Pairing iridium flare with New York steak is too apeshit for my baby palate. It’s carbonated malty mead, bragging has tumescent flexing merlot gourds and then a waft of dry Pinot skins rolls across like some fortified ale, iced cider and smuckers discard bin. It’s pastry jelly roll Morgan overload, danish eye rolling. I know the honeyboi contingency will gurgle into their CPAP masks about how unrefined my palate is but, chest clenching intensifies. 

You ever eat fucking Airheads? Guess what they still make those. Raspberry airheads dipped in wildly expensive barleywine. It isn’t thick or poorly made, it isn’t robitussin or Promethazine, it’s just massive. It’s like carrying all the groceries from the car in one trip and I’m too pussy to handle it. It’s thin and dialed in and intentional but disturbing like Lars Von Trier Nymphomaniac. It’s complex but way too much for me.