Modern Times doesn’t exactly embrace DDB. I would say they are probably tangentially aware of my janky wordpress site and blithely tolerant my attention seeking shit. They occupy a strange orbit in that they are moderately large, have a reserve society, and all of their employees have a cultish degree of contentment working there that you only see in a teenage IN n OUT worker. Further odd, they never try to push hype off the charts and just modestly turn out solid, very accessible beers without raffles or insane pricing pageantry. It’s a business model from a bygone era when breweries could respect their now-terrible customer bases. Then Monster Tones drops. This was a small 196 bottle release 92 included w/ membership, option to buy 2 more) for OG members of the first MT society wave. It’s a blend of Monsters Park and Modem Tones.
Ok this seems moderately hypey, what else? Ok and then both were aged for 7 months in bourbon barrels which had previously housed maple syrup. Following the blend, the beer was conditioned on freshly-roasted coffee beans, toasted coconut, and a shitload of vanilla. AND WE ARE OFF TO THE FUCKING RACES. Some Modem Toney boiz try to get all 56k for the stouts, but it never pans out because Point Loma dudes will just drink them and silently enjoy them. Unfortunately for them this beer is mindblowing in quality and top contender for DDB Top 10 beer of 2018. It is crushingly delicious. Word got out and then this surged to $500ish a bottle. It has a flawless body without the Monsters Park/Central Waters sort of wateriness, but not a hamfisted Floridian execution. The Aristotelean mean, flawless coating without residual batter. The nose is god-tier, new game+: waves of espresso/ethiopian roast that is not acidic or oversteeped, the vanilla and coconut are inextricably intertwined in this TCBY macaroon sort of merger. The taste improves upon the foregoing and adds Baby Ruth with a depth of extraction from the coffee to temper the sweet Whoppers with a blast of affogato. It is a straight up masterpiece and perhaps the best stout the west coast has seen in years. It isn’t even close. Maybe like, AO Dark Star, but again the quality is so impeccably done that you want to kill the entire bottle and there is zero palate fatigue because every sip is a poised secret Tootsie Roll tryst on the vast veranda, my sweet untouched Miranda. It is painful to ruminate on past chocolate fondue affairs, now resigned to monogamy of normal tastes. I want to lick my palms once more.
No homer here. This was just wince inducingly well done.