Bit by bit, I am knocking out the highest rated saisons, closing in on the final few. This is one of them top 50 ratchets that was another 400 (?) bottle release all up in Ardmore Pennsylvania, whether the players be getting it. I have been told in rural Pennsylvania saison brewers keep a yellowrag on the right side letting those buster ass amber ale bangers what time it is.
You can drink all them DIPAs to pump up your chest/
I got a saison Mossberg to pump up your chest/
Leave your palate gasping when the farmhouse shells hit your vest/
Let’s try to wring out a few more EMPTINESS PUNS in today’s review.
This beer goes in on every track.
Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Style | ABV
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 7.00% ABV
Availability: Limited (brewed once)
Notes/Commercial Description:
Rose-hued saison fermented in local wine barrels with locally sourced French Policeman grapes.
A: Will you just look at this bad bitch, dropping those orange juicy hues on a fully laquered floor, light frothy carb scooping up crumpled singles to put her way through saison school. There is sticky substantial lacing and trims the tree on the way down the glass. It isn’t that pale hay and straw farmhouse, this is that Sunny D dankness you tell your grandkids about while explaining old injuries.
pop a world class saison at a tasting, Michigan tickers be looking like
S: This leads with a crazy white wine profile, them riesling and grapefruit pith notes, a slight sweetness like a Pinot Grigio with a lemon zest waft. The acidity isn’t off the charts but it pokes its head out and gives a subtle wink while rifling through your sister’s underwear drawer.
T: This leads with that sly minx, that grapefruit spritzer of white wine and green grape tannins, there is a touch of honey sweetness in the middle body that feels slightly weighty and substantial compared to these Keira Knightly thin ass farmhouse bitches I been slurping on lately. The finish is a sort of lightly lactic tartness meets cornbread goodness that lingers. God tier Saison: Achievement Unlocked +10 Saisonnier Points.
Lightly tart, complex wallonia bangers get me almost fully erect
M: I want to just go with the bottom shelf adjectives and say that this is “tart” and “dries like you ate too much FunDip” but that really isn’t EXACTLY what is happening. There is a touch of breadiness and maltiness to talk this woman down, to let her know you always delete your internet history; baller shit. There is a touch of honey sweetness like those KFC packets they used to distribute BACK BEFORE OBAMACARE. You get a white wine, you get some tingle on the gumline, but this is the best beer Tired Hands has put out: HANDS DOWN. I know you might be thinking “he says that shit all the time, one day I will lose my virginity.” But srs, it is really fucking hard to knock the persimmon offering because of the sweetness, but this has a depth to it. You really cant go wrong with either but this is like a TADDD better. If we are computing things on a TAD-scale.
D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the 500ml format seems just right for what is going on here. When I had Handfarm I wanted more, so a 750ml would hit my grisette g spot, but this is just fine at this size and you could easily smash this and get back to your Yu Gi Oh deck creation. This is worthy of all of the hype it doesn’t receive and will join a long list of beers that I am pissed that I reviewed because now getting this tasty treat will be a complete cluster fuck of VSBitches and Fuzzypubes.
On the up side, everyone knows you can’t get a DUI when the sun is up.
The more you kno
Narrative: Emma Aldeen had a passion for the minimalism that only a bold few could appreciate. When she moved into her dorm room, she immediately relocated all items to the hallway and put the vast majority of her possessions in a nearby storage unit. “Feels good right?” she noted to her Korean suitemate as she extended her calves on the cold concrete. “No carpet, no desk, just emptiness, and my Morrissey box set,” she ejaculated as she slid her headphones over her ears. Everything in the world was clutter. Objects lacked any real permanence, so attempting to hold onto anything in a static medium was a fool’s errand, a denial of one’s own fleeting existence. Emma loved emptiness and wasn’t afraid who knew it. During periods of exceptional anxiety she felt the organized, cramped contents of her sternum and she longed for a hollow space within her rib cage. She bit deeply into whatever fruit is in this beer, like every character in every narrative does right before it is over and exclaimed, “once we have transcended the simple trappings of acquisition, that need and drive to hoard, then emptiness settles in and you find items of true value: the lack thereof. For only in establishing a net loss in every way, can you posture yourself to make noteworthy strides.” Her Korean roommate nodded intently and continued preparing for a Protoss rush.
