2009 White Birch Barrel Aged Barleywine is Absolute Nightmare Juice

It gets worse

This beer is an absolute nightmare. I know it’s hardly fair to open up some teenage geriatric juice, but good god. “What beer from 2009 is even holding up?” Probably Gratitude, a billion lambics, and not this.

New Hampshire beer has changed a lot in the past 13 years and this beer is old enough to have pubes. I suspect this tiny offering wasn’t great when it came out, but it has evolved in the Bane pit into some hateful back breaking liquid. I was molded by it.

It pours out with carb, which may even be a dangerous sign. Lacto laying a dead bird at your doorstep letting you know it’s been busy in here. The waft at first is somewhere between Jack Links beef jerky and the LAPD Morgue. It’s offensive a pervasive way, like Anthony Jeselnick punchlines without the dryness.

The meaty elements give this platform for boullion cubes and warm turtle tank. Upon taking a sip my mandible bouncer immediately fills up the salivary glands. It is the same energy when a Starbucks employee sees that one unhoused patron they are very well acquainted with. It has no business here in my mouth. Constant chaos preparing for ejection.

I swallow and there’s a little smack of gardettos rye chips, hamster cage, and wet garage boxes. My throat kegels like a tower defense game. DOTA except it’s vomiting. This White Birch is unwelcome. It exists outside of God’s grace and consequently beyond Her mercy.

Going in for a second sip feels like coach putting you back in knowing you just tore your palate ACL. The second run highlights this dusty couch cookie crumbs that interplays with that Cesars wet dog food on the nose. Like a Neil Breen film, the layers of shittiness compound. This isn’t funny though.

It’s important to drink beers this bad. Like your asshole rich friend who points at some old object in his sumptuous home and says “THIS. This is what keeps me humble.” And then brags in a slightly different way. It makes you appreciate literally every other beer that isn’t this.

Some ghosts are best left in the past. Maybe I could work on myself instead of dunking on some obscure NH brewery who never intended this beer to be enjoyed a lifetime after release.

I blame Levi Funk, he gave me this.

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