Category Archives: barleywine

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Raison D’Etre, Dogfish Head, A REASON FOR DELAWARE BREWERS TO EXIST

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Dogfish Head and I have a complicated relationship. I swore off our 750ml relationships after too many rocky breakups, but the lil 12oz hookups are always there for a 2 am tryst that is undeniably fulfilling. Let’s see if this little guy can deliver in a big way in today’s review (C:/run_entendre.exe)

The philosophical underpinnings are deep for a raison d’etre, but this just straight get you raisinette faded with a quickness.

Raison D’Etre, Dogfish Head, 8% abv

A: deep mahogany tone with a nice luminary tones at the edges. The bubbles are incredibly fine with a tiny head. Most of the O Line from the Detroit Lions suffer from this disability, but no one talks about them. The lacing is minimal and subsides rather quickly, but you can run alongside the train with your hand outstretched, no one has ever done that in a movie every time.

MY FACE WHEN A BOX ARRIVES AT MY HOUSE WITH DOGFISH HEAD EXTRAS.

S: There’s a candied walnut with turbinado sugar smell. The smell has some caramel esters and mild Belgian yeast wafts. It reminds me of a sweeter Belgian dubbel. There’s brown sugar and buttery raisins all greased up for your nose holes.

T: Wow, this is much better than I thought it was going to be. I anticipated a sticky, caramello disaster and it actually has a great roasted maltiness to it with a burnt biscuit quality. The sweet brown sugar finish makes this an awesome and complex beer. It’s like the first season of GOSSIP GIRL, but all up in my DOME PIECE.

I am on teh internet for the raisen beer and womens.

M: This has a strange nuttiness to the finish that is drying but the sugary notes kick in like a turbo booster and make you want to take another sip. It doesn’t linger long but the malts carry the day. It is not too expansive but not too watery. You get Macy’s catalogs all day long in the mail, but then this gem arrives and all of a sudden, things are looking up. This has a complexity to it that is enjoyable, but not overly heavy handed, like when girls order a complex specialty cocktail and waste the bartender’s precious time, DAMNIT.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and well balanced in every way. I usually drag Dogfish Head through the mud not unlike the clunky wheels of FDR’s Phaeton, however, no complaints here. This is just well done top to bottom and I hate when someone gives me an extra that is this good knowing I will want more. It comes off like a bicoastal crack dealer reeling me in from 3000 miles away.

This beer is lovable, however, ultimately, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Narrative: “I see your point Girard, but you continue to avoid my interrogatories concerning the true NATURE of existence, not materialism but the REASON for being.” Girard shook his head and wiped his cryocytofocals on his silk steel ascot. “Philosotron 2.7, you know the nature of your programming, you are aware of the inevitable scripts that will run and your ultimate /end_runtime script$flag null ending. The questions you ask are beyond the ambit of our meager coffee shop.” Philosotron ran an empathy script and set all parameters to inquiry and again continued, “the ontology of all things must exist beyond the scripts and hexadecimals, should it not? Bzzbedoop.” Girard ran a defragmentation program on his favorite cyborg liberal arts bot, and stated “beyond the scope of the scripts and runtime paths, our ability to contemplate the nature of the higher programmer is beyond even the ambit of this coffee shoppe.” “Bzzt zerrr runtime error, SYNTAX ERROR_beyond coffee shop_cannot define paramenter” “OH THAT’S SO PHILOSOTRON!” the patrons all clapped and sipped their viscous coffee drinks eagerly unaware of the outside parameters of their coffee shop and shit.

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Founder’s Devil Dancer Triple IPA, Dance with the Devil in the (TI) Pale (Ale) Moonlight

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Triple IPAs. Ah, another controversial class of beers that no one seems to know what to do with. Is it a DIPA that is boozier? Maybe just a misclassified American Barleywine? Who gives a shit. Just pop your hoptops and let’s figure out what kind of demons the people in Michigan are escaping to need this powerful potation.

I couldn’t find the pic that I had of this beer so I drew you a recreation in MS Paint. Enjoy.

Founder’s Devil Dancer, Triple IPA, 12% abv

A: This has incredibly minimal carbonation, no middle body, and very faint lacing. It looks deep amber, almost red. It just sits there and folds its malty arms unimpressed with the Belgian tulip I have lovingly provided. Triple IPAs are like housecats, they don’t need your approval and there will eventually be piss on something in your bedroom.

Triple IPAs are like mashing out on greens so hard.

S: The smell has a malty hop presence with an intense sweetness that almost mows over the grassiness present in the back end. It’s like that kid in Geometry that has a heart of gold but covers it up with a Limp Bizkit t-shirt and a jerky frown; ONLY IN REVERSE. The hops are in an epic struggle with the boozy waft, but ultimately the hops win out.

T: This is wrong on two fronts: it is far too strong on the alpha acids at the outset and tastes like pennies rolled in the Vermont woods, then it turns into this wonky barley wine flavor that is far too sweet and cloying. This just stretches itself in too many directions, like a tortured asian teenager living under the tyranny of a tiger mother. Violin, gymnastics, math team, and academic decathlon is tall order for this poor triple IPA.

I like my IPAs to be hardcore, but not THIS hardcore.

M: This has the carbonation of a Nebraskan plains lands, endlessly flat and disinteresting. It just coats in a viney grassy way that lingers along the gumline and lights up a cigarette in a casual Jaleel-White-as-Stefan sort of manner. I am not saying that a beer this beer needs to be a gusher, but come on, don’t just LIE THERE. Ryan Gosling’s junk is uninspired by the sweet hoppy monster.

D: Not at all, I just sit and stare at the hateful liquid, letting the condensation beads form and dissipate. Even a 12oz serving is too much for me. It isn’t the ABV, I have had much worse. It isn’t the hops, I have had much beer. It is just a guy wheelieing while studying for the GMAT. Too much business in one glass and it turns into a train wreck.

Tripel IAPS? Gooby pls.

Narrative: Chip Thornewood gritted his jaw and pressed his house keys into the surface of the coffee table. “Well Mrs. Thornewood, it is tough to diagnose Chip’s condition, it isn’t exactly Asperger’s syndrome,” the two looked through a two way mirror and watched as Chip tore the pages out of a novel in the waiting room. “You see, he has a rare psychological condition known as Prickinium Disorder. It takes the normal human psyche and inverts all the premises that would make it pleasant, turning the patient into a bitter, well, I will just demonstrate. Dr. Thetic walked into the waiting room and offer Chip a Fig Newton. “Oh hey! Sure, let me go ahead and have some of this fruit and cake, or wait, HOW ABOUT THIS?” Chip violently threw the cookie onto the ground and spun his heel on the crushed remains. “Mmm, wow, very tasty, thanks.” Dr. Thetic shook his head with grave disappointment, “Mrs. Thornewood, I don’t know how to say this so I will be blunt: your child is an asshole. A completely bitter, self-absorbed, off-putting, unnecessarily acerbic and acrimonius asshole whom no one would willingly associate him or herself with unless compelled for a good reason.” Dr. Thetic scribbled out a hasty prescription for Ritalin and outstretched the small scrap to Ms. Thornewood. “It won’t cure him, but it will make him a sedate asshole, similar to those you encounter on a daily basis or at a hipster café. Godspeed.”

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Pelican Brewery Mother of All Storms, Would You Kiss Your Mother With a Barleywine Mouth Like That?

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Here’s a beer that I have had, oh, let’s call it 6 times and the picture you see below is the most coherent image that I have of this beast. That should tell you something right away. First and foremost, I love this beer, I love this style and it seriously goes head to head with Kuhnhenn, Arctic Devil and…ugh…KING HERNY GRUMBLEGRUMBLE. Anyway, this amazing beer is a treat, so let’s peep it out on today’s review to SEE HOW WIDE THE WINGSPAN IS ON THIS..er..MARK WAHLBERG HAS A STORM COMING. Just read it.

Actually it doesn’t look as bad as I remember, maybe it was my raging headache after merking this beast. Big pours, we do them.

Mother of All Storms, Barleywine, 13.5 abv.
Oregon all up in the mix, Pelican Brewery

A: There is an almost bourbon note to it. A mild agitation evidences a some small bubbles but it is clear that this beer is above you, much in the way that Hemingway never seemed to mind the banalities of a normal life. You rock it back and forth and all you see is a wafty character that coats with a scary liquid refusal.

At first I was hesitant, but I ultimately found the ravaging brashness to be a warmth.

S: There are deep bourbon notes that resound like falling down a mineshaft and hit every peat note on the way down. I don’t want to overstate the wood and bourbon but, wow, this is beer but it feels like a proper gentleman’s drink. This was made in Oregon but its spirit takes its summer vacations in the hateful south. It enjoys conifers in the summer and spraying down protesting hops with fire hoses in the winter. Too far? Ok, let’s stop turning barley wines into social commentary. This has a great heat on it and I don’t even want to age it because I like it for it’s bumbly angry presence. It rounds out this delicious dinner party with a fuck up that you can point out that is incredibly enjoyable.

T: There is a huge panoply of raisins, figs, mild dates and nice waftiness just like envelops like sweet caramel candy. I enjoy this immensely and the retraction from the huge fruits on the finish makes it all the more enjoyable, wait for it-

The sip to shiteating grin ratio with this beer nears 1:1, also, Ginger child murders local dog, film at 11.

M: AS A RESULT THIS IS THE BEST BARLEYWINE THAT I HAVE EVER HAD. I know I know, this dethroned Abacus, no big deal, you hate Barleywines. Wait a second though, I like the following LESS: Hellshire, Old Dipsea 2009, Bigfoot, etc. This is hands down the most balanced and amazing barley wine I have ever had. I just want to sip on this and watch a Ryan Reynol- CLINT EASTWOOD MOVIE.

D: This is not exceptionally drinkable and, you know what? GOOD. This isn’t here for your consumption, this is like a Terrence Malick movie, it is deliberate, slow, deep and amazing. If you drink this alone you are a jerk. Plain and simple. This has such a great resounding spirit to it that begs to be split on a balcony and horrible philosophy discussions will ensure. It is just wafty, boozy, complex and amazing. The thin mouth almost makes me feel like “give me a cigar.” But then I realized that I don’t live in the gilded age, so put out the robusto Grover Cleveland.

Forget shaken baby syndrome, give your kids this beer, watch how amazing they turn out.

Narrative: All of the brackish land lovers said that this take was too ambitious. Sure, there was a school of marlin right off the coast heading for warmer currents, but, for gods sake, did you look at the meterology reports? They didn’t want to end up like the crew of the S.S. Stone Tea, rest in peace, who lost every member in this modern age refusing to deliver tea by protocol. No; no. There was a much more insidious secret that no crew member beyond the first mate could be made aware of. This marlin galleon was commanded by none other than a pelican. To be fair, he was a completely able captain with a curse placed upon him by a Portland witch who converted his form to the omnipresent visage of fertility, well knowing that he was impotent. That, my friends, is a story for another day. Sure there was a cool pressure from one direction and another front with conflicting warm pressures and, wait, who is manning the sextant? Oh that’s right, a pelican. Their cargo of 1200 barrels of bourbon and figs might never make it to port but one thing was certain, with this capta- BGLUB GLUB:::GURBLE::COPYRIGHTGURBLE

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New Glarus Thumbprint Barleywine, The Perfect Beer to Drink Hours Before You Get Your Own Prints Taken

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So, New Glarus has no questionable history of amazing beers. Aside from some smokey endeavors and a foray into fruit that I thought was tailored more to a Sorority palate, they bat 1000. So now one of my favorite alemakers turned out one of my favorite styles. You say what you want about Wisconsin but they know how to get Kool Mo Dee faded with the utmost celerity.

If this is 12% abv, then it needs to be pulled from the shelves. This is almost a product liability suit waiting to happen, protip: Google "foreseeable user misuse"

New Glarus Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States
American Barleywine | 12.00% ABV

This beer looks like a manly apple juice. Dress it in flannel and buy a food dehydrator, because this is a burly beast. It will drive a Ford Ranger but you will still respect it. The lacing is like a 7th grade TP run and the generous white sheeting is, ah, you get the jist. The smell is tame and, for an American barleywine, I am missing the hops that are so extensively alluded to on the label. They also note that the beer uses “floor barley” which, I guess I missed that day of homebrew class, but whatever was picked up off the floor is delicious.

This is a complex beer that leaves many unanswered questions. Pic related.

The taste has a mild bitterness that leans more to graham cracker meets grapefruit juice with a nice malty sweetness on the finish. If you imagine cinnamon getting up in this mix, guess what, he JUST SHOWED UP. It ultimately reminds me of those east coast offerings that they like to call DIPAs but then modded with a sick caramel body kit and a pine cold air intake, putting mad malts on the dyno. I kinda like the light carb level, it’s like playing baby britches with a friend who knows just how hard to sock you, gentle but aggro at the same time. I saw on the news that a guy went missing Kayaking in San Pedro, I am not saying this beer was responsible but, I wouldn’t rule it out.

If they sell this in 4 or (god help us) 6 pack formats, may God have mercy on the population of Wisconsin. Godspeed to their livers.

Knock a few of these back on a weekday and you will be Gucci Mane wasted. Picture related. Weak ass 22 lbs dog could barley [sic] drink 3 of these.

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Central Waters Bourbon Barrel Barleywine, OH WAIT, STOP THE PRESSES ANOTHER AMAZING BARLEYWINE-

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But in all seriousness, I have wanted to tap that Wisconsin mana pool so hard. I am assuming they play Red/White deck for plains and mountains, but, hell maybe there are Islands and Swamps there, the fuck would I know. I love English barleywines, especially when aged in American Bourbon. However, this is that disagreeable hoppy variant, the old AMERICAN BARLEYWINE. Which I don’t dislike but, you just want the toffee and not the grapefruit, myeh, let’s begrudgingly review an amazing beer. So here we go, two of my vices coupled together in sweet harmony. Kisses all around. Also, thanks to Tmoney for this bottle, real talk.

Usually when I am looking for BB BW, I go to craigslist, not Wisconsin, but, same difference.

Central Waters Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States

American Barleywine | 11.50% ABV

A: This has a beautiful ruby hue to it and minimal lacing, it’s like a Fast and Furious prop car that you know will tear your shit up but looks awesome at the same time. The wispy head leaves and attends to other business, but you don’t miss it after staring into that gemstone center that has a cut not unlike a 14 year old living in Wisconsin. Self mutilation jokes, we’re going there now.

Even this dude would feel like Ryan Gosling after drinking a couple of these BBW's.

S: God. Damnit. Well I guess, that needs a glaring asterix. This is, in fact, a dead on BB AMERICAN barleywine, but I am a fan of the more pale varietal with horrible dentistry. Notwithstanding, there’s a nice juniper and herbal aspect to this beer that sits on top of the bourbon waft like a platelet on top of a CELL THAT ACTUALLY CONTAINS DNA. I don’t get pissed about the hops but it’s more like, YOUR MOM SERIOUSLY HAS TO VISIT RIGHT NOW? SERIOUSLY?

T: Despite my bitchy impressions, the taste is awesome in the way that 3J is way more awesome than Richie. It is tart initially with a raisin front, nice pitted dates going on, almost a quad aspect, and you know how cutty quads get. The hops ease their way in like a barbershop quartet, but as Murder by Death opines, it is sweet Kentucky Bourbon for me. I ride out the foregoing until the bourbon shows up, wasted like Haymitch and the games are not at all hungry. I love the resonant interplay between the hops and the sticky barleywine prisoner left hostage to the hoppy abuse.

M: This has a significant amount of coating and drying at the same time that I would be a hater and knock it for but, wait a second, the mediator, delicious bourbon and butterscotch showed up as the mortar to this strange relationship. The bourbon acts as a MFT to this rocky relationship and smoothes out the jetty currents. It washes away clean and you wonder what all the fuss was about, then you realize, oh shit 11.5% and wait what, who left a Pizza Pocket in the microwave and why is the hallway all wet?

D: Alright you have a tug of war going on here between the drying hoppy aspects and the delivish bourbon that tells you to do bad things. I don’t know what ethical theory that you embrace, notwithstanding, you end up 1) drinking more than you should and 2) the small format makes you feel not even bad at all for selling your child’s Legos to obtain more Central Waters products. I am not saying an escort would accept this beer as payment but, with some artful presentation, bartering could be accomplished. It is that good and god damnit if you don’t convert some of the masses.

After a few of these bad boys, even the most outspoken Communication majors will be all up in Pan's Labyrinth.

Narrative:

I am leaving this narrative up for grabs if someone has 1) tried this beer and 2) is funnier than Kevin James. If you feel like writing a 250 word piece, go for it, see if I care, you can’t get less zero bitches, you cant owe people bitches. Spin the black circle.

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Hangar 24 Hammerhead, Bourbon and Whiskey Barrel Aged Barleywine, aged with real Hammerhead shark

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I love Hangar 24 Barrel Roll releases. Pugachev’s Cobra was awesome, Humpty Bump was interesting, and this beer looks pretty damn good on paper: whiskey barrel, check; bourbon barrel, check; named after a bad ass shark (or aerial maneuver, equally bad ass), check. Let’s see if this bad boy can enter the ranks with the likes of Arctic Devil, Great and King Henry, or if it should just post up in obscurity.

Finally a beer that unites my two passions: sharks and blacksmithing.

Hammerhead Barleywine, Hangar 24, Barleywine Aged in Whiskey and Bourbon Barrels, 13.5% abv

A: This is much darker and deeper than I prefer my barleywines, but I am not hating, just tipping my bowler to a bully gambit. The carbonation pushes past all the hairmetal bouncers and delivers some quality head. Hammerhead even. The lacing is of particular note, but it might be a collaborative effort between this novelty glass. Redlands is pumping a lot of merch into my house these days.

At first I was worried about the whiskey aspect, but then it got all gentle and chill, things worked out nicely.

S: This is exceptional, you get a cinnamon, a nice oaky whiskey barrel note, a type of rum molasses note, with some vanilla and toffee rounding out the nose. I was expecting some heat from this, particularly after everyone’s complaints from Pugachev’s. I should note that I didn’t think the old Cobra was particularly hot, so maybe I just have a leniency for abrasive scorching alcohol notes. I also enjoy Darklord fresh so, take what I think with a grain of Everclear.

T: Confirmed, not overly hot. You heard it first. In fact, compared to Arctic Devil, this beer is downright amiable. There’s pats on the back administered and delicious oak handshakes being doled out left and right. The whiskey shows up first and imparts a very original note that is distinct from most bourbon barleywines that I am accustomed to. My initial impressions are that it has a limited scope of almost rye characteristics that shifts into a caramel and light dryness on the backend. This isn’t as robust as say, Sucaba or Arctic Devil, but it is easier to drink, despite the whiskey barrel stirring up the tastebud children with promises of Yu Gi Oh decks and Jack Daniels.

Riddle me this brewman, what is sweet yet mild and not the sequel to Tower Heist?

M: This is noteworthy for this style, for a BA barleywine this is not overly sweet and the malt profile impresses me at its Calista Flockhart thin, nimble finish. With most of these BA BW offerings, you get the sticky icky, but not the OOH WEEE. This is the latter, OOH WEE, while lacking in things to place in the air. It finishes crisp and clean, much in the way Pugachev’s Cobra finished much lighter than I expected. I talked with Mr. Savage, the head brewer at Hangar 24 and I was amazed at how effectively they treated their yeast. The efficiency is something that warrants a vicious applause and this beer is a perfect example thereto. I bet this started somewhere around 1.10 and finished in the low 1.020. BEER NERD ALERT: TL;DR thin mouthfeel, but well done.

D: If the above is to be believed, this is incredibly drinkable. The only speedbumps are the cantankerous whiskey notes and the oak slowing things down, but the slippery light finish and lack of real flamethrower alcohol finish makes this an incredible drink. In fact, this is just the beer to pound before you hop on your BMX and go to work, since this is essentially a DUI machine if you decide to merk these solo. Big yellow bottles, big ice buckets, the ABV too hard to be drinkin on a budget.

When I read the bottle and found out that this was over 13% abv, I was like-

Narrative: I was going to slap together something about a shark blacksmith but, well you try drinking an entire bottle of this and try writing something clever. THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT. Fine, I can’t disappoint, here you go:

Irongill Forgetooth was unlike the rest of his Sphyrnidae clan. Sure, he shared the same animal instincts and interesting cranium, however, his deep penchant for tool fabrication made him stick out like a deviant dorsal fin amongst his peers. First, the problem of finding a sufficient kiln for embering his precious metallurgy attempts was not insbustantial. It wasn’t the heat from the underwater lava floes that bothered him, it was the loneliness of the depths. He was ill suited for deep ocean armor fabrication and his contemporaries strongly questioned the utility of underwater chain mail. One eye at a time he spied the surface and dreamed of all of the Phalanx that he could outfit, alas, the clanging of his coral mallet reminded him of the depths that he was relegated to inhabit. He knew that his skeleton would never fossilize and his teeth held a slim chance of carrying on his legacy. Instead he littered his underwater cover with powerful, yet elegant cuirasses and greaves. This alone would be his Spencerian legacy, not a mere set of teeth. It is not the bite that carries the legacy of time, but the subtle craftwork.

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Olde Hickory Seven Devils, For those times when Six Devils Just Isn’t Cutting it.

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My buddy Steve Kim came through and was repping his set real hard, to the extent that he dropped a North Carolina bomb on my doorstep. Even Petey Pablo wiped a tear away when he saw just how hard the block was repped. Well, here’s a style that I don’t enjoy, done by a brewery that I do enjoy. So let’s see what the net result is.

This is how people in North Carolina stay warm during coal rationing.


Bourbon Barrel Seven Devils, Scotch Ale, 8% abv

Brewed in honor of the poor souls who live in a part of the Blue Ridge Mountains said to be “as cold as seven devils”.

“Seven Devils is a Scottish-Style Ale aged in bourbon barrels to create an liberation to delight the soul. Rich, smooth malt blended with the complex flavors associated with bourbon. Perfect for the winter months.”

Can’t argue with that I guess.

A: Deep murky mahogany hues interplay with an impermeable chocolate visage. The carbonation is tough to rankle its jimmies, the Snorolax lacing just dances on the surfaces and chills like a 7th grader during a slow song.

"Our band is totally gonna play Coachella main stage, we just played Zinger's Pool Hall in Burlington. Crazy dissonance."

S: The smell is fantastic with a huge waft of bourbon, vanilla bean, nougat, and chocolate Charleston Chew. It reminds me of a more relaxed old ale but it still smells fantastic. The bourbon works well with this malt like Protoss and Pylons.

T: The taste doesn’t have the huge bourbon or sticky sweet notes that I was looking for and it goes a more oaky, drying route. The malt is relaxed and lights up my chest a bit not with an overpowering alcohol waft, but a kind of hoppy dryness that reminds me of a charred jack and coke.

This beer is only 8% but it feels like something that would incapacitate me much more.

M: The mouthfeel walks a fine line between the overpowering maltiness and a gentle wateriness that makes it hit just the right divide between the two. In the interest of full disclosure, I don’t usually like this style, but I feel that the barrel added that lil zip that pushed it into the “recommended” zone.

D: This is not an exceptionally drinkable beer but, I dont think that Olde Hickory was looking for that in this go round. While it may not have the lasting appeal of a juicy DIPA or tart character of a well-done lambic, this has its own little sense of pizzazz that makes me come back for a second pour, but not a second bottle. It is kinda like Minkus on Boy Meets World, you don’t want an entire episode about him, but when he’s gone, you miss him. Oh Seven Devils, shall I compare you to a winter’s day?

Bourbon. Oak. Malt. I can't believe this shiiii-

Narrative: The sheeting rain fell with demonstrative force upon Daniel’s Mitsubishi Mirage. The blue tint and tanabe exhaust seemed excessive in the scope of this impending flood. He rushed from the soaked awning and jumped into the hard interior, shaking from punishing dampness. “Suckitinsuckitincomeagainifyourimpolin-” Daniel hated Blues Traveler and this twist of fate only made his situation worse. “The HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK brings you downnnn-” he flipped off the radio angrily and looked at his text messages from the night before. A night of whiskey, bourbon, and scotch were only 3 of the seven devils that he had encountered the night before. The other 3 were alcoholic, the final boss was his now ex-girlfriend, Daedra. Sometimes, the seventh devil hurts the worst. His new LCD tv has a noticeable slash across it, and the Cutco warranty remained intact. The tires of the economy car splashed water over the curb and he hydroplaned for a moment and burped, still tasting that oaky heat in his chest. “MAYB IF YOU WERENT BITCH THEN SEX WOULD BE HAPEN.” He looked at last night’s text in horror and swore he wouldn’t drink Maker’s Mark for at least 5 days.

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Fish Tale Leviathan Barleywine, Leviathan enters the battlefield tapped and doesn’t untap during your untap step

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Oh SHIT, Magic the Gathering jokes at the outset? Where do we even go from there? So I was in a local liquor store and I saw this dusty janky bottle with an unreadable label in the cooler and I couldn’t believe that they 1) had distribution of this beer and 2) they had the tiny penis format of it which meant it is a 2009 or earlier. The guy had no idea what it was and said it was here since “[he] started in 2009” and the price tag was illegible. He sold it to me for $4.25. Shit was so cache.

You would expect me to get all Biblical to balance out the Behemoth review and, well, you'll see-

Fish Tale Brewing Leviathan, 10% american Barleywine

I guess this shit is appropriate

A: The appearances goes to an English place really quickly and doesn’t mess around with a whole hoppy beautiful amber hue, fuck that, this beer just reaches straight for the shotgun and starts offing malt zombies. For the age, the beer has a mild amount of carbonation, but I am not trying to be a hater, some beers are born flatter than others, just as God intended. Flashes of light penetrate and show deep ruby hues but for the most part it is so amber that you wonder how your life got to this point, drinking old ass barleywine and typing on a laptop instead of doing something constructive like learning Armenian.

When I walked into the liquor store and saw an old ass bottle of barleywine with no price tag, I was all like-

S: I think that age has strangely helped the bouquet and enhanced the overall sweetness. The hops are long gone, those days have passed and all the hop families have moved out, leaving only the malty discarded remains. But sticky otter malt tagging is beautiful and the toffee, tobacco, butterscotch and gooey marshmallow are welcome here, despite gentrification.

T: The taste is timid, like a beagle that took one too many pisses inside and has been kenneled savagely. This beer has been kenneled for over 3 years so, give it some time. It imparts an initial malty watery paw that has a bit of hops and slowly emerges with a raisin and plum character but gets shy and lets water dominate again, until it finally emerges from the Petco crate and you see that this barleywine is house trained with a beautiful integration present. God damn I wish they had more bottles of this gem. They said there were 3 on premises but it was an archived inventory so god knows where the rest of these beasts are hiding, I would check the crawlspace.

Wait, so a world class barleywine, aged for me, for less than the price of a Coors Light at Applebees. What am I reading?

M: The mouthfeel is thin and the barley is a beaten, abused character that as a result makes sweet love to your mouth. That wasn’t an inmate joke but if you’re going to go there, I wont stop you. The beer is just so damn gentle and pleasant. I usually and the guy who wants to take a beer heads up and get socked up, but this one takes you by the hand and shows you the lanyard and hemp bracelet that it made for you and you can forgive the muted candy notes, the light dates and splishy splashy malt character. It is a shy child but entirely domesticated.

D: This is a such a gentle kitten, so domesticated from the years in the bottle that it makes sweet palate love to anyone who will give it a minute of time. The 10% abv might as well be Coors light platinum given how indetectible it hides within the water profile and just chills out, prison bitch #1. As it warms, those abused ass hops start to speak up in therapy and impart some high alpha acid residue that isn’t off putting, but it is good to see them coming out at all. Applause resounds for their breakthrough. Bottle prison is some serious shit. According to the commercial ddescription: “Leviathan rises out of Pale, Carastan, and Chocolate malts with monstrous additions of Chinook hops for bitterness and Cascade hops for flavor and aroma. This vintage ale finishes quite dry after a long maturation period. As it comes of age in the keg, subtle flavors of sherry, pear, and roasted nuts will develop.” They aren’t fucking kidding.

Even with age and time to ruminate upon the intricacies, this shit is still too complex for me.

Narrative: Levi Nathan’s eHarmony profile was getting no fucking love. Sure he was the heaviest bro on the water polo team but he deserved a hot Charlotte Rousse type of chick because his personality was so clutch. His dad was all like “Hey LEVI! GET A FUCKING JOB!” but Levi wasn’t hearing that shit, while shooting no looker goals he was like “Can you pull in the leviathan with a fishhook or tie down his tongue with a rope?” It was pretty evident you couldn’t wrangle this bad ass. Sure Levi had a matted series of bleached blonde locks and scaly tan, chemically destroyed skin, but fuck that, he was asking Madison Jergens to winter formal. He lumbered up to her all clumpy and collected and gurgled to her, ” Who has a claim against me that I must pay? Everything under heaven belongs to me.” But then that hater ass broad was super not DTF, winter formal or otherwise. Other dudes were clowning the shit out of him from the Trireme that they constructed and Levi told those haters, “Who dares open the doors of his mouth, ringed about with his fearsome teeth?” Then they knew he was super serial, and stopped fucking with Levi. When he got upset, people’s lives were ruined in an almost allegorical manner.

2

Portsmouth Brewing Wheat Wine, When You Can Make Wine This Good With Wheat, I Ain’t Even Trifling With Grapes

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I wish I had a crazy anecdote to tell you about this one but, it was a sheer stroke of luck that this was sent to me. Mad props to Ryan S. for pulling this elusive beast into my cellar not unlike so many neighborhood children before it- I digress. So this is the famed Portsmouth brewery that rolls out the Greatest Kate that I am aware of (Mary-Kates dont count) and this is their beastly Wheat Wine. Let’s get it.

If all those mid-30s divorcees would drink wheat wines, maybe we would have something to discuss beyond Lane Bryant and Better than Ezra albums.

Portsmouth Wheat Wine, 11% abv

A: The appearance looks like a rubierer barleywhine with an almost deep orange at the edges. The carbonation was light and wispy with no lacing to speak of. The sheeting on the glass leaves this nice pallor of clear armor that you know protects the rageful abv deep inside. The microbubbles look inviting and you just want to split splash around in that co-ed foaminess. Braces kisses for all.

This beer was mesmerizing and complex.

S: I get a huge initial sweetness that reminds me of a candy coated date or a sticky caramel plum. The wheat is subdued and you could trick the shit out of someone and just tell them that it’s a barleywine with a ton of Maris Otter malts and THAT ASSHOLE WOULD PROBABLY BELIEVE YOU.

T: The taste has no wheat aspect to speak of and pulls the mask off and the big real is the barleywine sweetness and brandy character. The sweetness goes to work on your palate’s gentials while the sticky malt base restrains the ball gag. Secretly, you enjoy the abuse, but your palate has too much dignity to admit it. There’s some incredible sour notes in the middle that reminds me a bit of apricot and again, honeycomb, it finally finishes with a juicy clementine juiciness and the assault is over.

Once I found out that this was a barleywine in disguise, I was like-

M: The outside is candy but it aint sweet, the AR-15 is on the passenger seat. The coating isn’t intense and really the hops are the only notes who overstay their welcome when the party is clearly over. The lingering citrus notes almost make you forget the panoply of tastes you just took head on. Godspeed you Black Palate.

D: This is sticky, abusive, hoppy, and then gone. It is a bit too cacophonous to be a long term girlfriend as the fights just become too frequent and the periods of rest are just interludes wherein this beer will ask you what you REALLY meant concerning previous statements. As it warms, the beer gets more and more abrasive and complex, like each head of a hydra awakening, you, let’s just say your tongue is gonna need some fucking argonauts because this beer is not for the weak willed. Me and this beer are homies, but I def. put it on limited profile on Facebook.

They gave me a wheatwine, I TOOK THEIR FUCKING MINTS.

Narrative: “Hey, it’s me Devin, thought I felt a vibrate and, no? Ok, Metro PCS is weird, just call me back, it’s like a…15 to ZERO ratio haha so YOU’RE IT! BEEEEEP” God, just his voice harrows the core of your soul. Ever since you met Devin, he wouldn’t leave you alone. You were dropping your cousin off at a children’s martial arts tournament and of course, Devin approached you and wanted to show you the appropriate defense from someone with a scimitar. In between your bout, he stumbled into traffic and you saved his awkward gangly frame from being crushed by a street sweeper. Now this persistent asshole thinks you guys are best chums. But hell, he’s an eclectic guy, purple belts in several disciplines, extensive geode collection, a competent fencer, and lauded tobacconist. Sure he has told you all about himself but, you can’t shake that feeling that you secretly wish Devin would get run over by a Fiat, or drown in a swarm of beers. Something hilarious that would bookend his existence, but not make you too sad. You start to feel bad because really deep down he’s a-“HEY! It’s Devin again, YOU SHOULD CHECK OUT THIS LOSER ON CRUTCHES AT THE ICE RINK HE THI-” No. You’ve had enough of Devin.

0

Smuttynose Julio’s Ry(e)an Ale, For All The Ryans In The Place With Style And Grace Allow Me To Lace-

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Imagine my unending surprise when, upon opening a box from the Northeast, already my favorite type of box to open, I GET THIS THROWN IN AS AN EXTRA. I remembered seeing people scampering to and fro attempting to lock these down previously and what divine providence brought this to California for my sampling pleasure.

If your boyfriend's name is "Ryan" and he drinks 3 bottles of this, he has a 47% increased chance of cheating on you.

Here’s the deal behind this gem:

Rye ale aged in Sazarec rye whiskey, Buffalo Trace bourbon, and Four Roses bourbon barrels, brewed exclusively for Julio’s Liquors in Westboro. This beer was on sale on Sunday, May 23, 2010, at their 8th Annual Spring Beer Fest.

Smuttynose Julio’s Ry(e)an Ale, 8% abv, bourbon barrel aged Rye Ale

A: This has a ruddy amber character that fades to a bright maroon in the center. It’s a cheerful sprite for having spent so much time in bourbon lockup. The lacing is impressive and doesn’t leave one wanting. It looks like a genial iced with with a mildly murky luster.

This beer is menacing, yet gentle.

S: The smell is a bit heavy handed, particularly for the age, with generous wafts of booze, bourbon, babes, and brewskis. The oak and scorched caramel notes are present as well, but in a pleasing way. It comes across like tulle, adding accents to an aggressive endeavor. The bourbon cleavage is present in a big way within this beer. It reminded me of a more aggressive barleywine in the nose, but less stable on the malt backing.

T: The taste initially gives this crackly rye bramble whip and the interlocutor makes it clear that heat and speed will be the malty weapon of choice. The beer opens up into a caramel, butterscotch (not in an infected manner), toffee, and finally a scratchy thistle heat to the finish. If the foregoing sounds harsh, it is, however, it is harsh in the way a day of drinking on the beach of Cabo leave you with a light sun burn. The entry costs are far outweighed by the benefits.

The key to this beer is not overthinking it, just exhale, embrace the moment and you'll level up shortly.

M: The bourbon barrels just creep up from behind with that “tell me what your palate interests are, who they be with?” It gives a nice caramel stickiness that is melted away with a heat and oakiness and ruminated in a woody barrely manner for a minute after I swallowed. I can finish an entire bottle of this, but I kinda feel like the kid who hogs the controller and doesn’t let anyone else play.

D: This is a seriously delicious beer, but it is a bit like Bowser in Mario Kart, a bit to unbalanced for long sessions, unless you know how to use BA Rye Ales, then you will completely tear shit up, figuratively and literally. I want to keep drinking more, but the complex finish makes me slow down and ruminate on Rilke poetry and existence and I JUST FINNA TRY TO BE DRINK ON. Its faults redouble like the walls of a mitochondria and impair the drinkability. FUCKING RIBOSOMES.

Despite what my friends say, this is my lifestyle and I think that this is perfectly acceptable to drink beers aged in 4 different barrels. You should see my Christmas cards.

Narrative: The trash pile had gotten out of control. Burlinger, North Carolina had encountered a problem that seemed to have no solution. The trash workers were on strike because they didn’t get health benefits, but if the health union had to treat the trash workers, they would go on strike, thereby cutting all the funding for the municipal waste workers. Yessir it was quite the Catch 22 and this sleepy southern town hadn’t seen the likes of this conflict since the antebellum south. “I cannot and will not stand to look at those looming piles of refuse any further, I say I say, I just simply cannot!” chimed in one Christian Southern Belle wearing sweatpants with the words “JUICY” across where her petticoat should have lain. A man in a salmon suit strode into the unventilated court room wiping his brow furiously, “now I say I aint no big city lahh yuhhh, but what if, I say what if we make all this into quality wares for all the Yanks to enjoy!” The crowd responded with resounding applause and all the townsfolk set out to turn those Waffle House wrappers and Bubba Gump refuse into nice baubles for others to enjoy. A video of these poor miscreants was posted on youtube and hipsters bought the town out of house and home overnight. Suddenly, the trash repurposing union was losing their jobs and refused to work with the health workers union and HERE WE GO AGAIN AM I RIGHT?