Category Archives: barleywine

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Midnight Sun Arctic Devil Barleywine, . . .And the Devil Makes Three.

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Well it was only a matter of time before this angry beast showed up. It is a top 100 beer that took me a while to land but once I did, the maltgina was never the same. Initially I traded a 2011 Black Tuesday for the 2008 Arctic Devil and people were clowning me like I bought a Better than Ezra T shirt, acting like i got all ripped off. The 2008 was gentle and caressing, but that makes for boring ass reviews, let’s look explicitly at the asshole version: 2011.

Running with the Devil.

A: This has a nice wateriness to it like the beginnings of a boozy Arnold Palmer. It has some ruby hues at the edges but the center is all business heavy malt. The wispy carbonation falls off faster than Aubrey O’ Day. There is no lacing and it’s a fairly spartan affair as far as appearances go, unlike Aubrey O’ Day.

If you kill an entire bottle of this to yourself, be prepared to look and sound like this.

S: Wow this beer takes you to the candyshop. There is a deep burnt caramel and sweet brown sugar like mammy just made some cream of wheat for you to mash on. Mama lets me lick the spoon.

T: The sweetness pokes its head out for a moment and imparts a molasses, maple, and toffee flavor that quickly ducks back into its hole for the malty winter that sets in. This maltverine knows how to dish out the bitter and the sweet concurrantly. That wasn’t a typo, there’s a nice hoppy dryness and a currant note to it as well, not infection, but in the tannic manner. I previously had a 2008 bottle of this and I am now scrapping that entire review because this beer is COMPLETELY different like in an Urkel vs. Stefan way. The 2008 way boring, muted, smooth, and predictable. I like this crazy, boozy, erratic Urkel version way more, there’s a lot more Jaleel White malt up in this bitch.

It's tough to accurately describe how good this is, so, here's some pics of iguanas in sexy poses.

M: There’s a nice oakiness to this beer that dries but at the same time presents a pulpit for the saccharine notes to preach from in a perfunctory manner. I can’t really focus on how the carbonation or coating is because this is such a complicated ass beer, just from typing this sentence some new banana esters starting rolling in as the beer warms and they are welcome. The booziness is a bit intense but it is welcome to separate the men from the bitchly wines. It’s funny that, for a beer called Arctic Devil, it actually tastes way worse at colder temperatures. They should call this lukewarm devil and people will be more on the rails for how to serve it.

Mmm well my devil certainly isn't Arctic.

D: Well, take all of this in the context of a 13.4% beer: this is amazingly drinkable. It is not like a hef on a hot summer day after you just got done beating your children for leaving the hose on, not that level of refreshment, but for the cold 65 degree winter I am suffering through right now, it hit the spot better than a run on sentence.

This tease in his tiny bed.

Narrative: Clayton was raised in suburban Ohio and always dreamed that his mediocre bar chords and major melody driven pop tunes would catapult him to the same fame that Hootie and the Blowfish once enjoyed. But a Darius Rucker he was not and reality set in, in the particular Ohio way wherein he informed all his friends that he was going to make it in Los Angeles. Spoiler alert: his accoustic guitar was not on par with Puddle of Mudd and therefore, in the strict hierarchy or talent = success that is the music industry, he was resigned to work at Chili’s. Finally, in a night of desperation he left work after having a few too many hard Mango Ice Teas, and stumbled upon the Westwood streets, which was practically what they were designed for. In his moment of weakness an opaque badger appeared before Clayton. “Are you my spirit animal?” he muttered through the smell of cheap gin. “Clayton, long have I waited for this moment of desperation, your place is amongst the caribou in the upper reaches of this planet,” the badger noted remonstratively. “But why snow badger, on those times when I needed you most I saw only 2 sets of pawprints in the snow?” “You see Clayton, it was those times when you drank 4loko and were the most wasted, that I carried you.” Clayton nodded and knew that frostmourne hungered for arctic adventures. The Anchorage police retrieved his body from a Mitsubishi Mirage just weeks later and the autopsy report unprofessionally noted the cause of death as “Suicide, kinda?…X-D”

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Flossmoor Station Barrel Aged Hifi Rye, Keeping it Hifi and I am not even in the Bay

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This beer was a behind the lines sniper that I saw everyone requesting and I tuned it out until OH SHIT TOP 100 STATUS. Then I realized that it was only 500 bottles and a total bitch to acquire. But I did, so here we are. Just another day in the life of a gosh darn boss.

Oh I think they Hi-fee, giving all my friends high-fi's.

Flossmoor Station, BA HIFI (as the kids call it) 11% abv, Barleywine

Before we get underway, I just want to say, I built a bookcase while drinking this by myself (foreveralone.jpg) and the construction got worse as the night went along, but got more awesome as well.

A: This has a deep dull copper color to it that seems appropriate for the style but at the same time feels a bit too capricious and wispy. I dont get that danger like when I pour Arctic Devil and know shit is about to go off. I know there’s shit, its going off potential remains in dispute. The lacing is as lackluster as that fucking annoying Foster the People album that people with no music taste insist on telling you about on Spotify. Except this is actually well done.

At first this beer seemed huge and imposing, but then you realized it had a heart of gold. Adorable and sticky.

S: There’s some of the obligatory notes with the old toffee, marshmellow, burnt brown sugar, light caramel, and some weird sweetness that subsides into…wait for it…when it warms it turns into this delicious chamomille tea aspect. It might be the cardamon. Allegedly there’s some rye aspect and some ginger family up in this mix but I just get a general smooth sweetness. It reminds me of bigger, burlier barleywines, but with a gentle veneer to it. Like that old Lane Bryan model with a heart of gold.

T: The taste is incredibly well done, the sweetness is balanced out by a mild herbal aspect from the rye and you are left sipping on it, hammering away at your carpentry. This is far far better once it warms up. Don’t even bother trying to chill it down like a Russian Imperial Stout, go straight to 3rd base with this bitch. The barleywine not a pejorative statement launched at those of the YY chromosomal order.

Meeser Hi-Fi,...eh...no....no...

M: This doesn’t go over the top with mouthfeel, the coating is generous but doesn’t go so far with it that it becomes sticky sticky, which is appreciated in this market where everyone just wanted to get sticky sticky on your nono. There’s a crispness from the rye that imparts a mild dryness that makes you want to drink more, but therein lies the paradox, if you drink more, you want more and then you aint got no mo. Quite the business model Flossmoor. Hats off.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and this is where it stands head and shoulders above the tank, damage absorbing bretheren. This is more of a cross over from epic DIPAs and hardcore BA barleywines and the result is this hybrid monster that cannot be destroyed. It’s like when people make the super wise financial decision of dropping a $12,000 engine into their janky ass integra, except, this cost less than 1% to that effect.

Yet ANOTHER top 100 beer? How many beers can there be on this stupid ass list? Well, keep reading to find out.

Narrative: We shall see.

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Central Waters Kosmyk Charlie Y2K Catastrophe Ale, Willenium Jams Bumping so Hard Right Now

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What’s gonna happen, ain’t nobody know, two zero zero zero the new millenium, hold up, Willenium.

It's hard to write a review when you are listening to Will2k on repeat

CWKCY2kCA, 10% abv American Barleywine

A: The beer looks like a burnt penny that comes from an age that remembers the value of pennies as something more than things to flick at small children. There’s some mild lacing that peaces out pretty quickly, patting its pockets like it hasn’t a dime to spare, but we know better. It is a deep amber with no lacing and a strange wateriness to it. Not even mad tho.

I got this beer as an extra thinking it was an English Barleywine, not even mad tho.

S: There is a burnt toffee, basically burnt everything like they reduced the malt too deeply in the boil with a 240 minute harassment session. Mild hops for the style, sticky marshmellow, and a general sort of Payday smell to it. Relax, go nuts, that whole bit.

T: There is a huge smoky brown sugar like old mammy done burned the oatmeal, then there’s a piney bitterness that shows me where all those high alpha acid assholes retreated to in the boil. It has a mild raisin sort of finish that thankfully doesn’t make the final cut entirely hoppy. The entire finish is very pleasant.

I hate when people reject an amazing beer based on its color alone. So much derp. Derp everywhere.

M: It is very light and not as boozy as I had expected for a 10% abv beer. There’s some light malty residue but it comes off so fresh and so clean clean. However, your girlfriend and friends will not drink this shit. Let’s not delude ourselves craft nerd, come now. Shave that neckbeard and join the rest of the world in enjoying a shocktop if you have those delusions.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable in the way that a Bad Girls Club marathon is consumable. You will feel like shit after a few, but it secretly makes you stronger.

This beer is threatening, but familiar at the same time. I can get on board with it.

Call it a cop out, but I am too tuckered out for a narrative, enjoy this meme instead:

ULTIMATE MEME MASH UP

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Three Floyd’s Behemoth Barleywine, She Works Hard at Eating Well, That’s Why I Love Her

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This is a fav. amongst the midwest kids who like their barleywines big, boozy, and slutty. Finally a barleywine more epickz than the Soulja Boy v. Ice T conflict.

Behemoth is one of my least favorite Final Fantasy monsters. Such an asshole.

Here, enjoy some Zozo Behemoth music while you read this:

Three Floyds Behemoth Barleywine, 10.5% abv

A: The appearance looks like a malty double ipa with a faint gold but notes of deep honey. There’s some wispy lacing and hydrophilic foaminess, and, like a Lewis Black set, it burns itself out pretty quickly and mellows.

Deer god this has a lot of hops for a barleywine, as true today as when it was written.

S: The smell is that of a malty east coast IPA, oh how they love those balanced profiles. This seems like a quintessential American Barleywine, which is basically to say that it smells like a “triple” IPA. I know that category is still in vogue but that is basically what is going on here. There’s a huge sweetness and honey backing to the nose with a really mild vanilla but seriously, it’s citrus hops through and through, C-word hops: Chinook, Cascade, Cetc.

T: The taste has a sweet malty beginning like an unglazed cinnamon roll that quickly turns bitter and rolls into conifer Christmas tree sale extravaganza. The label promised “caramel malt notes” which admittedly are accounted for, but that’s like saying that a car has a powerful v8 engine and fail to mention that it is connected to a motorhome. I am not saying this is a bad beer, but it just has too much emotional baggage to be worth dealing with its massive malty rack. You weigh your options.

Not sure if above image is relevant.

M: The mouthfeel is sticky and sweet that maintains that same clinginess analogy from the last section, but this time it imparts a lasting sticky pine sap taste along the gumline that reminds me of when I would taste my hands after climbing trees. Whatever, you had a childhood once too, stop looking at me like I’m some deviant tree taster.

D: I guess this could range from “yeah fucking right” to “wow, that’s 10.5% abv? I will have another.” I guess it all comes down to how little you care for your liver or seeing the sun rise. If you want to see those majestic ruby pillars caress the sky and coax a new day of illumination, then stick to lagers, this will drill you like a BP exec. Except this beer won’t apologize. Overall I would say it is unbalanced, hoppy, aggressive and might get better with age, just like BUCKY O’ HARE (first Bucky O’ Hare site reference.)

This beer is ambitious but just a bit off the mark.

Narrative: Behe Mot was just an archaic monster trying to adapt to a changing world of sin. He rented a modest condo in Ithaca to embrace his bulging grotesque frame, and draped himself in clothes from Charlotte Rousse so no one would think twice. The truth was that terrorizing the vices out of people was a whole different game since the Book of Job. It was the pulpit of irony that Behe Mot was originally created as a scourge for questioning God because, as he stood in line for the Cinnabon, he himself questioned the existence of a God. The extra dollar for nuts and frosting seems hateful and punitive in a way the Hebrews never envisioned. For the mountains bear food for him, and all the beasts of the field play there, but no one is down to fuck old Behe Mot. At least leviathan would land some of that sweet sea tang, poor Mr. Mot had a life of fatal obscurity, for only God could release him from the hell that was an upstate New York food court.

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Boulevard Brewing Company, Rye on Rye, HOT STICKY RYE ON RYE ACTION, alcohol was involved.

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Initially I did not seek out the Boulevard lineup because I really didn’t know what they were exactly, I just knew that they were from the midwest, traded mid-range, and weren’t on the top 100. Oh how I have learned from my transgressions. Their brett saison was a mouthgasm and this is like huffing exhaust from a Maybach: classy and destructive.

Sometimes it feels like this should be a pay site with all this hot Rye on Rye action going on.

Boulevard Rye on Rye, 11% abv, Rye Beer

Bottle #1767 of 12148, LOSES POINTS FOR LACK OF ULTRA RARE.

Ok so they took an amazing Rye Beer and then put it into barrels of Templeton Rye whiskey and aged it until we got this raucous potation, ready to scrap with the best of Affliction t-shirts.

A: The appearance is a deep murky amber with ruby tones and a translucence that light passes changed like an aurora borealis. The carbonation is absurd and gets nimbus status real quick and takes 3 minutes to stratify into porous catacombs where the aromas go to die. Looks like bayou bubble bath for neglected children.

This beer feels classic, yes impure, like being beaten with a Dinoriders toy, but you secretly like it.

S: There is a waft of whiskey, mild heat, prunes, figs, toffee and melted brown sugar similar to bananas fosters. It’s like getting a hug from your postman, professional but not so seccretly alcoholic.

T: This is really impressive and unique. It straddles right between a big quad and a bourbon barrel barleywine but remains unique but imparting that characteristic crackly rye finish. It dries the gumline at first but imparts deep pitted fruits and deep peppery notes that would keep even the flattest, most uninspiring midwest states entertained. I think California would never make something like this, because the moment someone was close they would fall in love with a hipster chick or an earthquake would happen or a celebrity would walk by or they would get hit on the head with a book of cliches. The taste has a faint floral note but it is impressive in how distinct it is but shares the penumbra of tons of different styles. You could even tell someone this was an old ale with the waft of booziness and WOULDN’T THEY LOOK LIKE SHIT WHEN YOU REVEALED IT WAS A RYE BEER.

Whenever I trade for something, it is a gamble, the verdict is MOAR.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and light like spraying caramel binaca into your mouth. If you were born in the 90’s you probably dont know what Binaca, but trust me, it was so cash. It washes clean and imparts some drying effects with mild oakiness but I enjoy the complexity through and through. The booziness could be ratcheted back a bit, but then it is rye beer in a rye whiskey barrel so what was I expecting? Not some velvet smoothe experience, it tastes like a kiss from a University of Kentucky undergrad.

D: This is very boozy, hot, oaky, and reeks of acetone. It is also delicious. This ambivalence creates this push pull mechanism where you dont want to stop drinking but your palate and liver whisper silent pleas to stop the abuse. You can get a new liver, but trading for bottles of Rye on Rye is almost harder, I have PPO insurance SO I MIGHT AS WELL. Basically, its a bit prickly but worth the ride, like the end of Splash Mountain, except instead of singing bears, it is more like police sirens. Cutty.

It took me an entire bottle to decide how I feel about this and I can decidedly say: feelings. Rye feelings.

Narrative: Secale was always the snubbed cereal sister. She looked longingly through the window of the local department store and stared at the simple enzymes and pleasing chains of glucose and always looked at herself and thought “why me?” Every eligible substrate within the tri-ribosome county knew that she was prude and nearly impossible to postulate the “Lock and Key” hypothesis with, if we are speaking crudely. Rye held her head up high and Ms. Secale powered on. Perhaps it was a penchant for racism, as Secale was primarily found in Turkey, and her people stretched along the fertile crescent and the “pure” crops of corns and rice simply edged her out of all competition. Secale sobbed angrily into her long-leafed stalks and cursed her base heritage. Who would ever love a coarse grain like her? A gentle southern gentleman in an alabaster suit took her in his palm and caressed her intentions into a fanciful Pinnochio universe not unlike J. Worthington Foulfellow. Before she knew it, Secale was impressed to a life of hard alcoholism and then enslaved to a barrel. After years of hard fermentation she emerged a hateful shell of feminine herbal grace, her only desire, to burn and scorn the XY chromosomal order. Such is the hateful story of the Rye upon Rye, as true today as when it was written.

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Kuhnhenn Bourbon Barrel Barley Wine, Michigan Doesn’t Mess Around With Cold Winters, 15.1% abv

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This beer has a huge following from all of those crazy barleywine kids that always get jazzed about anything that gets tossed in a top notch bourbon barrel. PSH. Actually the venn diagram of my life is subsumed by a good penumbra of that diagram, for those visually inclined. I LIKE THIS STYLE. I hope I like this too, seems pretty legit.

Don't adjust your monitor, this beer is flatter than the plot arch in an M. Night Shamylan movie. The twist is you wake up with no credit card.

Kuhnhenn Bourbon Barrel Barley Wine, Barleywine 15.1% abv, 2010 vintage

A: It looks like iced tea. That’s it. Like it seriously looks like the free drink you get at the Old Spaghetti Factory. The lacing is nominal like a hug from a stripper after cash has changed hands. It sits there tepid and sad, wondering where its mother barleywine is, longing for the warm comfort of the barrel it loved. No lacing, not jack shit.

When you fuck with the barley, you get the wine.

S: Oh well, shit. All the hating I just did comes full circle immediately after smelling this. It is brown sugar, sweet macaroon, toffee, mild clove, maple syrup and fresh waffle. It smells incredible. It is like a decadent alcoholic dessert to take in. The lackluster appearance is a complete wash at this point. Just amazing.

T: It doesn’t go as sweet as the nose would suggest and hits initially with a warming flat metallic note that quickly changes its tune into a candy bitterness like a caramel coated leaf and then warms gently into a bourbon den of iniquity. After the first few sips, it becomes apparent that this is meant to be shared, even in a 12oz format. At the end there’s a huge oakiness like that woody finish that I hate from Hair of the Dog and encountered with the 4th Dimentia. It is definitely an intentional stylistic decision and I just dont think that I am on board.

This beer reminds me of something old, angry, irascible, and hateful.

M: This has a mild slick watery coating that marches through and burns shit like General Sherman. Railroad rails are tied around trees. Nothing is spared and your antebellum palate is destroyed toe to tip. It reminds me of in Civilization where you could develop a single unit to completely leevel the entire Babylonian civilization, this is that little beer that is a nuke underneath.

D: Well, read that last paragraph and ask yourself if you would be down to put up with that. I am letting it warm and the bitter beginning with the fireball finish makes this a clip cloppy recalcitrant colt that will not be tamed. I tug at the malty horsebit but it will not be broken, this alcholic beast is a dominator.

After just 12oz of this you wont know what exactly happened, but you might like it that way.

Narrative: Jayden ground his teeth and surveyed the recess playground. “Pussies, each and every one of them, part and parcel” he noted to Jeffrey who was busy counting the Lunchables spoils. Jayden was an anomaly lab child created by a hopeful lesbian love union, the results were not as desired. Jayden grew uninhibited without the constraints of a plcental wall and was a statuesque 5′ tall at age 9 and had the cerebral capacity of a zygote fed pure synthetic nutrition. They had developed the super bully. Having two mothers fed his insecurities and his rage. It wasn’t so much the teasing from the other children, for they regarded him as a stoic golem, not to be pestered. He was upset with the draconian North Dakota laws, which forbade domestic partnerships. Bullying was his craft and vent. “OH OH OH, hey, Golding, come here one more time, your Yu Gi Oh deck, is fucking mine.” It was a troublesome existence, but he financed a civil rights group with his hateful conduct. It was the irony of a filthy hand washing a calloused hand. He flipped a salami piece into his gullet and ground it with his new permanent teeth. “Hunter is a complete fag” he quipped without the mildest sense of irony.

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Halfacre Marty Stouffer’s Wild America….Barleywine? I GUESS.

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I prefer Marty's Stouffer's Stuffing, but his Wild America will do in a pinch.

Halfacre Marty Stouffer’s Wild America Barleywine, 10% abv

A: This is a pretty core barely wine, no typo there. It doesn’t seems to have a crazy maltiness to it but it’s still pretty alluring with this bad boy murkiness that drives all the irresponsible 14 year old girls super cray. All it needs is a red jacket with some zippers. The murkiness subsides and it looks like a ruby amber ale.

S: Nice sweet booziness almost like brandy but not in that Your Boy is Mine sort of way. There’s some sticky caramelized figs and sweet red grape in the mix all like Bill Bellamy, trying to be a player.

It says barleywine, but my heart is saying no. If this beer wants to be with me, it has to rub me the right way.

T: There is absolutely no sweetness on this lil barleyride. It presents a hop forward character that makes you cock your head back like Ed Lover, come on son. The whole profile is overly herbal and feels like they dry hopped it for too long or added copper to the boil, the old currency maneuver. Oldest brewing trick in the book. The notes say that this was “Brewed with Cascade and Falconer’s Flight hops” maybe they needed to calm the cascading down a bit and falconer their asses back to burleywines.

Not quite sure where this beer is going, but it doesn't seem good.

M: The mouthfeel is weak and doesn’t have all the pizzazz of burly wines, it’s more like a haughty Imperial IPA that seems to have lost its way. I dont hate it, but it’s like an illfitting shirt that makes you have mantits, or notits if you are a woman. Take your pick, the tit presentation is calamitous. One thing I do enjoy is this hint of booziness at the finish that is its redeeming quality. Makes me nod like a proud father who threw his stepson into the deep end for the first time because I’m sorry, does the bmx need to be in the driveway every single day, not once can it be on the sideyard where you lovingly build a place for it to be locked u- what were we talking about?

D: Drying herbal assault vs. clean finish. It ends up being a nonstarter and defaults to a normal level beer. It’s like you hope all those conjugal visits pay off, but really you’re just having sex with a prisoner. So yeah, you could do worse Sheila, but you can also do moderately better. It’s a mid-range offering for a Charles Barkleywine, but it’s not a show stopper.

When I think of shit that is wild in America, things like this come to mind, not strange barleywines.

Narrative: The documentary just wasn’t going as planned. The gaean essences were remote in this particular section of the tundra and Marty was having a tough time echoing his animalistic call. “Aeeeouggghhhhiiiii!!!!!” the scream reverberated through the hills and over the nearest ridge. A lone cameraman shook his head despondently. “Marty, hey, I know you were dead set on your ability to communicate with the animals but, let’s go with something a little less ambitious, how about just filming them, huh?” the cameraman hazarded after 5 hours of tense waiting. Marty rose up on his massiive 6’1″ frame and stared down his brow at Phillip mencaingly. “OH, another has come to doubt the innate ability of THE WILD.” “No no, Marty, hey it’s just that, we haven’t shot a single frame and what with all the yelling, I think you’re scaring the animals away.” The two walked for a kilometer in silence and Marty spun on a single heel and faced Phillip. “BE SURE, not to miss this next shot-aaaiueeieieihhhhhoouuu!” Marty called out and a narwhal broke through the ice, tusk and all and began slowly creeping towards Phillip. “ATTACK!” the narwhal lazily waddled over towards Phillip, being filmed the entire time. “Yeah, this is great stuff Marty, real menacing.” Phillip quipped and rattled off frame after frame. Marty folded his arms insouciantly; his project did not go as planned.

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Sweetwater Festive Ale, A Festivity Transmitted Disease

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If watered down barley wine makes you feel festive, then hang the stockings.

Sweetwater Festive Ale, Winter Warmer, 8.6% abv

A: This pours a deep mahogany brown with generous foam and tiny soapy bubbles that almost look like won ton soup.

S: You get raisins, caramel, and some figs. It smells like a weird smoked quad or a wishy washy barleywine. It’s afraid to commit and say yes to the dress.

OH HEY LETS MAKE A BERLEYWI- DERRRRP.

T: The chocolate is muted and slightly burnt. It comes off like a barleywine that has low ass self esteem and will never ask malts out for a date. It needs to man the fuck up and get some malt in this bitch, or at least warm my winter. Carlifornia already has frigid 67 degree winters and this asshole isn’t pulling his weight. Maybe that flies in Georgia, but here in California, our women shave their armpits and our winter warmers have boozy notes to them Gosh darn it.

M: The mouthfeel is thin and watery but is a strangely cool dynamic for this malty, pitted fruity goodness, so pitted, whapaw. It’s pretty interesting in the way that the new Hyundai abomination, Veloster is interesting to look at, and think how much negative vagina you would get after buying one “how do you owe someone vagina?” details details.

It feels like something classic, but with a childish zing, malty candy action.

D: This is pretty drinkable but def. not made to be a session beer. I guess it helps me celebrate a new year, but I dont feel particularly festive, I feel bloated and moody, hook up the Midol brah. It’s not quite winter and I dont feel much warmer, but it’s not exactly a miss. It like Barleywine Lite, with a thinner body, resulting in some maltiness, just not a stomach detonation.

Narrative: One thing was not made abundantly clear by the gypsy witch. Ok, so, the master has to remain a beast until he finds true love, but why the fuck was I transformed into a bureau? Sure in pre-enlightenment France, there’s not a lot of non-serf positions for a guy like me, but, come on, if I am going to be transmogrified into some furniture, couldn’t I be a laundry cart or something more bad ass? I worked as a simple house servant and now, I am just stuffed with parchment paper. I feel like I aspired for greatness and now I am left to pick up the shattered remains of my simple pedestrian life. Why am I even affected by this damn gypsy curse anyway? I didn’t have any stake in the superficial nature of the owner. This whole enterprise has fallen flat.

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Bourbon Barrel Brrrrbon, Brrr It’s Cold in Hurr, Must be some Chingy in the Atmosphere.

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Parchment paper is peeping on Brrbon so hard.

Here’s a beer Oregonians actually freely share. This beer didn’t get the best reviews but I feel that it’s pretty legit, by no means too legit to warrant quitting.

2010 Widmer Brothers (Of Hefeweizen fame) Barrel Aged Brrbon, 9.4% abv, Winter Warmer

A: It has nice shiny, new penny look to it with some spider webs on it like at old man Wilkerson’s house, but it looks inviting with a nice moderate translucence to it. The color actually LOOKS like a nice bourbon, I would go grab a Buffalo Trace shot and show you but, it’s all the way over there and you have the ability to press cntrl+T at any time you lazy ass.

S: This is really muted on the nose and you get a tiny hint of bourbon, like a homeless man was in your underwear drawer but you cant quite be sure. The caramel and brown sugar just lights up and smells amazing. The alcohol doesn’t grind all up on your junk, it just eases up and does a nice lil ABV two step.

The dude in white is bourbon, your palate is getting its shit rocked.

T: This has a nice initial oakiness that would be mistaken for hops if it wasn’t so warm and soothing like a negligent ass Thermaflu or something. It sweetens up with some sweet molasses and brown sugar that washes away instantly. This tastes a lot better than I was expecting and upholds the solid lineage from the recent limited releases: Galaxy Barleywine, Pear Braggot, etc. Drop the $10.99, it’s worth it.

M: It is surprisingly light and feels like a strange ninja barleywine. Or a baby old ale with all the oak going on. It’s pretty enjoyable and reminds me that I live in america, where you can put bourbon in a beer and drink it casually, with lunch, brunch even, heck, before your first day as a bus driver, who knows. Moral of the story is that the light character, deep bourbon and generous oakiness make this an awesome beer. Forget what Jamiroquai said, the future is not made of insanity, virtual or otherwise.

Barrel Aged Beer...Too Delicious...Dont Drink...Be...

D: This is incredibly drinkable and, may possibly be the only way that I will ever win at Words with Friends. You can play some wacky 9.4% abv tricks on them and watch them announce some really obscure things at the upcoming X-mas party. I had no trouble putting it away, and the average joe will say it tastes like “A strong…Newcastle…or whats that expensive…Chimay…yeah like sugar Chimay.”

Narrative: The old distillery, a county institution, just didn’t feel right, what with it being right next door to the local elementary school. Three recesses a month the kids would run in from kickball, gagging from the smell of fermenting sour mash. “Ms. Berkowitz, my eyes feel like Home Depot!” the kids would bemoan. It was many a time when a Nerf Screamer landed square in beds of spent mash, never to be retrieved. The smut that the old grizzly distillers left about was not insubstantial. Somehow, the synergy of the two, what with one destroying people’s lives, providing a solid 7 year old product, and the other being the distillery, seemed to somehow work. Jonah Wilkenstein watched in dismay as his baseball cascaded over the fence and landed in a caustic old barrel. “Now that Babe Ruth ball is gonna smell like Uncle Ira, I dont even wannit.”

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Smuttynose Barleywine, tuck a napkin in your shirt just straight barleywhining like that

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This is pretty legit, but nothing to get all stoked on. You can leave the stoke safety on. There’s some caramel malt, some booziness, and light maple oaky flavor. It’s like sure, a regular Subaru impreza is nice but, it won’t make a FIDM or OTIS girl all jazzed. You need Duke Ellington for that shit.

It’s a reliable, easy to handle, boozy mess, like dating a coed from the SEC schools. Just don’t set your sights too high, lens crafters up in the cut like what.