Modist Brewing Danger Noodles is a Gloriously Unclassifiable Hoppy Gem

Send noods

Kansas City Chiefs kicker, Harrison Butker, missed a field goal before the end of the first quarter at Super Bowl 2023. An unenviable job, simple and succinct. Put it between the uprights so we can move on with our lives.

It’s the tasks where you “have one job” that are the most maligned. Show up, review some beers, provide adjectives, “bUt diD yOu liKe iT” and give a numerical score. The thing missing from simple tasks is context.

This straightforward beer from Modist seems, on paper, to be transparent. DDH New England IPA, the descriptors practically lining up in a perfunctory way. But in failing to do this “properly” Modist made something exceptional.

There is an inaccessibility to tastes. I don’t mean just subjective experience, the “thing in itself” or anything like that, I mean communicating how a thing is. This beer isn’t hazy. It doesn’t feel NE and leans into this liminal space of IPAs occupied by the likes of Bissel Swish and McIlhenny Muntz where, in failing to adhere to set guidelines, it exceeds the genre it occupies. It’s a shaded penumbra, a rhizomey venn diagram.

Just kick the ball. Just provide the adjectives. On a long enough timeline every descriptor will be reused and tumbled enough to be smoothed down by the endless waves of appraisal. How many times do we have to hear “JUICY” and esoteric citrus imagery until using those words is in itself performative. This beer isn’t that. It’s off-base and unknowable in the way that we no longer have a shared experience. Modist screwed this up in the best way.

It’s not green or resin driven, it isn’t orange gelato or belini, there’s no cribbed terms from Untappd. The average NEIPA fan is the type of guy who finds out about Jesus during a Superbowl commercial. The shared fetishism of pulpy tribalism. Modist instead here made some halfway house of silky oatmilk, Cuties, rosemary, Hi-C, split kindling and dried apricots. It finishes with sandalwood and lavender. In disappointing the vapid NEIPA enthusiast, they put it right in my uprights.

The only interpersonal access we have is context. I can barely contextualize this unique hybrid but it is delicious. We all use birth control on Valentine’s day to prevent polluting the world with more Scorpios


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