It’s liberating to lean against the cold shower tile and pop tiny imperfections on your thighs, that confirmation that you’re the aggregate of so many imperfect attributes. American Solera doesn’t relate to these moments of Toni Braxton vulnerability. Old Bendmaster, even less so. Chase Healey is the transmogrified sum of BANG energy drink, carved mahogany, and a garage stockpiled with 7.62x39mm ammo “just in case things get hairy.” There’s nothing gentle about this beer.

A barleywine from the fermenAutuer who rocked us half a decade ago with Bomb is not elegant. I like it for that reason. Modern beer marketing is elegant script labels and pithy attempts to stripmine the wine world for all its decades of making Gen X dipshits feel relevant with soaring prices. American Solera leans towards Rothko labels and 750cc fuel injectors. It’s oddly refreshing.

The beer is hefty and drinks akin to those 15+ thicccboiz, not a gentle DPS Tank with sea foam floors. It reminds me of Cream of Wheat with way too much middle brown sugar, comforting on sick days when you were going to do disposable things to the the dial up internet connection. The viscous body hammers hard like a Compaq keyboard, sheeting in decadent shame. It’s raisin and Sazerac to the swallow, smacking of pecan pie filling. Every aspect is so overdone that it is harmonious. It’s like how every dude with a terrible high school GPA bought a Dodge Challenger and you’re ok with that because there’s balance even in nature.

I killed the entire bottle and despite my cheeks flushing with Sugar Baby residue, I wanted more. It’s fascinating to watch American Solera continue to cover the spread and put Malty spirals into numbers when other companies are consolidating or taking consistent L’s. Let’s hope their success lends to widespread availability so they can submarine the secondary markets and change palates like the Fremonts and Revolutions in the past two years.

Here’s to life.