Category Archives: barrel aged

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Jackie O’s 2010 Bourbon Barrel Dark Apparition, If you gotta see apparitions, at least make them dark.

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Jackie O’s is the king of Ohio. There, I said it. But that is kinda like being the sexiest person at a Babylon 5 convention, it really doesn’t mean that much. Anyway, they turn out what seems like a billion “limited” ticks, such that I can’t even keep up with the factory assembly of things coming out of there, Brown Reclusive, Cab Man, Dark Oil, Apparition Aphrodite, it goes on and on. Let’s take a sample from their flagship and see if this apparition can scare the shit out of anyone.

Jackie O’s, more like Tickie O’s they make about a billion variants of this fucking beer. Add Oil of Aphrodite into the mix and that’s a cool 500 “different” beers.

Jackie O’s Pub & Brewery
Ohio, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 10.50% ABV

A: See above, it is pretty par for the course but shanks a right directly into the water. I wasn’t expecting something that touts its obscurity to be so…non-obscure…apprehendable? It has a watery sheen to it like Czar Jack that doesn’t exactly have me Czar Jacking off, but the sheeting and frothiness is pretty inviting, I must say. There’s a huge bait and switch going on here as well, pour out a Hill Farmstead growler BAM OHIO instead of Vermont. Quite the rickroll.

Rare bourbon barrel stouts? Why yes, I am interested, go on…

S: The smell has some bourbon oak, sticky vanilla like a macaroon that’s light on the coconut, nice sweet caramel notes and some baker’s chocolate on the back end. It would be hard to pick out of a lineup, IF THAT LINEUP WAS MADE OF WORLD CLASS STOUTS. It’s not a bad thing to be indistinct in that instance. The waft isn’t intense but it is still praiseworthy, like the last season of Blossom.WHOA.

T: The chocolate comes on first with some light sweet bourbon that follows sheepishly with a cadre of the familiar guys, albeit, in a sort of knock off toned down manner. RC Cola vanilla and oak notes, Mountain Mist bits of stone fruits, and a dash of Shasta coffee flavors round out the acidity on the backend. it isn’t bad, it just feels TOO familiar, like a cyborg stout sent to me to replace my loved one. It’s just like…where do I put…eh nevermind.

At first I didn’t know what was going on, but then things got familiar real quickly.

M: As I noted before, this is thin and slick and actually wins huge points for masking the ABV and making this an intensely drinkable stout. The 750ml that I had disappeared like I was straight up shooting apparitions with a proton pack aka my liver. The PK meter was off the charts AKA I had to urinate. It was fulfilling through and through with light coating but huge flavor.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and dangerously light in body and coating so that you glass is empty much faster than your liver would probably like. I would highly recommend this to anyone that needs to convert some non-believers into the dark side.

This beer is big and tough, but fits in with any crowd or palate. Even people from the Garden State can enjoy this gem.

Narrative: And on the seventh day he rested. No narrative today, blame it on the stouts.

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Cigar City Bourbon Barrel Hunahpu’s Stout, Get Swallowed by Stoutstro the Whale

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After months of hunting on the open seas, the harpoons finally entered the hide of this elusive beast. So there were something like 200 of these made and the feeding frenzy at the event reached a fever pitch of beer nerds when you had to PICK A LINE. Massive swaps ensued, people were trying to figure out which was the best, and when the neckbeard sweat cleared: A WINRAR WAS THIS. This is a legit top 100 bruiser that runs the yard. Enough pussy footing, let’s get that Hell Yeah Fucking Right HYFR review in today’s sesh:

Grab ye harpoons, t’day we be heeding the cetacean call and slaying Ishmael grade walez.

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

A: This looks pretty similar to the original Huna but lacked that epic carbonation that made the 2011 so fun. Frothy tan bubbles all up in the mix like a Costa Rican foam party, not present in this one. This pours raven black with a sheer that coats like Paddington Bear’s jacket, deep and thick. The sheeting is like a convict on PCP and shows the power beneath. It’s the liquid form of cyber sex, you aren’t sure what you are in for but it is likely dangerous in some capacity.

This poised beast will blow you away. ZJs for everyone.

S: This has a nice sweet tone at the outset like figs, deep chocolate, the peppers and chilis are muted and the bourbon takes center stage making that cinnamon follow him around holding his pocket. I kinda wanted some coffee but this continental breakfast is serving nothing but bourbon AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

T: Holy hell, the taste takes that crazy manticor that was Huna and adds another series of heads and flaming tails. You get the chocolate, pulling a red rider wagon full of dark fruits and oak in tow with nice vanilla stickiness for all the kids and then OH SHIT OLD MAN BARRELBOR JUST SAW YOU ON HIS PROPERTY and things turn very bourbon, very quickly. The four roses barrel imparts more of a sweetness, per usual, but it works well given the crazy complexity of the base beer. This is like a Mars Volta solo that just goes on and continues to ruin undergrad educations.

OUT OF NOWHERE: Bourbon Huna blast to your periodic tabledome.

M: The coating is straight up Sherwin Williams and blacks out like an overweight person on Supermarket Sweep. The glass is permanently stained and looks like it was dropped into the Hudson river, filthy and decadent. If you drink this at lunch, just go home from work. You are done for the day and those kids can find their own way home from school.

D: Well, I guess this depends on how gluttonous you are. Can you tank a series of Home Run Pies? Do you sigh when Marie Callendars give you the “small” slice of chocolate mousse pie? This is for you. I had a solid pour and enjoyed it as it warmed but I didn’t draw hearts around its name nad wonder when we would meet again. It was a one night tryst, but you can brag to all your friends how you…ok well…no you can’t brag about shit without some serious ridicule and derision.

I feel bad for the countries that SHOULD be enjoying Russian Imperial Stouts, Florida doesn’t even need big stouts. They need OFF! and government subsidized showers.

Narrative: After several months at sea, even Jericho had lost faith in the elusive ebony whale. It was rumored that the crew of the HMS ISO:FT was taken down in a swift blow once the majestic chocolate mammal burst upon the scene. After months of scanning the horizon with little more than guppies and schools of cuttlefish, he had all but lost hope. Suddenly on the starboard bow, a jstof inky black spew fired into the air, cutting the murky clouds with a frothy cocoa mist. “THAR SHE BE! Grip ye threadbare poles and prepare for a series of REJECTION MY MEN!” The Hunt was on. The beast dove deep, demanding much of the crew, pulling them left and right with their tiny vessel and cellar in tow. Bixby James, a belgian longshoreman with unnerving superstitions jumped down from the flying jib and rubbed tart lychee upon the tip of his blade and watched the coffee shadow underneathe them. “For them the sour inside shall SLAY THE BITTER BELOW!” He cast his acidic spear deep and aimed for the monster’s rare weak point, striking a critical blow. The men sampled the decadent oil from the blowhole with khaki stained teeth, one of the remaining 189 beasts had been laid to rest in solemn reverence.

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3 Floyd’s Bourbon Barrel Aged Alpha Klaus with Plums, Adjective Stacking FTW

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I know what you are thinking “another rare Barrel Aged 3 Floyd’s beer? Give that shit a rest.” Alright, fair enough, but BA Behemoth was beyond amazing so I can’t stay away, the game needs me. This is another one of those 391 bottle, generic barrel aged bottle releases and so far, all the prior releases were amazing. Let’s see if this follows suit or IF IT DOESN’T HAVE THE PLUMS TO DO SO

Keeping it Alpha as fuck with Victorian literature.

Three Floyds Brewing Co. / Brewery & Pub
Indiana, United States
American Porter | 10.00% ABV

Oh shit, bottle number 221/391, .rar bonus.

A: This has that inky squid discharge look with the nimble porter wateriness that you’ve come to expect from those charming offerings. The splishy splashy cola notes give it a flat soda look with some moderate carbonation. It looks pretty legit, through and through, although some middle carbonation wouldn’t be a total turn off. But this isn’t a Hustler spread, so let’s leave these fictional dreams well enough alone.

Whenever I open a barrel aged 3 Floyd’s Beer: I HAVE THE POWER.

S: While it is plum, I get a deep grape and black cherry from the nose, mixed in like a Cordial with some chocolate and a marshmallow froth. There’s some booze holding this kraken back, but the whole thing seems sweeter and purple Flintstones vitamin more than chocolate rampage.

T: The plum kicks into a deep sweet grapitey grape rampage. Statutory grape, if you will. The plum comes across in more of a light tannin fairy dust sprinkled throughout the fracas like feathers in a sorority girl pillow fight and the chocolate and roast look inside through the malt window with visible erections. It reminds me of a purple fanta meets yoohoo outing that is neither suitable for hikes nor sitting by the hearth, discussing Roosevelt’s re-election. Like a plum bachelorette, neither classy, nor explicitly trashy.

This beer pulls of some strange stunts, which you appreciate but are not sure how to apply in a larger medium.

M: The mouthfeel is dead on and cartwheels into a nimble posture, tossing black cherry shurikens pell mell. It washes away clean but the booze hangs out on the way out, looking for trim on the way down. I would not suggest this to novice beer drinkers unless you want to hear a bunch of irritating adjectives that will denature your experience, “OH MAN IT IS LIKE A TAFFY BURNT TIRE BRO” see I can’t even make them shitty enough to impart realism.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, but I am torn as to whether I like it more cold or warmer. Cold it is more chocolate with tame fruits, around 60 degrees this shit starts getting into Fruit Stripe Gum territory real quick, which is tasty and original, but maybe not as drinkable. If you focus on the lingering chocolate and cocoa phosphate aspect, it is fulfilling through and through.

Porterrr….plumssses…..bourbon….now….build me a dam sweet Indiana muses…

Narrative: William Goyette gripped his temples and popped another prune into his mouth. His status consistently garnered no showering of likes, thumbs, approval or otherwise. “GOD DAMNIT THIS GUY AGAIN!” he exclaimed and looked at his minifeed cluttered with “THE DOCTOR SAYD YOUR HAVENG A GIRL!” with 56 likes. Another status from a marginally attractive Mormon girl said “each day is a gift wrapped in a sunrise” that received 34 comments. “THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE,” he thought to himself and took a bite from a juicy plum. William lives strictly off of Farmer’s Market food, did crossfit, read H.P. Lovecraft and thought that he was edgy as fuck. He still could not understand why the goldpan of life passed his pithy statuses by. “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what LPs Real Estate are going to release next fall” he could not understand how that gem of relevance and ultra ironic but self deprecating tone of metacritical commentary rolled in auspicious knowledge, somehow failed to elicit “likes.” Likes are the lifeblood and currency of the insecure. They feed the Williams of the world with a sweet succor of post-collegiate relevance. It is the sweet nectar for his race, the rare and relevant, the cloistered tiers of esoteric civilization. He popped a dried plum into his mouth from the Ronco food dehydrator and he began his 43rd screenplay, this time a SciFi re-imagining of Howard’s End. He was edgy as fuck.

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Girardin Black Label Gueuze, Srsly Guezue Read This Guize

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I started trading with a short sighted idea to review all of the top 100 beers on the top beer sites, well this one used to haunt that shit like Boo Radley and put shit in my tree all the time. Well how do you kill a Boo Radley? You hire Atticus to burn his fucking house down. Whoa this mixed metaphor went off the rails real quick. I traded for it and got an amazing gueuze in the process. WE WERE ALL STRONGER AS A RESULT.

I didn’t age this shit since 1882, my Gilded Age beers are saved for when I rip off the proletariat in a significant way.

Girardin Black Label Gueuze, 5% 2011

A: This little stepchild is deep gold with some coppery hues in the center. Nice warm orange accents are illuminated by my opulent Ikea lamp. Huge carbonation greets you like a high school reunion but subsides into mild patterns. The lacing is minimal but, not incongenial. It cups my jawline gently then bites the shit out of my lip like a delta gamma.

Pop open an amazing gueuze and watch animals and small asian children lose their shit.

S: There is a deep funk to it like Jolly Pumpkin on steroids, crisp granny smith apple tartness, grape skins, tannic profile, some apricot to it. Lots of bright fruits and reminds me of Nana’s hand soap collection with juiciness to the funky aspects. You know, Nana’s soapiness. Right? Alright this is getting too personal.

T: This is incredibly interesting in the sheer taste balance that it presents. It is not overly drying but it presents a nice kick of chardonnay tartness. There is a mild fruitiness to it but the most overriding note that I get it a delicious lemony acidity with an expansive tart grassiness. It washes clean quickly and leaves a nice dry palate. Did I just eat an entire Fuji apple? Fuck I hope not. I hate fruit. PSHEW I WAS JUST GETTING WASTED ON EXPENSIVE BEER.

This beer seems pure but flexes hard and the true nature of this tart beast is revealed immediately.

M: This is dry, but not overridingly so. It doesn’t make me pucker up in revulsion like some gueuze that I have had. On that same note, it doesn’t overdo the fruit notes and presents an incredible balance. You know that perfect 16 year old parkor Olympian sort of balance. Am I alone on this one? Ok so, drink ability…

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, with the proviso that you have some water handy. You will get that “movie theater” mouth that happens when you decide to merk an entire box of skittles or sour patch kids to yourself. Stay thirsty my friends. This will keep you plenty thirsty and you should drink accordingly. Or maybe you just kiss to deeply, love hard my friends, this 3 year old beer has gone through a lot to meet your lips. Romcom’s finest.

like most ubersours, you just tuck your gumline, suck your teeth back and enjoy the destruction.

Narrative: It was a strange condition to be sure, not debilitating, but far from the norm. Waylon Roberts perpetually carried a 32oz mister bottle of reverse hydrolyzed water with him for the simple reason that, he could not spit. “An ten, the teachuh saids, ‘those are not for thuh students!’” His classmates looked upon him with silent disdain. Comedy is inherently based upon timing. It is also based upon proper pronunciation and diction. “Suh, anywasssshh” he pulled out his spritzer bottle and wetted his cracked dry lips, “ah there we are chaps, so who wants to grab some Munch Ems and go for a hike?” His peers looked upon him in amazement. He was fully aware of his condition but seemed dead set on defying all convention connected thereto. “Man, nothing on a hot day like this like some sweet Yoohoo, am I rith?” his voice cracked as he took a strong gulp of the milky substance. “HEY WHITEGUMS CATCH!” some bullies yelled as they pelted him with a packet of Quench Gum from Big5 sporting goods. Kids can be so cruel.

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Mikkeller/Stillwater Two Gypsies Saison, When ONE GYPSY JUST ISN’T ENOUGH

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Alright, these extra bonus reviews are struggling in the photography department, but hey, you get what you pay for on this site, free chuckles and yukyuks. Anyway, I LOVE SAISONS, so let’s see how this old chestnut turned out given the fact that I love Stillwater and have a general distrust of Mikkeller:

Just another day at Beachwood.

Stillwater/Mikkeller Two gypsies Saison

A honey golden with huge carbonation, nice lacing with mild middle body, amazing white water carbonation that I love to see in saisons just ready to lambast your nose holes with amazing herbs and citrus.

Section reserved for baller ass Saisons only, call your buddy to come get you.

S There is some Belgian sweetness, clove, citrus, and classic saison spiciness, I get some musky maple leaf and slight hint of hoppiness of the more alpha variety. It reminds me of the dude at the gym doing a ton of reps on the fly machine but making a ton of noise, it’s like, chill bro.

T: This is a nice dryness with mellow hops. The taste has a type of great pepper notes to it with some coriander. That makes it sound far more herbal than it is but overall very crisp and refreshing with great wheat notes. It is like giving a hug to that uncle who happens to be from belgium and pulls a hop cone from behind your ear from time to time.

saisons are kinda like pizza or sex, even when it is bad, it is still mad loot.

M: There is a very light character with great crisp character. However, in the realm of saisons it gets subsumed by many other iconic brands. It is not exceptionally memorable, overall, unfortunately. But understand I mean that in the leagues of big guns Hill Farmstead, Fantome, etc. This is still and excellent beer, just not the best in show. You can get disqualified by those AKC assholes for PRACTICALLY NOTHING.

D Like many Saisons, it is a very light and refreshing beer, but if it were not, it would be a pretty unsatisfactory saison. The light brett funk is good but ultimately forgettable. I always look for a spicy note or something to take it to that juicy key lime level that saisons like Magic Ghost or certain Vermont offerings have accomplished, but again, still a great beer, just nothing to tattoo on your foreskin.

There is something familiar, yet creepy going on here, not unlike a gypsy.

Narrative: Life was pretty consistent for Carl Cirrus. He was born from coastal pressure as a cirrus cloud, no surprise there, but he always longed for more. He would often glide along without purpose and refresh airplane passengers in a mild way. Ultimately, he wanted so much more. He wanted to live a life of excitement and pizzazz like his humulus and stratus brethren. They would toss and turn, flip into funnels, destroy Midwest towns; and yet here he was, just a placid long bed of evapotranspiration that no one gave a thought to. “I create those healthy jet streams for travel and the currents for watering cro-” PSsFFHFHHHSSHHH:::: a new satellite was launched trough Carl’s cirrus sternum: MTV3 just went live.

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Midnight Sun Barfly, The Only Time That You Can Brag About Having Flies

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Alright, let’s get this shit out of the way: this beer is not worth seeking out. Let me clarify, it is an amazing stout and you will likely rock a half mast alerection after trying it but, what the market is asking for is simply not worth it. Sure, maybe you live in Alaska and got in on the ground floor, but this 1000ish bottle release is too rich for the blood of the rest of us non-Palins. We all know that I love Arctic Devil, Berserker was solid, so what now of this strange offspring? Let’s take it to the frigid north to investigate Seward’s Folly in today’s review.

More like tradefly. How many bottles of this actually left Alaska remains to be seen.

Midnight Sun Brewing Co.
Alaska, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 12.60% ABV

A: This has a bit of a lighter slicker sheen to it than the massive stouts you see on this site getting tick on the reg. It looks nice with a frothy blackness that imparts a gentle coating that smiles at you like an amiable concierge, despite your ignoble intentions. You get a bit of crackling bubbles but nothing to whip out a post card for. The mocha coloring seems on point for the style but largely predictable “did you want pink bubbles?” no STFU.

PROTIP: If you feed this to a chimpanzee, he will probably toss his guts on your wall.

S: This nose starts with a black and mild cigar waft like a vacant strip club and melds into a vacant chocolate factory which is equally disturbing. Next up I get some tire, eraser, and sticky Charles Shaw red wine that recent divorcees are so fond of. Again, this just doesn’t strike on all my favorite stoutzones, my stoutrogenous zones remain unfired.

T: This has a much better taste but again, nothing to sell your ’94 Neon Espresso to obtain. This starts with a huge merlot aspect that lets you know, ok, good job barfly you were in a barrel. Then it continues its Community College Drama major and seeks attention via the route of smoked chocolate and sticky tobacco. That’s not the way to win the love of an absentee father. I enjoyed the light stickiness but ultimately this wasn’t what I had spent 8 months busting ale sessions to. It’s like meeting Skrillex in real life and realizing that he is just that fat kid who played D.J. on Roseanne.

You want to like it. You really do. But ultimately, the whole endeavor feels forced and you end up cleaning up the results.

M: This is swift and flows like that river in Huckleberry Finn, I forget which one. The chocolate is drying and the port/red wine aspects come off and stumbling blocks rather than assets to this process. You know when Logan busts out of the weapon X tank dripping wet? That’s how I feel after busting my cock to get this thing and it is a smoky, thin, red wine tasting little monster. It was not bad by any means but, at this price, you expect superchargers or at least a NAV system.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, hell, you might even be able to trick girls into drinking stouts if they hang out in Santa Monica and enjoy deep juicy red wines and Weeds or some nonsense. Red wine sticks out like a sore labia in this beer and I can’t get past the imposing nature of the adjunct elements. Berserker was all coffee, ok fine, now this beer goes apeshit with a BCBG female grape aspect. It is good, let’s get that clear. Rag and Bone makes great clothes, but both are complete ripoffs in the end.

Is it good? Yes. Is it worth real life? No.

Narrative: Devin Griggs was the most avid fan of YooHoo Chocolate drinks this side of the Prime Meridian. He had sampled the most rare varietals of the cacao potation and nodded in disapproval at the rarest gems. “Watery, chocolate afterthoughts, it is like The Unbearable Lightness of Being in chocolate drink format” he opined to the throngs of 45 people who were also into this shit. Madeline, his assistant surveyed his impressive YooHoo cellar with a calm fortitude as he presented the legendary YooHoo b54 from 1961 with the notorious discontinued “racist label.” In the calm of his den he surveyed the empty bottles and shook his head in disapproval. “Sir?” Madeline poked her head in from the rich teak doors. “Look at these vintages Maddy, each milky discharge a potent entry in the pages of history,” Devin stated as he took a deep pull of his milky chocolate treat, 1995 vintage. “Do you ever feel like it is all a fool’s errand? Just a shot into the dark, the stockpiling of inherently consumable chattel? Perhaps it is a fleeting grasp at immortality in a fading medium, like the lactose itself.” Madeline shook her head and leaned intently upon stacked cases of 2002 YooHoo, the alleged infected bottles. “Sir, ultimately, a hobby is a fleeting outlet and a fading grasp at value in a world of inherent scorn. . .or it is a way to get your D S’ed in a niche market.” Devin licked his milk moustache and nodded in agreement, at Milk Chocolate Drink conventions he had gotten his DS’ed more than Nintendo.

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Sam Adams 1995 Triple Bock, A Beer That Is Older Than Your Girlfriend, Sicko.

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Ah finally a beer that is older than your girlfriend. Let’s mix it up a bit with a rare gem from earlier days: Triple Bock. Ok, transport yourself back to 1995 for a moment, you’re listening to Spin Doctors, buying Beyond Baggy Jeans at Millers Outpost- shit is going pretty well right? Well not for craft beer. Unless adjunct lagers got you all half mast, craft beer was not as it is today. This beer was an innovative testament to show the world what beer COULD BE. These days, it is more a testament that COULD does not always mean SHOULD. Let’s hit on this geriatric gem in today’s Elder Abuse review.

This beer is like an ICP fan: strange while young and abhorrent when it matures.

Boston Beer Company (Samuel Adams)
Massachusetts, United States
American Strong Ale | 17.50% ABV

A: This beer comes in a weird little 7.5oz cobalt bottle, but don’t worry, you aren’t getting ripped off, you wont want much more than 2 ounces of this beast. So it pours our like spent canola oil with potato skin burned fragment sludge bobbing gracefully in the wake. This is what Lake Tahoe is gonna look like in the year 2031. There is a murky sludge aspect to it with teenage chunks of malty char chunks suspended in the medium. Spoiler alert: there is no carbonation. This beer looks like bottled felch.

Just keep sipping on these, you’ll be safe because no one will want to hang out with you.

S: The smell is like the tire aisle at Costco. Then you get this deep cigar muskiness from the Golden Age that is like rummaging through old dresses at Good Will. Next comes a putrid wave of Kikoman soy sauce olfactory rape. It is like your nose is doing lines of Dragon Roll. Finally a sickening sweetness like asian candies where you don’t know exactly what it is, but you’re afraid because you’re pretty sure there’s durian or shellfish in there.

T: Oh man, this is where they really slam your cock in a car door. This initially tastes like pencil graphite, burnt gristle, and Skoal dip cup spit. You get a lingering sweetness and a chocolate presence that pushes its hand to the glass but the death sentence is clear. There’s aspects of Lowe’s peat and gardening dirt, pennies, and tonguing an open coldsore that imparts an iron rich maltiness. Finally the oxidation sets in and you get this dryness that tastes like used breakdancer cardboard and Filipino sweat.

Sure, this might not be the best beer I have ever had. That’s a class composed of (every beer I Have ever Had – 1 ) I can deal with that.

M: The mouthfeel slops and sways like the contents of a lava lamp but the solution rides upon a hot layer of booze everywhere it goes. It is like Iceman, how he used to tear ass on that ice bridge, except this bridge is made of composted solids, tar, and the blood of Owlbears. While I was finishing my final refreshing sips, I got a huge chunk of black malt on my tongue, which usually means that an angel just got its wings. I pressed it between my fingers and it looked like I just got booked by LAPD. Which is so appropriate because what apt foreshadowing for a beer that will get you really hammered and make you feel like you just went down on a Cal Trans worker?

D: This beer could not be less drinkable if it were a gas. This plays an important part in beer history but, the sheer importance as an extreme beer does not a good ale make. I am glad to have tried it but it makes me longingly look at the state of today’s beer market with love. One great use for this beer would be to give it to your kids at age 11 and be like “YOU WANT BEER! THIS IS BEER! NOW FINISH THE WHOLE THING AND LOVE IT.” Scare them straight before they turn into a mesomorphic asshole like me.

This beer is barely legal.

Narrative: Walter Murkmire was a regular fixture in the Boston Common. He trudged covered in muck and melted tar and people avoided their gaze if only to avoid thinking how someone became so caked in the dregs of society. “DONT FORGET TO ROTATE THEM TIRES!” he would scream at insouciant pigeons in the early morning with petulant refuse dripping off of cloak. Some Boston fables said that he used to work at the Boston Tire Company and lost it when they took his Z rated patent from him. Now like an urban Lazarus, he found the most fragrant and odious piles to rise from, each day, like a putrid trash phoenix. “1995! The tires toll! Not for you, but for US ALL!” he called menacingly to a disintered hot dog vendor. How was a guy supposed to earn a living with a local Baron haunting the park smelling like burnt hair and indian food? A 17 year old boy looked on across the park and caught his penetrating gaze. Murkmire produced a piece of filthy California Roll and smiled a knowing grin. His lineage was secure in this lad, drawn from the mire in 1995, but the clinic would never admit such a thing.

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Stillwater Barrel Aged Stateside Saison, Still Waters Run Deep, So Deep, Put the Ale’s Barrel to Sleep

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Stillwater has this reputation, at least in beer print media that is untouchable. Maybe the brewer is just a PR master but I constantly see articles about this brewery and the wunderkind owner. This beer is a testament to their ability. Let’s get this out of the way, this beer is awesome, and the fact that it was commercially distributed is incredible, as is the fact the a 330ml bottle was $13.99, but let’s couch that discussion, GRAB YOUR -BALS FOR TODAY’S REVIEW.

The separate of church and Stateside involves a barrel.

Stillwater, Barrel Aged Stateside Saison, 6.7% abv

A: This has a nice yellow haziness with great apple juice notes at the edges. The carbonation is present but not oppressive as the time spent in the carbonation mines, we all remember those days bleakly. Kiss my illegitimate lacing child for me, for her wispy eyes wont remember my dissipate nature.

Call all your friends, tell them barrel aged saisons are happening, watch the crazy shit go down.

S: There’s a Belgian funk to it, with some oakiness, lemon, clove, and tannic esters. This has a slight chardonnay aspect to it and nice vinuous aspect to it, so far so good, like most RPG games.

T: Holy hell, this was not what I expected in an awesome way. This dries like chardonnay and just gives the gumline the business immediately. It is incredibly tart, almost gueuze tart at the outset and gets all peppery and chills out for a second, smashes your Virtual Boy and takes off leaving an intense dryness like you used Lubriderm CQ. That kinda dry.

Smell legit…taste is…WHAT THE FUUUUUU-

M: The mouthfeel is incredibly crisp like biting into fresh Fuji apples that aren’t ready just yet. It is really acidic but oaky at the same time. This is a phenomenal beer and a welcome surprise when I was expecting a by the numbers saison. The barrel made this thing into a crazy beast, like the last seasons of TMNT when they are all mutating and shit. Only me? Ok cool.

D: This is fantastic and almost belongs in a Berliner Weiss or wild ale category the way that this guy went all Temptation on us. It is rough to call it supremely dirnkable because of the $13.50 for a 12oz bottle price and just the dryness. I wont be immature and go for the vaginal joke but, ipso facto, I just did. Buy this, it is a weird but amazing hybrid. Might just give Fantome Saison a run for its ghostly butt hole.

You remember on Garbage Pail Kids where you thought you were approaching some hackneyed premise but then it ended up being one of the best things ever? Well that’s like this beer, Barrel PALE Kids: THE MOVIE.

Narrative: “IF YOU DON’T LEVEL THE GATHERING GOURD, then the souls will escape!” Plestinya pleaded with the sour Ivinicus. “Please, I want to see you make your way to becoming an arch-summoner, but, if we cannot gather souls in this area, replete with drought and death, we have failed as necrophytes.” Ivinicus hung his head ruefully and kicked a scrap of a tumbleweed in front of him. “It makes you think doesn’t it?” Ivinicus began, “I mean, here we are, searching for ourselves, while simultaneously harvesting souls.” “Sir?” “I am just saying, the piercing blue light from the interior of stage coaches loses its luster, slowly but surely, and look at what we have here.” He gestured to the soul gourd, a powerful mage barrel crafted in the Magi epoch of Nev’Naih. “Sometimes I, I just want to see. . .” he thumbed the tab of the tiny barrel, “Ivinicus NO!” Pelstinya cried out as he removed the tab from the gourd and let the souls spill out in a white hot azure light. Each figure presented themselves, changed, for the better. “LOOK! That local grifter has attained a degree in economics! And that failed cattle rustler has developed a Keynsian economic theory DECADES PRIOR TO ITS INCEPTION!” A tacit survey of every soul revealed that they had matured in the barrel and become something greater than the sum of their flaws. “We are basically the shittiest necrophytes ever,” Plestinya noted somberly.

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Blueberry madness

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In addition to being a generally acrimonious beer curmudgeon, I also home brew. I know, I know, that’s like the sweaty neckbeard pushing his Babylon 5 fan fiction on the masses, stay with me now. Anyway, I am brewing a blueberry lambic that I just racked to the secondary, check it:

Purple Drank.

Inb4 “What vintage is that Jello Biafra CD” or other hiarious background comments.

More reviews to come, still loading slugs up in that Chiquita banana.

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Re-up the flows

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Alright I have been slacking, I will pump out some hot new yeastbeats soon, in the interim peep out what I have been sippin on lately, don’t worry, unlike Judy Winslow in season 3 of Family Matters, I won’t abruptly disappear.

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Barrel aged partridge with the Louis Vuitton belt buckle when it is keeping all the heat strapped.

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Bourbon barrel hunaphu, for when you want that cinnamon ancho to rock some BALs.

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Hill Farmstead Norma, next level lactic maneuver.

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Stone QM Virgin Oak El Camino Unreal, No peppercorn stems no fig seeds no sticks. Put your BALs on the 78 freeway for an Unreal experience.

Enough beer porn, reviews will be back soon, cancel that Welbutrin prescription and flip that to some Valtrex instead because DDB is about to make it nasty.