let’s start with this bluebell and jasmine fastball served right over the plate.  Juice and produce crushed into left field. Holy fuck this is good, and I daresay that I prefer this to the stonefruit iterations.  That is wildly contradictory to all prevailing impressions, and blueberries can be divisive, but this is unquestionably tasty.  The best part of this is the yogurty Naked juice type of execution that, while acidic, never goes overboard and maintains both the juice and tannins of the blueberry which can be recalcitrant in almost every iteration this side of Lil Sal. The real star here is that whipped creamy mouthfeel, just look at it, it’s a god damn produce aisle parfait of Yoplait goodness. Get ur Chobani on, dont be a bitch about the synonyms.


Goose Island BA Dark Crusader.  If Cthulu was a parabola analogue that cost way way more to acquire, then this is a shittier riff on that model.  The body of this feels less substantial than the other Clybourn bottles, and the biggest issue is the crackle of pure fusel heat that needs leathering and a rubber band to form your palate.  It is a bucking bronco of oak and rye type of spice like pumpernickle bread and watery brownie batter. It’s hard to give this a pass when regular ass/non-infected BCBS is far superior. Bash Goose Island for having a canon stocked with OTHER world class stouts. That’s life.


I wish I had more to say about these adjunct fests from Side Note.  Read the label, then imagine that it is dialed in beyond your comfort zone and try to embrace that riparian character of rivulets that feels like a Sparkletts boosted porter in lieu of a stout.  If you want to go 3+ adjuncts, you need a platform for execution other wise you will rack your nutsack trying to grind that rail on your soaps. This is by no means bad, but the likes of Funky Buddha and Abnormal are doing non-ba stuff like this so much better that it is tough to really give it a gold star. You get the cinnamon, there’s a TCHO chocolate execution that is easy to drink and never feels flabby, but the lack of criticism doesnt amount to praise, it is by definition, unremarkable.


Holy shit dat photo quality.  You already know that I love Clara, and I get nocturnal emissions over the PnW Gin barrel mastery from Upright and De Garde, but can HF replicate that Oregonian swagger? This is unquestionably an awesome beer and an improvement upon the already awesome Clara, but it feels “safe.” I use that as a pejorative in the context that Casey beers are “safe” and present control and balance, hitting that Aristotelian mean of spice, barrel, mouthfeel, acidity, and herbaceousness. Why is this a bad thing? Well to most gin averse dipshits who were already crying over the recent Gin Nocturn, they will love it because it understates the purpose of the endeavor.  In an odd and unconsistent position, I want almost MORE juniper and menthol from this.  I am not saying give me a pack of KOOLs and some street dice, this is still an awesome beer, but the frothy and body with the medicinal aspects of say Upright Special Herbs, in this instance hit the bullseye more completely. Tl;dr everyone will love this beer, I have picayune nipple chafing complaints.


This beer is still untitled so I guess I will give it a disrespectful nominalization like BLUMMATION after the illustrious Josh Blum who opened it.  This has coffee and vanilla in it, holy shit stop the presses, innovative bean flicking alert. It is basically summation with a different base that is heftier and more dessertier.  Calm your taint, it doesn’t wander into the Souther Tier realm, let’s be realistic here.  I don’t know how much I am at liberty to say about this “unreleased” (insert homebrew jokes/every beer is unreleased etc.) beer, but suffice it to say, their ability to massage that flawless Cycle body with additives that never feel belabored or ham fisted.  This beer tasted like a Punnett square of dominant genes from Kit Kats and Whoppers. 5oz was perfect, but how credible is a note that “THIS DESSERT BEER WAS NOT SESSIONABLE” what kind of fucking Wonkaland would you inhabit that this is a legitimate insulin defying gripe?


Speaking of which, Rare Scooop, holy fuck.  This is Wonkaland cunnilingus sponsored by Baskin Robbins, 31derful stouty flavors.  I wanted so badly to pull the reigns on this sticky steed and drive the carriage off of a hype cliff but I cannot.  This cannot be tamed, it is too good.  For something that seems unfocused as shit, it shines amazingly and delivers on every promise, particularly the magnificent strawberry profile. It would be easy to dismiss the decadence of a beer that tastes like neopolitan ice cream, but I legitimately could smoke an entire bomber of this, I don’t know how they did it.  On paper this seems without grace, a Red Bull BMX backflip you pull out just because you can.  Oddly, the majesty of the pistachio and chocolate waft comes across like a dollop of spumoni ice cream.  I can’t reconcile the ideation of this beer with how good it is, and that Kierkegaardian conflict leaves me only to rely upon faith.  As much as I jab at Florida and their additive stout game, who can honestly in clear conscience pull down this Ben and Jerry’s statute from the central plaza?

Oh would you look at that, 1000 words, I can clock out.  Go suck your own tits.


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