Virginia Stoutwale Roundup: ABGBS, KXMASGBS, AB Resolute, COCO Resolute, ACRONYMsolute

The Virginia contingency has enjoyed the relative calm provided by Brothers and Hardywood.  Neither one of them dumped a barrel of type O negative into the water for the mulesharks to swarm over and, like Washington, Virginia seems to be silently drinking their own supply and enjoying some furtive world class beers. AND THEN COCONUT RESOLUTE CAME OUT. AND THEN THE MIDWEST/FLORIDA CONCH SHELL WAS BLOWN.

The second you dump secondary ingredients into a stout, thereby guaranteeing flavor confirmation, all shit breaks loose on the boards. So let’s take four of these recent wave makers and and whip up some global comparisons.  FOUR VIRGINIA STOUTS RANKED IN ORDER OF DANKNESS:

NUMBER FOUR: Apple Brandy Resolute


Right out of the gates I was stoked for this one, a solid base stout, a SOCIETY ONLY BOTTLE, and the legendary apple brandy barrels that turn everything into pure stout raffle currency. Sadly, this didn’t really knock me off my perch.  At best I used my beak to hit the thin chocolate bell and look at myself in the brownie stained mirror.

We are making pet avian jokes now.

The real issue here was with the thinnnn mouthfeel.  It has a substantial abv and you’d except some residual malts to lay the foundation for those classy ass barrels to hoof it upon.  Sadly the apple brandy could have been any treatment given the fact that much of the treatment came across as muted and a sort of Nestle cocoa powder instead of sticky sweet caramel whipped milkshake. This is by no means bad but, certainly nothing to straddle a hitachi over either.

3) Apple Brandy GBSva1

Ok let me address something before everyone starts lactating cinnamon out of their sand dollar nips: the serving vessel did not kill this for me, in fact this is actually very tasty. The real issue is that the two beers following this were FUCKING AWESOME so this by contrast was like Central Waters BB Stout, you nod approvingly, enjoy the repartee, but never really sit and mull it over.  The frothy mouthfeel is great but there isn’t a substantial drag for the spices to cling to like static charged dryer sheets.


Yes, you read that right, I am complaining about the LACK of spice interplay in a stout. I am truly being a bitch about the cinnamon.  It was subtle and arguably very deftly done because it never became distracting like that nightmarish churro tyrant: BA Abraxas.  This was a nice gingersnap cookie dipped into some chocolate milk.  You get the waft of holiday bliss but also a sort of sweet moon pie/residual lactose nicety that makes it very pleasant to drink. Everything I said in the foregoing conflicts with my usual stance on beers like this, so for them to overcome despite impossible odds, that’s some Bad News Bears type of stout. I am a fan.

NUMBER TWO:  Kentucky Christmas Morningva4

Alright, shit is getting real now.  This is the bourbon+coffee version of number three and holy fuck is this good.  The underpinnings of this is essentially a mocha PSL frap.  The frothy sweet milk stout coats with that massive Moloko milk bar panache.  The cinnamon serves as a bump/set to the fantastic coffee spike.  This is insanely drinkable and the long finish and clean body makes this never seem messy and it remains focused with every sip.


I thought for sure this would be a complete mess for any number of reasons but I think the real takeaway from Hardywood is: RESTRAINT.  They execute things akin to Beachwood and Great Lakes, where the realization is that beers, like steaks, are almost always better underdone.  This never becomes one note, nor are the additions forgettable sidecars tacked on for some “limited release” alms cup rattling.  The best part of this beer is the carb/sweetness combo from the lactose.  A really solid beer, toe to tip.

Last but not least, this complete suntan lotion masterpiece:


Coconut Resolute puts corona in the corner with a shot of fireball to think about the things that it has done.  If the underlying theme of this writeup has been balance and grace, this exhibits all of the foregoing expertly.  Unlike the already incredible Goose Island Prop 2013, this doesn’t elect to lean strictly upon its milky coconutty interior.  This is first and foremost a stout that can rest on its own merits and the nose and swallow are some banging backup dancers that bring massive waves of Almond Joy goodness.

The end result is a beer that brings the macaroon, sure the Mounds are tumescent and dripping, but remains an identifiable stout at the bottom of all those toasted flakes.  That is a remarkable achievement because it lends depth in a category replete with 13 person shares where some dumbfuck just wants to confirm “WORTH THE HYPE DEF TASTS LIKE COCONUT.” Obvious observation badge unlocked.

While this isn’t in the canon of say, top 10 stouts of ALL TIME, it can easily rival the best of the best for a low hanging slot. It is an exceptional treat that you would be remiss to not seek out.


MFW that coco.




Cycle DBR – Discount Burt Reynolds, Dick Butt Reserve

Man as much as I like to craft the yukyuks and make wild generalizations about how California being a vassal state of proxy slaves and Florida being packed with Nascar loving waterhags, you can’t deny: Cycle consistently kills it in the stout game.  Even “misses” like Nooner 10, are still pretty phenomenal.  No amount of cajoling or needling will change the fact that Cycle is putting out some of the finest stoutjams around, and doing so with alarming regularity.


This “DBR” has a murky history and I have heard a variety of things about it.  Someone told me it is a bourbon barrel aged MASSIVE Rare Dos, which I guess would make sense at 14.5% Abv. Yet another person told me this was a DOUBLE BARREL Rare Dos, in two types of RYE barrels.  There was noted inconsistency.

At any rate, today we have another fine entry into the already staggering canon of Cycle’s dark ale game: Discount Burt Reynolds.  With the specs on this and mystery surrounding it, I am shocked that it isn’t fetching far more at this point because this is a relatively accessible sleeper gem at this point that you need to try.

First and foremost: this is 1) world class 2) from Florida 3) a stout and 4) CONTAINS ZERO ADJUNCTS.  I know that the punchlines attendant to this zone is as well worn as polished marble, but that’s pretty fucking noteworthy.  This beer is this phenomenal with no gimmics/no riddles/talkin white squares with the stamps in the middle.  Ironically, the beer with NO adjuncts tells you to drink it immediately.  The biggest beer they have ever made…needs to be opened fresh. I am totally fine with that, but we will still see some entry level dumbfuck raffling one of these in 2022 claiming “STILL DRINKING JUST AS GOOD CHECK OUT MY OTHER RAFFLE FOR 2010 BCBVS!”


It pours viscous but lively with flawless carb, just clingy enough, but the stout lets you hang out with your buddies once in a while as well: that Aristotelian mean.   The nose is so incredibly well done that it very well could contain any number of additions. I am not going to lean on the old Georgian punching bag “contains no coffee” but the blast of fresh espresso mixed with cake frosting, massive vanilla wafers and whoppers makes this a fantastic beer to behold at higher temps.  I opened this at 55 degrees and was taken aback by the fusel nature, but the folds part with warmth like the sticky petals of a chrysanthemum bathed in spring sunlight.

The taste delivers on all of the olfactory dry humping.  You get the boozy, oak forward character that almost comes across as dark chocolate dunked in Rittenhouse Rye. Sure it’s there, but it never is flabbby or hefty despite its considerable abv.  This reminds me a lot of Pugachev 25 with a touch more emphasis on the Kit Kat notes instead of that pencil shaving ultra aged depth.


If you have Cycle fatigue from their multitude of releases, palates, nooners, hazelnuts, ampersands and whateverthefuck: DONT SKIP THIS ONE.  If you loved the boozy original BA Plead the Fifth, this is right in your tight 15% fuselhole. AND THAT FUSELHOLE IS HOT AND WAFTY.


Side Project Derivation blend 2, Trying to Smooth down those bean flickers

Welp this morning has been fraught with controversy for the St. Louis contingency.  From the recent peachy pitted Smooth release came typical secondary market dramatics and theatrics that seem to inevitably accompany nearly every SP release.  So to get our minds off of who is a razzler and what facebook groups are full of cockfingerers (all of them), let’s instead look back on one of those coldstone creamery bombs that got us to where we are today: DERIVATION SECOND BLEND: the revenge: reloaded: eternal: with a vanilla VENGEANCE.


So it’s an ultra coveted stout with vanilla beans? So the fuck what, what else is new? WELP let’s allow those Side Projectionists to flesh this one out:

“Derivation is our series of Barrel-Aged Imperial Stouts in which we brew several recipes, age them in a variety of barrels and blend them before bottling to add depth and structure to this massive style of beer.

Blend #2
50% Wheated Imperial Stout aged in a Weller Antique Wheated Bourbon Barrel with Ugandan Vanilla Beans
50% Wheated Imperial Stout aged in a Weller Reserve Wheated Bourbon Barrel with Ugandan Vanilla Beans”

A few cases have been sold at Side Project occasionally as an “onsite only” bottle for like $75 (?) and I think something like 100 of these were sold at the old Wine and Cheese whale factory. That’s it, so basically cable car pumped with Bane serum.

The pour looks viscous and pushes the limits of what I will tolerate for that 02-40w synthetic look.  Aside from perhaps  Double Barrel Huna and Bourbon Vanilla Dark Lord, I cant recall a beer that has a pour this thick and menacing.  It is sheets of raw obsidian, as dark as the hearts of Mumford and Sons, except I actually like this beer.  AND I HATE VOLCANIC OBSIDIAN.

The nose is absolutely outrageous in the Platonic form: a cause of outrage.  This is largely due to the inaccessibility of this beer and the refined riff on the tired vanilla cone brownie sesh.  This isn’t Yankee Candle, or Pilsburry frosting, or a one dimensional Glade plug in, this is a nose that lingers and unpacks itself in layers.  The wheated whiskey barrels add a level of heat, butterscotch, caramel ribbon, prailines, and other Froyo toppings that is almost unmatched.  The vanilla certainly is center stage, but is more akin to an ensemble cast.  All work in tandem for greatness, like the 96 Bulls, there’s more than Vanilla Jordan OKAY.


Oddly the taste isn’t quite as bean pod spreading as I expected and it honestly reminds me more of Assassin given the complexity of the barrel.  Antecedent to the waffle cone is brownie, fudge batter, tollhouse chips, marzapan and like…rice krispy treats? This sounds far sweeter than it is and the underlying fusel body tempers the experience from becoming some Willy Wonka gangbang.

So should this command double to triple the value that Fundamental Observation or Vanilla Rye does?  It really comes down to preference at a certain point.  Should you pay more to stunt on people with a world class ZONDA when you can buy a more “reasonable” Aventador? I mean…I guess? I am not here to tell you how to flick your bean, you can hit backstagecastingcouch for that. This is undoubtedly the top of its class and minor preferences set it apart from the best in the world.


Who really wants to be a part of that crew? come on.

I wouldn’t look at the blind BA vanilla tasting and snub this beer for “only” getting 4th out of 19, look at what it had to go up against and look how close the metrics were in the results.  I cant really address my full “audience” with reviews like these, so for the joel66ers of the world or people who have those giantslayer 9 person Philly tasting groups who go in on bottles like this, absolutely lock this down before it fades like DISAPPOINTING ASS 2010 BCBVS.  GET IT TOGETHER OLD MAN.

TFW wen u don win den has 2x(sads)



On the Real Tho, What the Deal with Side Project Framboise du Fermier?

Alright we all know the lore behind this shit.  300 bottles.  Midwest hype.  1 per person per mule per grandma per collateral body present for the tickets that were allegedly/surreptitiously handed out to selected attendees. At least that is the way I heard it.  No sooner than buttholes were healing from the anal fissures attendant to the prior two fruited fermiers, this drops and all the sad tickers are carrying around their pink socks lamenting self-inflicted Fedex woes.

Let’s not get it twisted, landing this is going to be an exercise in self-flaggelation and St. Louis fecespeddlers have no empathy or shame in their rapacious requests. It is kinda like in the Ostfront when Germany was retreating, after years of dealing out abuse, the rest of the trade world is about to receive some grim comeuppance from an area that previously held Schlafly as the piece de resistance. “If they do only a fraction of what we have done to them, we will be in complete ruins.”

Alright so, whale pedigree, whale expectations: BUT HOW DOES THIS BERRY BANGER EVEN TASTE? Let me introduce you to my stove, traps queens on deck.

That look is undeniable. God damn.

That look is undeniable. God damn.

Fruited Wild Ale, 8% abv

St. Louis, Missouri

Straight out of the gates, look at this majestic cranberry, roseate, blood of the nonbelievers spilling on the cobblestones.  It is easily one of the most beautiful wild ales this side of Cable Car Kriek and has flawless carb, sheeting and this delightfully filthy dance of residual seeds and flesh dancing in the globe. Stepdad is gonna spank those 9th grader asses stop sign red for opening his pink beer while he is at work at Cici’s Pizza.

I braced for some acetylaldehyde or maybe a touch of some formative Rose De Gambrius vinegar, but the whole affair takes things to the redline zone in every way.  There was no expense spared, no restrain used, no nuances employed, this is a 9 minute long raspberry Dragonforce solo that melts your baby momma’s face when she looks at it directly.  It is liquid fruit by the foot, gushers, red 5, muddled berries, smuckers, intense acidity that burns your eyelashes magenta, and waves of so many hispanic roadside fruitstands.  I imagine this is what it would feel like to get jumped into a gang, in a berry field.  It is just too much of a good thing to the point of being berry incarnate.  It cannot be reasoned with.

Behold, the ruby weapon, awakened after so many millenia of hateful slumber under the desert.

Behold, the ruby weapon, awakened after so many millenia of hateful slumber under the desert.

The taste takes the acidicty, fruit, and completely tactless overkill of the nose and takes it to suborbital heights.  This is not the Platonic form of a framboise, it is some malevolent Mojoverse where science has been harnessed to go beyond the berry into a weaponized raspberry neutron bomb.  It is ambrosial and deriding, like that abusive girl you met on Tinder who only hits you up after 3am. Given the quality of the interaction you tolerate the violence, if under suboptimal circumstances.  This is unlike ANY berry beer you have had, RASPY or otherwise.

Let me underscore something: this is NOT a one dimensional lactic acid bomb like Upland moves through the basic palate raffleranks. This is those end game weapons that are so powerful that they break the game as a result. Alright you know how everyone has a rock hard lambic boner for Framboos despite the fact that 2014 was flat and riddled with exit flaws? Imagine that is something like Old Rip Van Winkle 10. This, by contrast is something completely more insane, outside the penumbra of your training, this is uncut barrel strength WLW that will not be dominated.

clacking those pink bottoms, all these poverty tickers belly up to the bar tryna throw singles at a raindance tick

clacking those pink bottoms, all these poverty tickers belly up to the bar tryna throw singles at a raindance tick

There are waves of tannic skins that spin down your mid palate with delicious black cherry and currant heft but streak like an orbital laser, exothermic destruction on the back palate.  I had to drink my first glass with a water nearby, not unlike WLW.  I promise you guys I was not being a tamponpalate, this is way over the top intense and made for the St. Louis 13 person tastings in which these are invariably only opened. The magnificent drag down the throat is like uncut raspberry blow, the drip is enough to make some tickers cough because it isn’t stepped on.

tfw you at work not embarrassed to read 900 words about a fruit beer but see this and close the tab

tfw you at work not embarrassed to read 900 words about a fruit beer but see this and close the tab

At about the last 8 ounces, I had two chapped labias on my face and had to “proof” the raspberry fury down and I cut it with a Highland Park blended saison All the yeast.  The blend felt like a resignation, like i quit, I Tapped Out like so many stickers on slammer Silverados. Candidly, the blend was incredible and added that grist and cheesiness that the beer needed.

It is not flawless, but god damn if it isn’t some straight up once in a lifetime barrel strength madness that has never been replicated. It is the beer form of the Dodge Challenger Hellcat, no one needs 702 raspberries under the hood, but if you have the cash to get it, by all means go fucking nuts on the backstreets.  This is not a daily driver framboise, the berry burnouts are far too substantial for my weak dentistry.

DDB gets that coveted berry banger and gives criticism, the music of weak bloggers screaming in unison

DDB gets that coveted berry banger and gives criticism, the music of weak bloggers screaming in unison

Thankfully, every Untappd dipshit will be checking in a lukewarm meniscus pour so small it cant even retain surface tension.  This bilateral exchange of misplaced reverence and undeserved pride fuels the current trade scene, with Kafkaesque results.  We can’t blame Cory King for that, but we can blame him for not getting Mother 3 ported to the United States as Mother 3.  THANKS A LOT, CORY. FUCK.


@santeadairius Always in Death, 25th fret shredding, black farmhouse death stainless fermentation

Well as 2014 creaked to a close, the final bottle from the SARA Cellar program was the caress of death. This was the swan song and a single bottle was issued to 2014 members before all these 2015 SARA cellar gentrifiers come in pushing up property values, ruining the rich cultural heritage of the invite only society, driving out the original residents. Let’s see how this tart DARK farmhouse performs, whether you can slam this at a Bauhaus concert or if you should save it for the next Joy Division show.

Time to play that cliche game LIST SOMETHING IN THE BACKGROUND OF THE BEER PHOTO. always funny ervy tiem.

Time to play that cliche game LIST SOMETHING IN THE BACKGROUND OF THE BEER PHOTO. always funny ervy tiem.

Capitulation, Santa Cruz, CA
Black Barrel aged Saison, 5.6% abv

That commercial rubdown:
Everything ends. This simple fact reminds us to make the most of the things, to breath deeply, to chase inspiration, to live and love with abandon. With this in mind, we offer you the final installment of SARA’s Cellar 2014. Always in Death. A tart, barrel-aged, dark farmhouse ale, this single barrel selection stood out from the rest, and is now yours to memorialize in solitude or with friends. Everything ends, always, in death.

Put on The Spill Canvas, pour a glass of Grenache and sink into deep contemplation with your Sartre tome, WE ARE DISCUSSING DEATH.

A: Well true to form, this is a dark dark farmhouse that leaves you looking circumspectly at the jet black inky depths, that foam challenging you to a slap boxing fight in the old barn. I usually don’t enjoy this style or really any sours predicated entiretly on a porter base, but this is admittedly a pretty beer due to the bone dry lack of sheeting or residual sugars. This is like Natalie Portman in Black Swan, you come for the white swan, you stay to see her get stabbed.

Pictured above: target dark saison demographic.  Look for them at the next bottleshare.

Pictured above: target dark saison demographic. Look for them at the next bottleshare.

S: The nose on this is phenomenal and reminds me of a baller version of Tart of Darkness, with a turbo charger and cat back exhaust. You get merlot and currant, tart cherry, craisins, oak and light cocoa. The closer is a sort of red wine Dr. Pepper aspect that again, feels agile and doesn’t leave its dark husks and tannins laying all around the living room its like HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU ABOUT THIS.

T: The taste sheds the Tart of Darkness robe and the ebony form glistens beautifully across the palate. You get the malbec and blackberry, tartness, a faint cheesiness, and a lingering intensely dry closer. I can confidently add this to a list of two other dark farmhouses REALLY worthy of your attention, next to Civil Disobedience 4 and Guillermo Prunus. Yes CD8, Shadows of their Eyes, and Edith are intentionally left off of that list. Dark saisons usually dont do it for me, but this exhibits the red grape and hay profile in such an elegant way, its worth your attention even though you might not give a shit about the style.

NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME, i like my farmhouses DARK and DEEP, i have substance and depth, I OWN A COPY OF HARLAN ELLISON SHORT STORIES

NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME, i like my farmhouses DARK and DEEP, i have substance and depth, I OWN A COPY OF HARLAN ELLISON SHORT STORIES

M: This is dry and presents a bouquet of tart floral goodness, its this odd melange of dry bakers chocolate a flanders red and a straight up saison. At warmer temps it feels a bit acetic but never enters a realm that someone would really complain about, I am just that prick who watches Whiplash and complains that the syncopation isnt timed with the frames of the drums. Nitpicking garbage because shit, otherwise why even read this.

D: This is this and you can easily crush the entire 750 without getting dry rot. It never becomes cloying or warrants splitting a million ways. Thankfully this doesn’t have any stonefruit in it, so dipshits on the trade boards will continue punching one another in the dick over the same tired lacto blonde ales and leave this well alone.

This saison tastes like when the wolf cries to the black corn moon.  You probably wont get it if you havent painted with the colors of the black wind.

This saison tastes like when the wolf cries to the black corn moon. You probably wont get it if you havent painted with the colors of the black wind.


@sudwerkbrew Funke Hop Farm, DRY HOPPED, barrel aged, lacto, BRETT SAISON HNNNGGGG

Alright so I got to the bottom of things.  Before I reviewed anything from Sudwerk I was warned top to bottom from people who had been going to the pub itself for a long time.  The PUB not to be confused with the BOTTLED OFFERINGS, offers an inoffensive standard fare of bar food and the typical lineup you might expect from a local brewpub.  However, underneath the calm veneer of this establishment runs an undercurrent of talent and malignant ability.  These igneous plumes have only began to surface lately and spill their precious magma all over consumers, coating them in sheets of precious barrel aged obsidian.  So these are unlike anything you may have seen on BEERADVOCATE and their wealth of information, and represent the current direction of the brewery at large, so get some hot loads of aggie magma all over those man tits in today’s review.

A ganache barrel aged, dry hopped, brett saison.  Inner thighs pounding so hard about to grow some farmhouse ovaries.

A grenache barrel aged, dry hopped, brett saison. Inner thighs pounding so hard about to grow some farmhouse ovaries.

BA Saison, 6% abv


Here’s the commercial tug job:

“Brewed with oats and wheat, and fermented out with two strains of saison yeast. It spends about six to nine months in an assortment of barrels-Petite Sirah, Grenache, Chardonnay-while being fermented with Brettanomyces, Lactobacillus, and a house yeast culture from their in-house solera system. It’s then blended with an all-Brett beer that’s barrel-aged separately, bringing in more tropical and guava notes. Oh, and it’s dry-hopped at 1.5 pounds per barrel with Simcoe, Nelson, and Citra.”

A:  Before I even poured this, I was like “this will be dead flat and then I can rip on this shit for being clearly a wild ale, I know how to read words, this will be nothing like a saiso-” and then billowy clouds of frothy carb sat there defiantly, forming upturned middle fingers in the foam, insulting my family line.  It looks murky and unfiltered, if this had a touch of the wheat tarbrush I wouldn’t be surprised.  I can’t parade out my typical NOT TO STYLE bullshit on this one, and that’s sad, those complaints eat up so many words, bringing me to ropey verbal completion so much faster.

you put a saison in an obscure wine barrel, and your name isn't Mystic, then my trap card gets activated so hard.

you put a saison in an obscure wine barrel, and your name isn’t Mystic, then my trap card gets activated so hard.

S:  This is unquestionably the best part of the beer and god damn, is it something to behold.  The triumvirate of the ultra juicy hops, the complete absence of any aserose aspects, the tart yogurt sharpness from the lacto, and dry closer from the brett make this huffable for days.  It is waves of tangerine, sliced clementines, those little Cuties that are wildly overpriced, fresh sliced honeydew and cantaloupe, it just smells radiant like some Ganiere Fructis shampoo.  SORRY IF YOU ARENT UP ON GAME AND STILL USE SUAVE ITS 2015 GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

ganache barrels are usually some divorcee tier component grapes that plastic dragonwomen talk about like "ITS LIKE PINOT AND THAT HOT NEW VINO CALLED MALBEC OMG SO TELL ME ABOUT HOW STAN IS MISTREATING YOU" shit like that

Grenache barrels are usually some divorcee tier component grapes that plastic dragonwomen talk about like “ITS LIKE PINOT NOIR AND THAT HOT NEW VINO CALLED MALBEC OMG SO TELL ME ABOUT HOW STAN IS MISTREATING YOU” shit like that

T:  This follows the foregoing smell but delivers a bit more of dryness and less of the fruit explosion.  It is very dry and crisp like an anjou pear with a manner of arugula grassiness to the closer.  If you enjoyed Dorothy and Alpha King, this will be well ensconced in your house of wheels.  It is refreshing and reminds me of Printemps with more wild ale inclinations.  While this doesn’t step full on into the Side Project sour saison realm, it is rubbing the tip dangerously close to the folds.  It is unquestionably sour but never stops your from drilling the entire bottle and palate fatigue never sets in.  That reminds me, I need to tick Lattice.  GOD DAMNIT THERE IS NOT REST IN THIS SAISON GAME.

M:  This is a touch thinner and drier than I would like, but other may find this to be a more exceptional aspect.  It finishes long and drops bits of tart lemongrass and grapefruit rind that, while awesome, seems to pull it away from that initial nose and the saison roots that made me draw the shades earlier.  Not every Tinder date with a 750ml is gonna hit the sheets ok, some take time, you gotta have that m’lady game, fedora tipping to the wild ale side with GENTLEMANLY RESPECT.

most these 2014 tickers think this BA saison shit is all about soaps and suds, ticker what

most these 2014 tickers think this BA saison shit is all about soaps and suds, ticker what

D:  This is unquestionably crushable.  I drank this while watching the limitlessly sad BITUTIFUL and drilled it while basking in Javier Bardem’s majesty.  You will accidentally the entire bottle, it will happen.  Don’t bother sharing this with anyone, let alone multiple people.  All that will do is generate 8 simultaneous UNTAPPD check ins that say shit like “tastes like farmhouses, is ok I guess, my 2oz pour was fine, not a good siason like Beautification, which was winner of the night.”

Just spare me that shit.


Three Floyds Earl of Biggleswade, Early Contender for the Shittiest Beer of 2015

This beer represents the nightmarish deception and manipulation of beer ratings that take place in beer trading. Last Dark Lord Day, this beer was putting up solid perfect scores and being touted as THE BEST DERK LERD DEVIANT EVR MADE LOWERST BOTTLE COUNT EVR. If you trust a dipshit who is excited about a Dark Lord variant because they made the least of it, you are already starting out on a bad foot.

Your next massive red flag is right on the bottle: Dark Lord aged in a brandy barrel with cardamom, coriander, and cacao nibs. Let that sink in for a moment and try to imagine the desperate hellish reality that those adjectives would produce when exposed in and around your mouth. Sure, the writing was clear on the wall, but I had no idea just how much worse things could get, especially after trying the indefatigably horrible BA Cognac Murete Dark Lord. It turns out, when I removed that sticky stone from the Satanic altar of distaste there was a chamber of eternal hatred below, with dizzying self flagellating depths.

Let’s get to this review and never look back.

The vast majority of this $50 raffle only bottle met its end at the bottom of my garbage disposal

The vast majority of this $50 raffle only bottle met its end at the bottom of my garbage disposal

Three Floydenens, Munster Indiana
Zombie Dust Whales, 15% Russian Imperial Stout

A: Well, so far so good, this has carbonation and the platonic form of flabbiness on the pour. It cascades out like brownie mix or Nestle QuiK made with heavy whipping cream. The sheeting is so intense that it looks like someone mixed a bag of dried malt extract in at bottling to beef this sludgey muckwater up a bit. This is the best part of this unearthly bottle.

Dark Lord traders are a refined sort of gentleman bandits, m'lady

Dark Lord traders are a refined sort of gentleman bandits, m’lady

S: The smell takes things from a spine tingling glance to the crushing depression of realizing that you have over 25 ounces of this to reconcile with your body. On the front end of things is an almost passable York peppermint patty, that distorts and melts into images of your children dying in their cribs, intense jasmine, Downey, Glade plug ins, dryer sheet, Indian ice cream, dry cleaning solution and Christmas morning where mommy leaves daddy for tennis coach mommy. It is intensely saddening on so many levels.

T: This affair gets far worse when you actually elect to put this inside of your body. If the smell was serving in the Luftwaffe, the taste is being a prisoner of the Red Army in the most torturous Stalingrad detainment center. The oily heft substance rolls onto your tongue like mercury, it has a sort of adhesion to itself in oblong orbs, like how lava lamp particles flow. Each one shatters in an inky mess like T1000 and runs over your sweet and bitter zones imparting the worst disharmonious clanging on your tastebuds possible. It is so sweet that it tastes like straight wort at times, sickening fudge from eastern European countries with strange items mixed in like anise and wormwood mixed in because Hungarians don’t know any better. It is herbal and chocolatey, clashing at every opportunity, its like going down on the husky chocolatier at a humid Renaissance Festival and you are forever scarred.

I don't know who can honestly open this and without hesitation enjoy their pour, even split 14 ways.  It takes a very special type of beer drinker.

I don’t know who can honestly open this and without hesitation enjoy their pour, even split 14 ways. It takes a very special type of beer drinker.

M: The mouthfeel is completely inexcusable and you would have to have a serious deviant palate to indulge in this fetish. Regular Dark Lord is sweet and toes the line of salinity but this is just bad, like Community College performance of The Iceman Cometh, unabashedly deficient in so many ways. The viscosity is so high that it feels like it was component blended with unboiled mash, this egg soup heft to it that creep to your molars like coffee phlegm. To close things out, imagine if someone mad dirty bombs using materials only found at a Bath and Bodyworks. Herbal disgusting cluster bombs detonating and taking out anyone within a partisan radius.

D: This could not be less drinkable if it were a solid object. The second you try it, you have had enough. I let this open up, I tried it cold, luke warm, there simply was no remedying this situation. It’s like, you can take all the underattenuated sips you want, it wont change the fact that you had sex with the busboy at Golden Corral. Some flaws are so apparent that they cannot be forgotten. This is one such beer like the 1982 Bellevue that is exceptional in its sheer harrowing Kafkaesque presentation. If you have ever drank too much gin one night and awoke the next morning with that juniper bush tingling your bile ducts, you will know this beer by the trail of dead it leaves in its wake.

After escaping this permanent press tumble dry nightmare of a stout, I felt so tuff n hard as fuqqq

After escaping this permanent press tumble dry nightmare of a stout, I felt so tuff n hard as fuqqq

In closing, the fact that this beer was receiving solid perfect scores from deceitful, capitalizing, landlocked traders is outright shameful. It is in many ways worse than lying about an infected beer and trading it, THREE FLOYDS MEANT FOR THIS TO TASTE THIS WAY. Please look at these reviews immediately logged in after Dark Lord Day and revel in the top tier shitlords attempting to hype this beer up, then watch the precipitous drop once the rest of the world was exposed to this hateful contagion:


As much as I hate directing traffic to BA, that is where the top tier shitty content is generated and you simply must look at those ratings in cold consternation at the crushing pathos of the human condition. It is gut wrenching both figuratively and literally.


I HAVE GOSE OPINIONS: Clickbait Bullshit from a Presumptive Dumbass

Hot on the heels of sifting through mountains of derivative garbage about the HARD WAY and PEACH PUMPKIN BEER, we have this week’s incendiary bullshit for the beer scene to address with baleful contemplation:

A verbose article groundlessly objecting to Gose, by an uninformed dipshit

Now we can already take it as a solid premise that Thrillist is THE go-to spot for hot beer news. It is undisputed that this isn’t some shitty newsletter turned clickbait factory that pushes the consumeristic drives of the late 20’s male demographic. This is a company that purchased JACKTHREADS to ensure beer nerds have nicely tailored vests, corduroy suits, and email services to refer/mine any user data to drive readers into purchasing more and more shit that they don’t want or need: We are talking a srs authority on all things beer.

So who did they get to tackle this hot-button issue of GOSE RUINING THE ENTIRE CRAFT BEER SCENE? Zarathustra himself, JOE FUCKING KEOHANE. Now if you know anything about the beer world, this guy is practically the Jean Van Roy of beer palates and the neo-Charlie Papazian of unbridled beer knowledge. Thrillist would accept nothing less for a matter of such grave ethos and uncompromising importance. GOSE IS RUINING AN ENTIRE MARKET SEGMENT AND A NEEDLESSLY LENGTHY SERIES OF SUBJECTIVE IMPRESSIONS WILL PROVE IT.

You knew Thrillist was serious, they don’t just toss content onto their site hoping to sell you shitty barware or gawdy apparrel, I mean, just look at the gravitas of this incredible exposé: THE 13 NAUGHTIEST THINGS YOU CAN DO IN ATLANTA

So we know the site has unimpeachable credibility in its intentions, but what about the monolith of authority, Mr. Joe Keohane, the master of all Cicerones?

Well not only does he have an extensive background in beer and beer culture (don’t worry, he doesn’t) he also has penned these gems:

A bunch of shit for Esquire magazine, none of which is about beer.

But we already know that Esquire themselves are the UNDISPUTED MASTERS OF BEER KNOWLEDGE

But enough about KNOWLEDGE and CREDENTIALS and EXPERIENCE, let’s examine why this one ignorant dumbass has predicated the death of all craft beer on hasty generalizations and opaque vapid observations. Let’s do that.

Joe Keohane might as well have written the entire article about Thundercats toys

Joe Keohane might as well have written the netire article about Thundercats toys

Alright so you get three solid entry paragraphs of fondant with a zero calorie breakdown of the history of craft beer, and then finally Mr. Keohane, grand vicar of all ales gives a sketchy history of the gose style. The entire article reads less like some derivative opinion piece and more like your mailman trying to tell you about this segment he saw on Hardcopy, and then does a shitty job of it. The author notes that he did some extensive research though, dont worry, “[he] went to three craft beer stores today in search of more varieties to cement (or rebut) [his] opinion, and the first two were completely sold out. The third had two left.”

Is the budget of the $1 billon Thrillist really that paper thin? IS the author really that fucking lazy? Then the entire article is drawn from a trip to three whole stores and then generalizations leveled predicated upon sampling TWO fucking goses? That would be like if I wanted to write a piece for Jezebel on male hegemony and privilege in the workplace and then I went to Barnes and Noble and looked at the covers of some Betty Friedan and Kate Millett books and called it a day.

Goses are like this Cheetara toy in that I don't know what the fuck I am talking about

Goses are like this Cheetara toy in that I don’t know what the fuck I am talking about

At its core, the author lacks the one thing that you would expect from an article about, well, anything: authority. If this were a shitty livejounral entry entitled “TODAY I TRIED A SALTY THING I DIDNT LIKE” we could dual list it under homoeroticism and stupid uninformed rant that you could readily dismiss. Instead it is presented as a legitimate inquiry into an entire style of beer and the mechanics of destruction attendant to an entire economy and culture. Or wait, maybe it is a horrible broad generalization about shit that the author has not idea about. Maybe the title served to drive up referral links, responses, and watered down alexa traffic to pump this shitlord of a website trying to sell you tacky Ben Sherman messenger bags. NAH I AM SUER THAT JOE KEOHANE TRIED HIS BEST THAT’S WHAT MATTERS.

In case you couldn’t tell by his run on sentences, multiple independent clauses and irrelevant comparisons to other areas of culture: Joe Keohane doesn’t know shit about beer and his opinion is as irrelevant as a 9th grader’s stance on sub-prime mortgages.

THe thing you need to know about gose is, well, this is a Mumra toy.  I trust you see the clear parallel.

THe thing you need to know about gose is, well, this is a Mumra toy. I trust you see the clear parallel.

So taking that with a grain of gose, you can read laughably faulty logic like “If Gose was that worthy of so much excitement and attention from America’s world-class brewers and drinkers, we simply would have gotten to it by now” with a wry smile like seeing a Nascar fan in the adult literacy school: he is just trying his best. Because that’s what craft beer is, a sweaty neckbeard with a clipboard just combing through old styles to revitalize, AND WE JUST DIDNT GET TO GOSE FAST ENOUGH. Shit why not “SAISONS HAVE BEEN AROUND FOR CENTURIES THEY HAVE HAD A CHANCE TO BECOME POPULAR BUT THEY ARENT AS POPULAR AS IPAS THEREFORE, HERE ARE 900 WORDS OF MISGUIDED BULLSHIT, MY OPINION PRESENTED AS LEGITIMATE RESEARCHED FACTS.”

credit: wired.com

Thrillist owner Ben Lerer discusses how to get people to buy shitty sneakers and how Joe Keohane desrves a raise

I don’t mind if someone is an ignorant dipshit, as long as they are entertaining. IF they are not entertaining, then at least be informative. If not informative, at least be well written. Joe Keohane is the furthest bottom right segment of the Punnett square of beer writing, comletely undesirable recessive traits: boring, unfunny, incorrect, shitty writing presented from a pulpit of stern earnestness. It really is as bad as the beer game gets.

I guess in being exceptionally shitty Joe Keohane can show us all how to draw tired irrelevant parallels to Prince and foodie culture, and in the sheer lack of merit, we are all edified by peering at how trifling beer journalism can be.


The Bruery Mango Hottenroth, A Lackluster Jaunt Down the Produce Aisle of Sighs

Today we have a Hoarders only bottle that people were writing fanficiton about all year, just waiting for this banger to drop. All fucking year we witnessed other west coast breweries parade out reasonable ABV wild ales, fruited goses, fruited berliners, DOUBLE FRUITED sours. Each impatient dipshit in the Hoarders crew longingly shook a snowglobe and waited and waited for this beer to drop. FINALLY WORD CAME! HS ballers would get a single. bottle. with their membership. To prevent people flipping over Priuses in the streets of Placentia, another bottle was available for purchase. A single. bottle. The anticipation ran high and, with a crisp fulfilling base beer, WHAT COULD GO WRONG? Well strap yourself into that sex swing and prepare for that mango to get plenty bruised in today’s review.

Them tropical tones on blast, looking all Naked/Kerny

Them tropical tones on blast, looking all Naked/Kernsy

The Bruery, Placentia
3.2% abv, Berliner with Mango

A: This is a messy, turbid affair that wears the mango guts proudly like an ornate sash of pulp and frothy flotsam. It isn’t particularly beautiful, but regular old Hotty didnt have a pilates body either. The carb exits almost upon inception, a wry tip of the hat as if to say “we lived in the bottle for long enough as it is, good luck with this one, Mango Hotty is a hot mess.” There is no lacing, no cling, just you and this second runnings from the Jamba Juice blender. A Petite Smootheeiere`

S: The nose is undeniably mango, tropical life savers, Haribo peach rings, yes yes, that is all present. Apricot Jolly Rancher even? Sure. The problem is not within the mango funzone, it is within the dark undercurrent of odd happenings that clearly were not invited and are stretching the expanse of a +1 roster. You get a sort of lemon meringue, alright not standard but, wait is that egg? Hold on, sulphur? Detonated fireworks? WHO LET THESE INTO THIS HERETOFORE AMAZING BEVERAGE? The whole thing closes with a sort of “bottle shock” note that makes it seem like, despite waiting so long to release this bottle, the March 31 pickup date pushed this to be released too soon. And DDB, like a stupid asshole wants to have the first review up, so I opened mine far too soon. Let’s move on.

Drop molly with your pet otter, pop a bottle of this, anything goes.  taste colors.

Drop molly with your pet otter, pop a bottle of this, anything goes. taste colors.

T: Things continue to get weird from here on in, theres some apricot fruit leather and a brackish spray like riding a clementine orca over a sea of Donald Duck Orange Juice EVERYTHING IS AMAZING- until you swallow. The clinging pulpy barbs leave an odd “Bubbilicious chewed way too long” sort of cling and a waxiness like those opaque candy bottles with juice inside of them. Something just seems, not quite right. It isn’t exactly sick or ropey or phenolic, none of that, but it feels kinda like I am sipping a molten mango Yankee Candle. The whole affair is circumspect and breaches the expectations of “Yeah I love Hottenroth, just put mango in that shit, alright, let’s get this done.”

M: This is crushable and drinks like an odd variant of Vitamin Water. It is crackly, crisp and dry, leaves a tannic presence along the gumline and leaves nothing to be desired in this realm. It never becomes too acidic or sweet and cloying. The weird eggy taste along the back palate is strange and I can’t come up with a reasonable explanation for it, if you like Mango Oikos Greek Yogurt, you will love this untameable Rancor.

The Bruery's reaction when I saunter in after this review.

The Bruery’s reaction when I saunter in after this review.

D: I can’t pretend to know what happened here. This seemed like a simple enough task but things just did not work out as expected. You take your Civic Si in for a new timing belt, suddenly it has a wet fogger system and isnt street legal and runs in a less than satisfactory fashion. Hottenroth is simple as shit and people love it. Adding mango to this should have been a plug and play affair but this thing has spoilers and sideskirts and all manner of shit that seems to have overly complicated the whole execution. This is by no means a bad beer, it isn’t a drainpour, and if you split it at a massive Indiana backyard share the untappd single digit reviews would rain like Phoenician arrows. It is a disappointment though, given the high hopes, delays, anticipation and fanciful imagination of beer nerds everywhere. Perhaps the promise of unbridled deliciousness were unfair from the inception, maybe Trevor put out way too many fucking tasty De Garde BU’s and people just assumed this would be the same way. I don’t know, it is Friday don’t you have better things to do than read this shit? It has to be 25 cent wing night SOMEWHERE.


I wear many hats around here.

I wear many hats around here.


@thebruery Port Barrel Black Tuesday, Poppin Tannins like when Postmenopausal Baes hit the club and Order Grenache

Well it only took a solid 6 years for the Bruery to start rolling out a series of BT variants, but now we are swimming in them. We did rum, did madeira, but what about this vinous banger? This is a wildly different romp in the barrel and comes across more like the missing link between regular ass Black Tuesday and Wineification, WINUS ERECTUS. Let’s squeeze them grapes in today’s review and get lazier than a Portugese government employee

Fully turnt popping them big BALs at Kern River.

Fully turnt popping them big BALs at Kern River.

Placentaville, OC, CA
The Bruery, 18.1% abv

A: Pepper your angus, this looks exactly like 2014 BT. You know, the same nimble, clean, balanced 19.5% stout that is the best vintage since 2009. That BT. The carb is on point and gives deep dark mocha foam and jet black countenance that looks slick and more attenuated than other beers with half the abv. It drops it low in a three point stance and errybody in the brewery watching it pop them porty hips for dollars.

WARNING: u betr b alfa as fukkkkk to enjoy this beer.

S: This takes a radical departure into a realm that is not even BT really and feels like it could be it’s own beer given how deviant it is contrasted to the normal bourbon barrel treatment. There is a massive grape and red fruit aspect to it, intense merlot oak, drunk your aunt’s kisses at Thanksgiving, this beer can run through your whole team like Jerome Bettis. There is a Welch’s grape meets muddled raspberry. It is unquestionably the most fruity execution of BT this side of straight up Wineification.

18% abv, flexing hard in the trap, no keys, push to start shit

18% abv, flexing hard in the trap, no keys, push to start shit

T: The nose had the fruit and this executes in a massive port, sherry, carmelized blackberry, currant, and lingers on and on with chocolate like those cherries coated in chocolate, CORDIAL TONES. This doesn’t tread so deeply into the wine world ala Wineification itself but it sure straddles the fencepost between the two plots of land and grinds on them boards. The oak profile is the driest BT of them all, and while Madeira is the easiest to slam due to balance, this has the sheer depth and apeshit execution that would make a Sommelier start talking about degassing and floculation, running that grid all half mast.

M: This is intensely crisp and makes the regular BT seem relatively flabby by contrast, it is bone dry and leads with those grape skins. Jellys jams and dry french oak round out this chocolate desert. It is a phenomenal beer to let open up to near room temp and huff it hard. Rolling with Port BT is like pulling up with two bad bottles with you, molly and Aquafina.

Only the hardest in the game need apply.

Only the hardest in the game need apply.

D: This isn’t quite in the straight crushable Madeira range, but the dryness is what you receive in return. You are awarded a degree of complexity that takes that massive stout which may seem unwieldy at first blush, yet becomes drillable very quickly. For better or worse, you might drink this and buy all kinds of shit on Amazon and not remember it. Don’t act like you didn’t want the DVD collection of every season of Small Wonder. This beer just helps you achieve your latent dreams. Shotgun a pull of BCBS and then mouthkiss a Williams and Sonoma tier plastic divorcee from Santa Barbara and you just got the full Port BT experience. Oh you taking her home but you gotta move that carseat first. IT IS ALL WORTH IT.