Category Archives: barrel aged

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Goose Island Rare Bourbon County Stout, Time to Confront RARity Itself

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Well look at what we have finally come to, the grand dragon of most beer nerds’ collections and/or nocturnal alemissions: GI RARE. You see forums flooded with requests for this damn bottle and it sits proudly on a litany of top 100 lists. There were about 13,xxx (?) of these made, but ask any kid from the midwest and they will act like it was a 1 day, brewery only release, 25 bottles made. They were pricey back in 2010, around $50, so in modern day currency, your anus is gonna get some fissures. This is the regular old amazing BCBS aged in Pappy Van Winkle 23 year old barrels for a whopping 2 years. It doesn’t get much more ridiculous than that. Oh and as a trivia point, the barrels later house King Henry that stupid beer nerds love to obsess over. AND THEY WILL NEVAR BE MAED AGAIN.

On other beer blogs, pours of this are usually 1 molar unit in a baby asprin eye dropper just to say they had it. Fuck that, I slay whales alone and cry myself to sleep at night while gripping a banana clip: the way proper beer reviews are done.

Goose Island Beer Co.
Illinois, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 13.00% ABV

A: This looks literally identical to regular old Bourbon County Stout, did you seriously expect it to have some magic Pappy Properties (Paperties) to make it glow radiant black? It looks like a sheet of hateful obsidian, like lava that had freshly cooled into dark sheets of igneous glass. The lacing is minimal at first and then erupts from below like gastritis in the lower colon. The mocha foam dances like a whirling dervish and makes a proud obeslisk to stout craftsmanship. This beer is really nice looking, but smells even better. OH SHIT I JUST SEGUED SO HARD RIGHT NOW-

If you want to land Rare, you have to pull something huge. Try using “harden” on it.

S: This is a complex but incredibly balanced beast. This is a melange of toffee, caramel, toasted marshmellow, bourbon, oak, chocolate, light char, some bakers chocolate and a cookie batter that just blends together seamlessly. The whole thing just makes you feel sad about most all other stouts, pricetag notwithstanding. It’s like in the late 90’s when everyone had tongue rings, we had it so good, now it is just a series of crestfallen resignations. There are certainly cheaper beers within this ambit, Parabola comes to mind, but this has a certain incredible joie de vivre that keeps midwest traders up at night, unable to enter REM.

T: This just soars in every aspect of the stout world. It is the platonic paradigm of malt and bourbon integration. The heat is there, but it is restrained, like a patient mage with plenty of mana. You get chocolate, sweet bourbon, a nice roastiness like a s’more, It was incredible to just sit on this beer and wait for it to warm, at almost room temperature, it hits its zenith and ranks among the top 5 stouts that I have ever tasted. I cant belabor this point any further, it is absolutely incredible.

Every stupid jackass on the beer trade forums wants this beer, disregard donkeys, acquire currency.

M: Despite the other PERFECT aspects of this beer, this is hands down my favorite element of this beer. There is this intense fudge and bourbon crackle that sizzles with microbubbles along the gumline that have this bubbly heft to them that is both energetic and sticky like a drunk Delta Gamma. If they made bourbon Pop Rocks, this is what it would taste like, and everyone would be twisted like a bag of ropes.

D: It is strange to say that a $50(+) bottle of 13% stout is drinkable…but it is. It is incredibly drinkable. It is like how those Star Ocean games are 100+ hours and ruin your life, but you would still call them “playable.” I just want more of this but, let’s be honest, the asking price simply isn’t worth it at this point and by my calculations, it should be on the downhill slope any time now. These are the realities of the beer world, but like those ball busters gripping their Depurations so tightly, reason and actual quality is often not a factor in the beer trading world. Also, I still need a 2007 Kaggen and I will give my left kidney for it. ISO.

If you want more Rare, build more Supply Depots.

Narrative: The users on the CraftWorld forums could not take it anymore. Raven Darkriven had consumed their arts and crafts website and entirely denatured their entire endeavor. “Raven, your bezzled grimoir viewing portal is lovely, but you are taking all of the server space, none of the other crafters can offer their items.” Raven spun a handcrafted garnet ring on his index finger and rubbed his slender fingers together. “You see JANET, when I began crafting in the dark arts of beading and bedazzling, I invoked liche spirits of the highest order to ensure that MY CRAFT WAS SUPREME AND DEVOID OF ALL IMPURITIES. Your server space is host to the macaroni art that is evil incarnate, and the masses clamor for it.” Janet adjusted the waistband of her Lane Bryant elastic sweatpants. “Right, I mean, that pasta mosaic you made was nice, but all this evil stuff is making some of the other ladies uncomfortable. Don’t get me wrong, it is amazing, but everyone pretty much wants to quit at this point. Felisha hasn’t made a single dream catcher since your products started being listed on the CraftWorld website.” Raven drew small triangles on his alabaster skin and replied coldly “If other inferior manufacturers quit, then so be it. That is the will of the obfuscated embroiderer. I will make this product but once, to fade into the blue flame of obscurity to leave my dark legacy on this niche industry. I will ruin it all with my greatness. I will leave them all wanting and hating their own glueguns in my wake. This is the will of the skeletrix, carved into the throne of bon-” Tracy had heard enough of this and she had to check on her dried roses.

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Cigar City Apple Brandy Barrel Aged Hunahpu’s, Because Reviewing the Regular and Bourbon Was Not Enough

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Well, just short of doing the rum and whiskey variants, I think this should round out the old Huna triumvirate pretty nicely. I am going to save everyone from the shock of their lifetimes: this beer was amazing. I don’t say that because it sits proudly in the top 100 insouciantly uncaring of your petty desires, I say that because it melds all of my favorite aspects of the prior two versions and fills in what minor flaws there were. I opened a growler of this at my house with a bunch of people and even stout haters were enamored with this black beauty. Enough pre-reviewing, let’s get deep up in that review

I have had both the screwtop and swingtop variants, I prefer the janky old medicinal look of the screwtop but the swingtop is more official.

Cigar City Brewing
Florida, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 11.50% ABV

A: Keep true to the meciless Huna form, this beer just coats and strangles the light from every aspect of this beer. The malts are obsidian and darker than Jodie Sweetin’s heart. The mocha lacing is less substantial than the bottled and regular versions, but still clings with a very pretty sort of dirty aspect to it. The glass is literally ruined after you pour this into it, the entire thing just paints it this off khaki color that takes quite a bit to clean, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The south has created another deity worthy of reverence.

S: This has less chili presence than the regular Huna but still has a slight crackle of Cuban zest deep down. What is more present is this deep overiding sweetness and caramel presence that as first comes on like vanilla and marshmellow and goes to a naughty Werther’s Original sort of toffee place. The brandy is unmistakably present like Nana’s breath after a huge bridge tournament win.

T: This is a deliciously decadent Dove chocolate note to usher in the cadre of supporting caste comprised of brown sugar, light chili presence, a slight cinnamon crackle like holiday cookies that transitions into a sweet oak meets booziness that is totally fulfilling, like winning a Spelling Bee against ESL students. Fuck that, they entered the contest, don’t feel bad.

This beer is strange, but welcoming and oddly familiar, in a fantastic way.

M: This might be the most insane aspect of this beer, this seriously is the most viscously aggressive beer that I have ever come across. This stains the shit out of your glass like when Ivan the Terrible murdered 1500 unorthodox Tatar priests to access the Baltic shipping routes. That dark. Just drink this in a plastic cup and throw that shit away unless you want all subsequent beers to be haunted by the ghosts of huna’s past. I seriously don’t know how they did it. It isn’t just residual malts, if you want that trainwreck try Cigar City’s sugar disaster, Warmer Winter Winter Warmer. This is amazing on a whole different level of accolades. Respect.

D: This is strangely drinkable due to the medley of flavors going on. When I go to Denny’s and feel like having a 100% chance of diarrhea, I order the sampler. It has sweet, salty, savory, and such is the case with this beer. You getting bored with that chocolate? Oh here’s some fucking cinnamon, here’s some brandy, here you go, ancho chilis. You are welcome. It is like a god damn RX Bandit’s album up in your mouth hole.

When you focus on the purest elements, the truth is revealed.

Narrative: The cars whizzed by turn 4 with deafening precision and a constant din of squealing rubber and exhaust. The cadre within the ranks of the audience seemed to have one dental insurance plan per square 10, but that didn’t hamper their enjoyment of watching the Go-Karts tear the asphalt relentlessly, lap after lap. “Look at Brayden! SHOW THEM WHAT TIME IT IS BRAY BRAY!” Tonya screamed to her son whose age gap was of questionable legitimacy. The darkness in each participant’s heart fused together in a iniquitous ritual, evil to the core. It was a sport predicated on an abhorrence of all things progressive, repugnant to the environment. The checkered flag waved and the constant swirling of the high octane racers completed the rite of passage, Puzuzu, noted enemy of the dark magistrate, Hunahpu, rose from the center track. This abomination of sickening sweetness, chili dogs, diabetic pontification, and sticky sweet bourbon rose without a single ounce of trepidation. “MYYY MINIONNSSS YOU MUSTTTT, GO SEE EXPENDABLES PART TWOOOO” all present nodded in silent recognition and looked longingly on their Boost Mobile phones. If only they could purchase tickets with them, the will of the cantankerous deity could be done. Alas, the poverty stricken are the last to embrace the seraphic embrace of the iPhone 5. Such is their original sin and perpetual plight.

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Lost Abbey Veritas 010, It Just Grips Your Peaches and Smashes Them.

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Whale wale whael. What do we have here? This is another in the inimitable Veritas series (insert V009 qualifier.) So this beer came FREE with some bourgeois dinner and you could even buy a second bottle at this F Scott Fitzgerald ass event. i think the bottle count is something like 200ish on this so, haters gonna hate.

Forget this impossible to find beer, is that Stop Loss on in the background?

V010
The Lost Abbey
California, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 8.00% ABV

A: This has that classic Duck Duck murky turbid hay yellow aspect to it like a hateful saison full of acidic rage. This has great carbonation and foamy carbonation that clings lightly.

Time to settle in for a gentle lil wild ale like biting into a fresh peach on papa snuggles pedio farm.

S: lots of funk, apricot, tannins and peach acidity. There’s a mild leather note, and a deep oakiness that compliments the acidic profile. There’s a lot going on, but the Peach just gets pushed under the bed like worn old Hustler issues.

T: This goes incredibly sour out of the gates and almost neglects the fruit notes in a Cascade sort of way. Things are very lactic and push out granny smith apples, peaches, pluots, kumquots and other uots. The sweetness lingers for a fleeting second, but more sourness comes in to beat its ass right away.

Who the fuck lands a Veritas 10
and then complains about it?

M: the mouthfeel is drier than anticipated, light and crisp like biting into an anjou pear, that has been dipped in lemon juice. It is the “Bowser” in the Kart Racer sense, huge acidity top speed and no cornering. This is not an entry level drug into pediococcus, you couldn’t just slip it in without her knowing, assuming that is your modus operandi, clandestine bacteria provisions on the reg.

D: With the acidity and tart brackish finish pulling this overhyped sled, i dont feel that it is exceptionally drinkable. I dont finish a 750ml and wish for another. Let me clarify, I want plenty of these in my cellar because they are amazing, but drinking them backtobacktoback like racksonracksonracks is not what I am looking for. Certainly not an Aladdin’s lamp, just an intense acidic fruit packing factory that has been overrun by barnyard animals. If you are a jamba juice crank fiend or enjoy musky lemonade, here is your apricot jam.

Trading for walez. Stahp.

Narrative: “Heeeyyyyy kids, welcome to Papa Crispy’s funtime hayride! Best farm ride in th-” “No, please, we have already been through this, we just want to relax.” For the love of God, another rustic hayride, I didn’t think that these would wear heavy on the nerves but, how many times can you ride in the bed of a flatbed truck. “NOOOOO THIS ONE IS SPECIAL IT HAS LOTS OF INTERESTING ANIMALS AND FUNKY THINGS TO SEE WHY I BET THAT-” My eyes begin to glaze over as we visit the same tired goat exhibit, remniscient of Aunt’s past, the same tired geese aviary, their bleating calls metronomic and underscoring the adventure. “WHY AND IF YOU LOOK OVER THERE, SOME LEPRECHAUNS ARE HAVING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE!” wait what, what did he just say? I am frantically searching for the advertised amazing spectacle that was promised, where are these leprechauns? Oh, I get it, another gimmicky hayride with some imaginary funk to it. That’s pretty low to offer leprechaun orgies knowing you can’t deliver that filthy pot of gold. At least I have this pile of hay to lay upon until this stupid ride is over. Farmhouse funk indeed.

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Midnight Sun Brewing Berserker, For Those Times When You Go Berkskerk

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Midnight Sun beers are so damn good, so damn far away, so expensive, and not the easiest beers to lock down. Let’s be honest. We haven’t harassed our Alaskan neighbors since that barfly review. Well this is an analog to that beer in many ways, while not as .rar, I actually enjoy this coffee beast more. This is bourbon, coffee, maple, red wine and everything fine all rolled into one. Let’s start drilling for imperial oil in today’s review.

So many words up on that label, so many flavors all up in my face.

Midnight Sun Brewing Co.
Alaska, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 12.70% ABV

The label rages on:

“Vicious and viscous, this menacing brew pours opaque black with a creamy maduro-colored head. Its aroma offers seductive whiskey, chewy red wine, dark fruit and lavish tobacco. Berserker Imperial Stout invades your taste buds with in-your-face flavor. Weighing in at almost 13% alcohol by volume, Berserker is completely out-of-control. Give it a good fight. Berserker Imperial Stout was aged in both red wine and whiskey barrels.”

A: This is to the numbers an imperial stout through and though. Just look at that, it looks like press pot coffee mixed with triple brownie batter ice cream. The mocha head lets you know that the malts went through some serious dark ended shit in that 120 minute boil. The lacing is tremendous and the carbonation rises to the top despite thick sticky adversaries holding it back like a bunch of bubble haters.

This comes across like a progressive spin on something that you feel like you’ve experienced before. The result is a refreshing new experience.

S: This imparts a deep coffee, merlot, leather, oak, sweet milk chocolate, there is some char and roastiness but at least this beer has the decency to hide it and doesn’t just wave it around like Barfly sees it fit to do. The whole affair is welcoming but incredibly complex. This is an amazing beer and all I am doing it snorting rails of carbonation.

T: This goes overboard in every area like on Diddy Kong Racing when you unlock Drumstick. You get deep caramel and vanilla from the bourbon, then milk chocolate starts slapping titties, tobacco puts a cigar out in your vodka soda and red wine strides in looking like Prince in mink coat. The whole entourage is menacing but welcome, like those Thing 1 and 2’s that break all your shit, but rhyme the entire time.

uniting bourbon, red wine, and coffee is like discovering the triforce of imperial stouts.

M: This is incredibly viscous and shoulders the ranks of Abyss and Huna with that deep oily murkiness that only the most hardened BP workers can be cajoled into talking about. You take a sip of this, might as well just call in sick to work, you will look like a boozy asshole. Why are you drinking this in the morning anyway? After a full bomber of this, you can just listen to Purity Ring and stare at some shitty Z Gallerie artwork because nothing else is going to seem relevant after what your mind and palate just went through.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, without qualifier. I know it is huge, boozy, chocolatey, chewy, and almost 13%. You can finger your own dick hole if you disagree, this stout just goes HAM and doesn’t care who knows it. I would advise seeking out a ton of this, but the trading curve has already taken off sky high, so good luck with that one.

This beer is huge, brash, but endlessly entertaining.

Narrative: The bubbles danced menacingly in front of your face as you watched the others propel themselves effortlessly through the water. Your cephalopoda eyes glow red with rage at the sight of their white, thin streamlined bodies. you were born this way, to harbor the maddening palour of a quadruple sized ink pouch. It is your scarlet, jet black A in your inner bladder. The most irksome, blackest squid in the sea, reviled by your contemporaries you lazily chug through the molasses emitting from your pores. Your beak grits haughtily in their wake, knowing their fortune, a grim death in indonesian nets. Alaskan squid are the most relentless indeed. Your wring your tentacles, obsidian in pigment, thinking of their light flesh reflecting the rays of angled sunlight from above. You could follow them in their trivial, fleeting existence, but you weren’t suited for that life. you were suited for the depths, the cold darkness, colder than your metabolic slowdown, colder than the oppressive atmospheric pressure. In a blast of thick enveloping ink you become one with the darkness and embrace your pure nature, a creature of the depths, all 8 legs propelling towards your destiny.

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Hair of the Dog Adam from the Wood, Fred was Nice, BUT NOW WE ARE TALKING SERIOUS WOOD

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Adam from the motherfucking Wood. Not regular Adam. Not Cherry Adam, just gangster ass AftW. This is one of those long standing top 100 beers than I had been meaning to trade for off and on for over 9 months, but now shit is getting real and it is time to see if this little 12 ounce heater from Oregon is going to bring the pain in today’s review.

Adam gives beer nerds wood as well. Poplar and pine.

AftW
Hair of the Dog Brewing Company / Brewery and Tasting Room
Oregon, United States
Old Ale | 12.00% ABV

This is Adam aged in American Oak barrels. First released in 2000, and released again in November 2011 in 12oz bottles. This 12% beer has lots of the typical HOTD aromas: Caramel, brown sugar, tons of raisin and tobacco. Fig, date, and plum fruitiness in that order. This has a fairly strong earthy vinousness as well as oak vanilla. Alcohol: 12% by volume.

This is a complex beer that satisfies your basest desires. Wood, bourbon, fast food.

A: This is not a particularly beautiful beer; let’s just get that out of the way right from the top. I mean look at it. It is murky like melted fudge, there’s hardly any carbonation and the sheeting just coats like sticky caramel. I remember when I opened Matt and I was like “wait. What is hapen.” This is the same thing here. I can safely say that Hair of the Dog has slayed beer nerds on the quality of the aroma and taste of their beers, engaging in the Kuhnhenn style of guerilla warfare with regards to appearance. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

S: This is incredible and the olfactory is pumping out siege tanks. This beer opens up with caramel, marshmallow, Zero bar, light chocolate, a lil campfire roastiness in there and closes with a HUGE bourbon kick like kisses from your aunt on Flag day.

T: This is incredibly complex and changes from one beer to a completely different beer as it warms. I feel redundant listing all the terms that HotD themselves listed but, for reals, you get dark fruits like an imperial quad, dates, plums, just fucking read up there. I will add that the oak and bourbon is overwhelming, like Donkey Kong smashing you in the head with a barrel. Kong so hard.

My face be all like dis when I opened this beer. Lemon knows what is up.

M: This is both hugely sticky like a foam party and incredibly boozy, like a foam party. I enjoy this beer at almost room temperature because it suddenly imparts this complex bouquet like a caramel liqueur. You ever get a girl’s number and then there’s a lingering sense of guilt because you know that you aren’t attracted to Albanian women at all? Well that is how this beer operates, you get that bourbon and then it just overstays its welcome, eating up all your Bugles, changing your DVR settings and shit.

D: This is not drinkable. I will just say it. I will not say that this is not something i did not enjoy, read above, I really liked it. I don’t think Hair of the Dog will get their jimmies rustled when I say that I don’t need any larger formats of this beer. I get it. This isn’t some Ayn Rand novel where you need the notes drilled at you over and over in larger than life representations. Caramel, figs, plums, sleep. That’s how Adam rolls when he is swinging wood.

This is a big, complex beer. People fear complex things.

Narrative: “we should do this more ofTEN!” you open up your posture and lean hesitantly back “oh yeah…i know why dont we, yeah we should!” a slight wavering in your voice. This was all going so well, but God does she grate on your nerves relentlessly. “I’ve got this thing next month and you know, the week is always hectic” you look down at your shoes, the lies in the air palpable in a thick mist that she seems impervious to. The bourbon smells impart a cloud like a Eugene O’Neill novel. “well totally, I will work around you, I will call you tomorrow ok? 2 pm?” You can’t believe you are still standing in the entryway of this apartment complex, this could not end soon enough, yet it started so pleasantly. Maybe it was the way she smacked her food, told the same story 6 times with slight variations, smacked her gum, or asked you prying personal questions. “Yeah no 2pm is rough, pretty much all times are tough, so hey I gotta do this thing but…keep in touch k?…” You lick your gumline and taste her caramel lip gloss. What a strange choice. You rock back on your heels and slink towards your car. “Sure, well I will touch back and we’ll work something out” For all your will, for all her shortcomings, you know in 6 months, your curiousity will return and you will inevitably come back to her. The exotic sweetness, with all its lack of grace, beckons.

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Russian River Toronado 25th Anniversary, Don’t Tell Me You Forgot Our Anniversary, Baby

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I feel like Toronados is the golden baby of the beer bar world. I swear that anytime that this place has an anniversary, bris, or restructuring of their corporate board, breweries find some damn reason to shower them with .rar walez. Alpine made a double batch of Nelson to celebrate and I MISSED OUT ON IT. But oh well, let’s see what Russian River has up their sleeve in today’s review.

Throw some 25’s on the whip, barrel blend is so sick.

T25
Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 8.75% ABV

Toronado 25th Anniversary Ale started out as six individual brews, each with their own personality, and all incorporating Brettanomyces and or micro-organisms. Once the barrel aging was complete, Russian River’s Vinnie Cilurzo and Toronado’s David Keene got together to create the final blend. To create its fine carbonation, we re fermented the Toronado 25th Anniversary Ale in this bottle. Spent yeast cells from a thin layer of sediment in the bottom of the bottle. Pour slowly, allowing the natural yeast sediment to remain in the bottle.

Blend:
4% Sonambic (barrel aged for 15 months)
16% Blonde Ale (barrel aged for 8 months)
36% Strong Pale Ale (barrel aged 12 months)
28% Ale Aged with Currants (barrel aged for 8 months)
12% Strong Dark Ale (barrel aged for 12 months)
4% Baltic Porter (barrel aged for 10 months)

A: See all that going on up there? The result is a translucent orange hue with mild wispy carbonation that crackles and disappears slowly. This isn’t a particularly BEAUTIFUL beer like say, Ithaca Brute, but it has its own subtle charms, like that snaggletoothed woman in accounts receivable who always holds the elevator for you.

This blend got mad swag, gangnam steeze to the fullest.

S: This has a fantastic lactic smell to it that reminds me of Hill Farmstead Norma, since almost none of my readers have had that I GUESS I HAVE TO SAY MORE. There are aspects of cherries, orange rind, currants, fuji apples, and grapefruit juice. I don’t think that the Baltic Porter is pulling mad weight in the barrel as it seems to be incredibly acidic.

T: This is incredibly tart with a sort of refined Red Bull sort of sweetness to it that works well with the acidic profile. While cold, this beer is kinda one dimensional in the way that Beatification is just a 2D sour, but once it hits around 60 degrees the 3D glasses come on in a real way and you get a huge crisp and bright panoply of tart fruits.

This beer will get you rolling so hard.

M: This is puckering and very dry similar to an aged Temptation, let’s say b4. You get the oak and some lingering harshness but it welcomes another sip. The carbonation crackles and hits that gumline hard like Kimbo Slice, and the barrel be wood like a baseball bat.

D: This is insouciantly dry and doesn’t give a fuck if you can’t handle the puckering profile but ultimately, like a 14 year old girl I keep returning for this beer’s affection. It has a car. Ultimately, I wish this was a regular release amongst the other regular “-tions” but given how complex it is, I UNDERSTAND. Taking this beer to a bar with beer nerds present is kinda like getting your clit pierced at Claire’s, no one is exactly mad, but everyone is curious as fuck what you are up to.

This beer is daunting but completely satisfying.

Narrative: I dont quite understand Jacob, why is it that everyone wants to fight you?” You roll your eyes and offer this explanation once again “Alright fine, I got the same name as 5 other though kids in school and my dad is an MMA fighter and my mom is a WNBA player, those two people got beat up nonstop.” A sour taste fills your mouth knowing the struggle that you have faced on a daily basis. He looks puzzled and you stare at the principal’s snowglobe of Alberta and try to form a different explanation. “Alright, it’s like this see, if you wanna define yourself, sometimes you gotta be the bad guy, do things no one else does, like fight the girls softball team all at once…you see….no? Ok, so I got the same name and two bad as-” “LANGUAGE JACOB” “ok so I got two tough parents, so to prove my dominance, I go around trying things no one else does, milk enemas, eating lightbulbs, you know guy stuff, trying to prove my worth.” The tightness in your neck turns into a light acidity in your stomach. You have something to prove. It became clear that your laundry list of exploits was not exactly carrying the day for Principal Schlegel. “Alright to prove I am the baddest kid in school with the two roughest parents, I am gonna have sex with that Alberta snowglobe, see?” “That’s not necessary, you are suspended, get out of my office Jacob.”

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Three Floyd’s Bourbon Barrel Dark Lerd, ERMAGERD DERK LERD BERNBAN BERRAHL.

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I think we already know how I feel about the BASE BEER for this beer. However, the vanilla bourbon version was amazing. Another top 100 bites the dust. Let’s see how this bourbon banger holds up and how far it strays from that sticky sweet base beer in its roots.

The bottle count was 420 brah, so sick. Straight up 7th grader walez brah.

Three Floyds Brewing Co. & Brewpub
Indiana, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 15.00% ABV

A: As dark as Satan’s magic, a thick black darkness with a dark khaki head to it, everything about this just proclaims obscure undoing. The head takes forever to subside and the murky depths below allow no light to pass through, not even at the edges or bottom. Oil. I don’t remember the base beer being this thick but it starts to lean towards the Abyss and Huna levels.

You like bourbon? rare beers? char? roast? sweetness? 15% abv?
Well then prepare your anus.

S: theres the expected coffee and toffee but also a tiramisu smell or a rye bread in there as well, complex in the overlapping smells, but the alcohol is well integrated. God damn, I could smell this beer until it was oxidized and flat, holding the limp corpse of the beer that used to be. It was like when Sugar Ray’s “FLY” came out, WHAT A GREAT SONG, you just couldn’t get enough of it. Except this beer is actually good and Mark McGrath is a jizz waffle.

T: The mild sweetness from the base beer sets in first with a gentle macaroon and vanilla that is so gully so hood. Next up is light oak char bitterness and toasty smokiness, next a coffee and toffee finish rounds out the taste. Very aggressive in every aspect, but so balanced and in onctrol, it’s like getting your ass beat by a series of different martial arts in a matter of seconds. The middle chocolate dryness is aggressive and I would liken this to bourbon barrel Plead the 5th in a big way.The alcohol is the first to come but the complex sweet and roast start pounding on your tongue just as hard. it’s over in 5 seconds but with serious residual taste. Just like every single Craiglist date that you have been on.

This beer fills me with too. much. want.

M: It coats like cough syrup, if you drank this at 8 am, it would be with you almost until lunchtime, also if you drank this at 8 am you have issues that I cant wrap my head around. Very thick, chewy, like liquid chocolate that you can just feel making residence in your gumline like those mucinex characters, only brown, and with presspots of coffee. really over the top. Then add in a third layer of

D: In some respects, very drinkable, its a warming, thorough drink that hits so many notes youd appreciate it regardless, however, anyone who has more than 2 of these is a liar, or has demons that we cant comprehend. It is aggressive, but gentle, absurd, yet refined. You want to introduce your Vietnamese girlfriend to your parents, but her bourbon barrel face tattoo might be too extreme for them. BUT THAT IS JUST HOW YOU LIKE IT.

Packing all these Fedex boxes wears me out, but is worf it.

Narrative: The threadbare pallor of the bone throne was welcoming, and cool to the touch. “The vassals are ready my liege” he spoke through baited smoky breath, thick with mist. “SEND THEM IN” proclaimed the necromancer as he wet his undead throat with a…ok I just…I can’t
“you can’t what?”
“Just keep with the script”
He exhaled, knowing he true intent, a soul as black as murky depths, the production assistant with hatred flowing through his veins, encouraged and strenthened with every fetched latte, piercing darkness with every pejorative hurled his way. “I just..the script”
“OH YOU JUST? WHY DONT YOU JUST STICK TO YOUR JOB” the director ejaculated with scarring epithets. “SOON MY DARK MASTER SOON” he clutched an amethyst pendant and embraced the darkening of his soul. The third coming of the Kentucky Pazuuzu Bourbon God would soon be upon humanity, and only this one dude at Panera would be spared from the 9 snarling jaws of relentless masticatio- “COME ON! They are BAGELS, not ROCKET SCIENCE!”

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Cantillon Fou Foune, Loonz Beside Me, Swerving Through Traffic with my Founes Behind Me

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Enough killing off 2 liter growlers like Spaniards and Native Americans, time to get back to our Belgian roots. I don’t need to really say anything about this beer 1) it is Cantillon 2) it is their inimitable apricot fruited lambic, Fou Foune. People always get their stone fruits all juiced whenever this beer gets brought up, opened, or even discussed. I once took this to Cabo and drank it on the Tropic of Cancer, and it was an Italian bottle of Foune. So that means it went from Belgium, to Italy, to Ireland, to Florida, to California, to Cabo San Lucas. That beer is more well-traveled than most Americans from Alabama. Anyway, let’s get that juicy juice in today’s review:

Sipping Foune in Cabo, well this Friday now appears immeasurably shittier.

It’s like in Cold Mountain when Jude Law looks a pic of his long lost love and, wait what-

Fou Foune
Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 5.00% ABV

A: This has that classic turbid Cantillon straw meets orange juice sort of pulpiness to it, but the frothy carbonation seems inviting like a water park that is just clean enough to seem legit. The lacing is minimal but, did you really expect some massive frothy nitrogen head? You unrealistic bitch.

Send her an apricot lambic, girls be loving apricot lambics.

S: I can’t begin to tell you how amazing this beer smells just short of taking you to a Kentucky apricot orchard and rubbing sweet straw in your face. Maybe pull a Jansport backpack over your head, squeeze a bit of peach and crabapples onto your face, get things real tawdry up in this mix. That’s essentially the experience, but is it ever inviting. Some people like aging this, other haters just open it fresh and let God sort it all out. I have had both, EVEN ON DRAFT, and it is amazing regardless of circumstance.

T: This takes the old lactic base and musky wet leaves from the OG gueuze and dials things up a notch to a nice apricot meets acidity level that is impressive through and through. There’s an intense apricot skin and dryness that hits your gumline with nana’s peach preserves in town and light sort of biscuit quality that just gets its head held underwater mercilessly by the delicious acidity.

Fou is like an old friend who comes back from the past to warn you about a Founeless future.

M: This is crisp and dry like biting into a granny smith apple that happens to be coated in chardonnay and peach jam. The balance is incredible despite the excoriating acidity, and the 750 never lasts as long as you expect. I would suggest seeking some out but most trades for this beer are one way streets. It is an anomalous situation where people trade for Fou, but no one ever gives up a Foune. FEEL ME.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and will give you gurgle guts on par with the State Fair. But like the deep fried Pepsi, it is entirely worth it. This is a world class fruited lambic and it is better than Blabaer. I said it. I defy you to find someone who believes differently.

Running out of Foune is strangely disturbing.

Narrative: Kelly Chancery seemed sweet enough. She gave her friends rides to school in her lemon yellow Mini Cooper, never asked for gas money, and even tutored the water polo athletes due to their abject inability to circumscribe triangles. Deep down, she hated each and every one of them. At age 12 her parents sent her to a strict Belgian exercise summer camp. She was served nothing but overly ripe pitted fruits and engaged in vinegar diets and extensive cleanses. Her taste buds were so badly burned in the enterprise that she returned a jaded, bitter shell of herself, figuratively and literally. “Hey Taeler! Hop on it! Are those Rock N REPUBLIC!? OMG you are such a hot BITCH!” she quipped and stared down her brow as she grinded her mandible. The tiny convertible held 50 lbs of explosive materials and ammonia nitrate in the trunk. She sucked deeply onto her Lemon Sucrets and waited for that sour day that she would burn them all. Kelly Chancery only seemed sweet enough, she was sour to the core.

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Armand’4 Geuze Herfst (Fall), Dropping 32 euros on a bottle of beer Herfst so good.

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How negligent can this website get? I reviewed Spring, Summer, and Winter of the Armand’4 series and straight up neglected to provide you with this banger: HERFST. Just so this is clear, here is how I would rank these Armand seasons: Zomer, Lente, Herfst, Winter. IN THAT ORDER. Well taking the bronze in such amazing company is nothing to be a sad panda about. Let’s get puckered in today’s review, for the geuze haters.

Love HERFST. Gueuze scars.

HERFST
Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Belgium
Gueuze | 6.00% ABV

A This has a huge generous billowing cloud of carbonation that is cummulus to the fullest. It is light orange at its center with light yellow and gold edges. It boasts a slightly unfiltered appearance. It’s like a 6 year old at CVS, you don’t want to touch him but you know he is a little sticky and filthy. The lacing is substantial as well, it leaves little party streamers on the edges of the glass with gracious aplomb.

With every season you expect a normal geuze, BUT THEN YOU GET AN AMAZING SUPER SOUR SOAKER. Dnt be fukn stpid Gooby.

S: Not surprisingly, it is stick and filthy. There are sour and sweet tart notes are blended with hints of granny smith apples underneath. I don’t want to go out on a limb but I am going to say a Skittle reduction is at play here. Compared to the other seasons, this has a funk and earthiness to it like the landscaping section of Home Depot. There is a great wet dog meets soggy alfalfa aspect that integrates with the acidity in a fantastic way.

T There is a pleasant sweetness for a split second with a latent backroundhouse to the bitter zones immediately thereafter. Its a sucker punch which leaves your mouth a bit dry but welcoming more if only for the strange assault. It’s like getting socked in the armpit, you aren’t mad youre just a little perplexed and glad it wasn’t worse. It provides a mild hop bite and this toes the line closer to an extremely funky saison but this provides an incredible acrimonious punch to the tart zones.

This is a huge beer, but small and restrained at the same time. It is a paradigm of delicate imbalance.

M: This is very light and dries in a refreshing fashion hitting that gumline deep and hard. It reminds you of an advanced cousin, the one who learned compound cussing earlier and gave you Too Short cassette tapes. Its like the tiny asian fighter who you underestimate who delivers fast swift blows that disorient and surprise your mouth. It is clean, crisp and damaging to your bitter zones. It is concurrently musty, funky, and also coats with a nice wheaty aspect to it.

D: This style is in my opinion fantastic for hot weather and, if you have some water on hand, a great companion outdoors on the beach or a boat. If you like very mild lagers then you will disagree but then you are also a raging pacifist and it is unclear how you ended up reading this review in the first place. The juiciness and earthiness of this perfectly captures the spirit of fall: straddling the heat and acidity of Zomer with the somber earthy tones of Winter.

32 euros PLUS shipping from Belgium? This is why we can’t have nice things.

Narrative: 47 years of service. Francine Manzana gave that caramel apple pop company the best years of her life and she was terminated “for cause” for reading a Patricia Cornwell novel when she wasn’t clocked out. Francine wasn’t going to take this lying down. She knew the secret behind the tartness in those pops, and she had full intention on taking this issue public. With her box of belongings from her desk she strode over to the quality control center only to find that Loretta was out. “I will make them feel the tart bitterness of abandonment, just like they showed me.” With a few calibrations she reset the dials and the mixture began running an entirely new batch of Caramel Apple pops through the line. Her acidic personality boiled inside with a deep complexity. She stared at her spiteful reflection in the bubbling pool of acidic green glucose. The wafts of the additional citric acid stung her eyes and nostrils. Francine smiled and tossed her mystery novel into the simmering goo, for she had an unemployment officer to speak to.

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Hair of the Dog, Bourbon Fred from the Wood, I Think I Am Getting a Clue, Oh Wait It is Bourbon Wood.

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Hair of the Dog releases can get out of hand. The last time Adam from the Wood was released, everyone on the trading boards lost their shit and the traders who were sitting on entire cases could not be compelled to let bottles go. Well, some time has passed, wounds have healed, and livers have regenerated. This is the often overlooked analog to Adam from the Wood, Bourbon Fred. Apparently the first release had some carb issues and it affected the ratings but I can safely say that this 2012 release is incredible and it appears that the ratings are spiking harder than a 6 man tournament. Let’s get after it:

If you see Fred up in the club, hit him with a bourbon high five.

Hair of the Dog Brewing Company / Brewery and Tasting Room
Oregon, United States
American Strong Ale | 12.00% ABV

A: This isn’t the most beautiful beer that I have ever poured, but sometimes it is inside what counts. To my amazement, this beer was actually carbonated, unlike so many other Kuhnhenn and HotD offerings. Matt was flat, Adam has been tepid, but this just bursts with excessive lacing and frothy tiny bubbles. It was like every time that I had been burned by prior offerings was amended with this jam.

At 12% abv, this will hit you out of nowhere.

S: This is as barrel as it gets, you get coconut, macaroon, vanilla, sweet heat and nice sweet pancakes smell cum de IHOP. Whenever I see trifling ass beer blogs complain about heat on a BA beer, it is like someone complaining about an escort being “too forward.” That is what you paid for, peep game. This is ready to roll and at 12% abv, things could get way more twisted.

T: This is pretty easy to summarize, the castle door drops down and some gentle maple and Werther’s original flavors enter and then HOLY SHIT BOURBON IS RIDING AN ELEPHANT. There is a harem of servants casting vanilla and sweet oak chips to the clamoring masses. The bourbon is so far forward that it is in the engine compartment. No punchlines, no riddles, I am talking white squares with a stamp in the middle.

This beer rocks crazy vanilla, but is smooth as hell. Word to your mother.

M: This has an incredible dryness but also a sticky malt that pulls from both ends like a sorority tug of war. You are up in your glass communicating with the bourbon like Michael and KITT, perfectly integrated. This leaves residual sugars lingering and nice sheeting of alcohol to think about. The 12’s up in your mouth leave that palate shaking like it got Parkinson’s Disease, but it is so damn fulfilling.

D: If you are accustomed to merking Buffalo Trace to the skull, this might be your session beer. For most people, this is too big, too sweet, too complex, and too heated to session up on, however, the 12oz single is a solid banger. If this was in a bomber you’d be forgetting to pick your kids from school, taking apart the VCR and shit.

I just want moar.

Narrative: It was hard for Malcolm Rogers to relate to the guys. They always rooted for the Big 10, what with him and his fencing hobby, he felt a bit outside the ranks. However, there was one thing that Malcolm could consistently offer that would bring even the most stalwart of opposition to its knees: “DID SOMEONE SAY TOTINOS PIZZA ROLLS?” It did not matter the class, creed, or character of his guests; once those preservative laden rolls hit the table, things were off of the hook, hinges and heezy concurrently. No one really thought much about Malcom’s job, or his background. While others traded people on their fantasy teams, he would swirl 18 year bourbon in a bucket and ruminate on habbedashery. He was too classy and refined for his own good. He made horrible fantasy draft picks based on name alone, and his antechamber smacked of Anthropologie; but they tolerated him. His sweet decadent pizza rolls wafted through the KB Home, securing his eschelon amongst the bretheren.