Category Archives: beer

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TIRED HANDS CAGE MATCH: Singel Hop Nelson vs. Farmhands – Two Saisons Enter, ONLY ONE LEAVES

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I have enjoyed the marketing, branding, products and general panache set forth by Tired Hands Brewing Company. They set forth an extremely high quality product, laid out a groundwork of not only delicious beers but also a solid framework of innovation as well. The beers and marketing structure reminds me of another certain saison master out of VERMONT , but I will defer on that topic for the time being. Their galaxy hopped gose, GHOST, is a perfect example of it. Instead of trying to determine which saison to review from these saison ballers, I will treat you to an old fashioned CAGE MATCH. There will be only one survivor left to rule the farmhouse.

Here are the contenders:

For the visually impaired, this is the Singel Hop Nelson

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.00% ABV

I forget what was going on, I forget a lot of things when I drink this much saison. I can’t be expected to be responsible for all of Nana’s medication all the time.

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.00% ABV

Appearance:

Nelson: This isn’t a particularly beautiful saison at the outset, the carbonation is pretty tame by the outrageous saison standards that we have seen this week, but it is far from deficient. It has a sort of dull shine to it like a yellow/orange shirt that has been washed with some towels. The lacing is pretty and makes some wispy lil ghosts on the glass.

Farmhands: This looks very similar to Nelson, no fucking shit, right? I enjoyed this a bit more though because it had less of wateriness to it and came across as a bit more creamy in execution. It was the same type of growler, shipping, and conditions so this should be pretty fucking equal but this one is clearly more attractive. Feel me.

WINRAR: Farmhands OG.

Both beers come from a proud lineage.

Smell:

Nelson: This should be obvious, but it is overwhelminly Nelson hops. I drank this beer 4 days after it was growlered and it was still raging with a lemon, tangerine, light pine, and a faint bandaid aspect to it. I usually am not a fan of single hop variants using all Nelson, that Stone Best By was a completely bag of melted plastic. This is quite the exception. At the backend is a bad ass grassiness that supports and compliments the lemon scone aspects going on.

Farmhands: This takes a more traditional approach and I feel is better as a result because you can actually apprehend some of the nuances. In the Nelson it is hop onslaught, in this version you get some light honey, grassiness, a gentle spice, and some lemon peel. This just comes across as a more developed beer for anyone who isn’t a stupid ass Oracle chugging hophead who just discovered beer.

WINRAR: Farmhands OG.

Taste:

Nelson: The outset has a sharp sweet and almost tart aspect to it that I absolutely love in light watery saisons. The malts are almost imperceptible due to the fact that a huge grassiness moves in and leaves an aggressive bittering aspect. Haters may hate due to the hop profile pulling it off style, but fuck it, this is flat out refreshing and delicious.

Farmhands: This is more traditional and stays closer to style with a cornbread and wheat profile that lingers with a faint lemon but, for the same reason that New Glarus saison was kinda janky, this is more boring in execution. This is by no means bad, but the Nelson version just takes more risks and I end up liking it more.

WINRAR: The Nelson.

Two draft only saisons? 4 fucking liters? surfs up bro, getting so pitted.

Mouthfeel:

Nelson: This initially has a sweet honey stickiness to it but the hops are so over the top that all other nuances are completely choked out like Will Smith’s dog in I am Legend. As a result this is almost medicinal after the first pint because the pints seriously just do work on your cage, steady grassy hadookens right into your chest. I can’t hang with this kind of alpha acid abuse.

Farmhands: The farmhands has a creamier mouthfeel and a gentle sort of lemon acidity to it, but it again doesn’t blow me away with something I can tell my ungrateful ass grandkids about. I enjoy the light crisp finish of the Nelson version more, it feels like they added water to it and kept the abv, which doesn’t make sense TO SCIENCE, but I don’t care, sometimes I like those cones in my facehole.

WINRAR: Nelson version.

Drinkability:

Nelson: This would be super high on the D scale if it wasn’t so. god. damn. hoppy. some people will have a fat cone boner and love this beer for that reason but I seriously challenge them to take down a full 2 liter by themselves like I did. Shit goes from fun to a full on drying chore. Your mouth ends up feeling like an incense show and smelling like Lillith Fair.

Farmhands: This is far easier to drink and doesn’t have a huge liability sack of dryness and resin in tow. I enjoyed the sweet meets acidic aspects to the Farmhands with the light grassy finish instead of subjecting my mouth to fucking Bath and Body works for 2 full liters, wait, make that 4 full liters. I am a champion.

WINRAR: Farmhands OG.

TOTAL WINRAR: Farmhands Saison is the more delicious making beer. Nelson is still legit but feels more like a hybrid trying to bang two styles at once, which at a party, never works out and it goes home alone.

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Wyerbacher Seventeen Saison. Orange Peel Lemon Peel Grapefruit Peel- NOW YOU KNOW IT IS REAL

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Man there is a ton going on with this beer, yes I know, yet another saison from Pennsylvania. Wahwahwah, “my state did not get enough love” well maybe your state and my liver have a disconnect. I will get to every saison…EVENTUALLY. Ok the first thing that raised my eyebrow is the label, this shit has more going on than a Bruce Gillian movie. “Brewed with orange peel, lemon peel, grapefruit peel and pink peppercorns.” That is quite a bit of things, and usually when there is that much going on my bullshit detectors go off and wonder “what happened to the base beer that they needed all this shit?” But I approach everything with a Fair and Balanced approach, like Fox News, so let’s get this shit.

It is like Sunny D made in a farmhouse. Purple drank omitted.

Weyerbacher Brewing Co.
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 10.50% ABV

A: Holy hell, just take a look at that, it looks like straight up Tampico or Sunny D. I have seen my fair share of orangey orange but this is dead on and pours almost like a wild ale or a gueuze in appearance. There is zero carbonation, zero lacing, zero head: this beer is not fucking around. Maybe the 10.5% abv had something to do with that, but it looks more like a hardass who just posts up on the wall at school dances and doesn’t even like Tony Rich Project. Saisons are supposed to be relaxing, this beer makes me feel tense and worry about the state of my farm.

This saison just goes apeshit and ends up being unimpressive as a result. Chill out bro.

S: Holy fucking fusel. This sets its high octane foot forward more like a poorly integrated belgian tripel and lets you know that it is here you rape your nostrils and your mouth is next. The peppercorn and clove spice is there but it is like a bunch of Liliputians pulling down the hugh abv monster. I don’t think that this is de facto supposed to smell like this, Fantome Extra Sour had 10% abv and drank like a sweet summer day. This just smells boozy and completely off style for something I am supposed to be able to drink in a Big Gulp cup while I take my ex-wife to the clinic.

T: This continues the painful narrative from the last section and busts open your lip with a hot booziness at the outset that subsides into an artificial tasting citrus element and a weird lemon pledge sort of finish to it. Like a naive 14 year old girl, I keep returning to this loser at 19 year old saison boyfriend. The citrus elements are there to balance out all of the madness going on with the booze, lemon, and Pine Sol aspects going on in the background. It is like when your “most sober” friend stands at the door to talk to the cops, but smells like gin and rocket fuel. Everyone’s parents are getting called.

Because I love saisons, I would reluctantly accept this again. Discretely.

M: This is sticky and sweet, then boozy and hot, then dry and awkward. It is basically like high school sex. If this is a saison, then I can hang up the saison mantle and retire knowing that I have been dunked in the River of Styx and reborn. I suspect that they made this, added a fuckload of produce and then Mr. Weyerbacher (or whatever) was like “alright, someone’s ass is on the line, we tried to do a saison like Avery, now we have this” and then did dude was like “hey my housekeeper knows a produce guy (potentially racist)” and then the added some pepper.

D: This is not at all drinkable, I mean, unless you just got into beer and high ABV still gives you a fat chub, but why would Dogfish Head patrons read this site? I am not stoked to finish this 12oz bottle and I sure as shit would not be jonesing to put up some awesome bottles to land moar of this. I guess if you wanted to teach your kids not to drink saisons like Uncle Donald did with the triplets, you would serve them this and they’d get hella sick and avow to stay away from farmhouse ales. That is what this beer is for, teaching baby ducks a lesson.

Don’t crack this open expecting any amazing surprises.

Narrative: In between harvests, Jacob Miller sat in lower Harlem peddling for change. His ill fitting overalls and straw hat were almost anachronistic in the area. He would clank his scythe against the sidewalk and scream obscenities about tilling the land and crop rotation, much to the dismay of the passing masses. He was an outspoken farmer, seeking to ride the coattails of farms he had not tilled, wanting harvests he had not planted. Jacob had a thing or two to learn about the gentle agrarian ways. It wasn’t always about being a loud asshole and pestering people by convincing them that he at one time was somehow involved in agriculture. Most people questioned whether he was a real farmer at all, particularly since the nearest farm was nowhere near Manhattan. One day Jacob found a worn out kazoo and began to rail at onlookers with hit base pageantry. None present were impressed. Splattering mud all over Tommy Hilfiger overalls does not make you an artisan farmer and being loud and overbearing hardly helps one’s cause.

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Hill Farmstead Ann, …………………Her.

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THE SAISON MARATHON HAS BEGUN, GOD HELP US ALL.

This is the infamous wine barrel aged saison that I have received no fewer than 4058230985 requests to review. As the grand opening to the saison marathon, I will finally review not only the highest rated saison in the world, but also one of the best beers that I have ever had in my entire beer drinking life. For the uninitiated, this has been heralded as a revelation for the saison style and is an exemplary demonstration of the raw talent seeping out of Hill Farmstead like open prodigious sores. This was a 180 bottle, 1 per person release and if that alone was not enough, shockingly, no one wanted to trade a beer that is damn near perfect. No amount of Daisy Cutter would make it happen. Let’s approach perfection in today’s inherently flawed review.

Let’s get these jokes out of the way: mayonegg, way to place Ann, her? bland, egg, ann hog, is she funny or something? etc.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: This is almost dead on to the style and presents a milky yellow discountenance with incredibly fine microbubbles that present a huge amount of cling. The carbo looks like tiny beds of golden Roe and lace the glass for almost an instant before crackling away. Ann is turbid and has a sort of watery golden hay look to the body with eggshell white bubbles. The bottle gushed a bit upon opening, but that happened with Norma as well and she was damn near perfect as well so, hard to really fault it on that front. A very beautiful beer, and while not at radiant as say, Ithaca Brute, it has this dirty radioactive property to it, just how you like your women.

Respect Ann.

S: This is incredibly complex and I took my time to let this open up to its full bouquet. If you drink this cold, you are 1) an asshole and 2) doing the saison world a disseervice. I would heartily recommend that you let this breathe up to the low 60’s, and it will offer up a deep upside down Spoderman kiss of honey, lightly lactic lemon zest, a faint wheat profile, a gentle amount of funk like sorting through old Marvel trading cards, and finally closes with a fantastic white grape element. At the outset, this beer strays dangerously far from the typical non-BA saison genre, but is better for it. If the outstretched hand from saison to AWA makes you uncomfortable, go drink a Sanctification and think about what could have been, ain’t no one asking you to the Beer Sadie Hawkins Dance anyway.

T: This is lightly tart at the outset with ripe canteloupe and lemon notes that leave a bit of a drying aspect, this gives way to the malt profile which is creamy and reminds me of a fresh grands biscuits, albeit with honey and light pear up in the mix, if that wasn’t enough, the final sharp chardonnay aspect comes in and starts power sanding down the bitter zones with a sand blaster. The crisp finish makes your palate all pissed and wanting another hit of that sweet saison methadone.

After Ann, whenever someone tries to offer me any other beer, I be like-

M: This imparts a huge white grape and pear skin note that is a bit creamy and brackish almost at the same time, which might be confusing for those who don’t have their sea legs in saison/american wild ale territory, notwithstanding, it is beyond excellent in this respect. The mouthfeel has a milky froth that immediately subsides into a drying chardonnay aspect. Like so many gilded age politicians, it gives and takes away with the same hand and your native american tastebuds are left reeling in its wake: discontent and wanting more.

D: This beer effectively will ruin not only the saison genre at large for you due to its complexity, but it will also in a lesser way ruin beer in general for you. It is kinda like how hooking up with 16 year olds is illegal because it makes hooking up too easy and denatures the value of making out in general. Landing this beer is so hard because it is a cautionary tale as to how drinkable and good beer can be at its apex. This doesn’t present a decadent profile like some complex gueuze or imperial stouts, but it imparts a staggering amount of drinkability and just outright uplifting citrus notes. The abv is not only perfectly masked, it comes across as though this beer is actually somehow good for you. The panacea effect is substantial with a beer that is this approachable. You could give this to a teething infant and it would recognize it as a potent elixir, HP/MP fully restored like staying at an inn. I cannot say enough good things about this beer. It is unquestionably the best saison that I have ever had and amongst the beers that I have ever had.

This is how people usually look when they find out that you drank Ann without them.

Narrative: Ann Portinari has served as a seraphim figure for brewers and beer traders in general. Those tedious days of spraying out tanks and cleaning up spent grain were a silent appeal to power. There is a divine undercurrent to manipulating the properties of life, casting away life sustaining wheat to generate even simpler cultures, using them for an ontological purpose. It is in this fashion that each batch is a silent prayer to Ann, an appeal to immortality in a manner that only Herbert Spencer can truly identify. So much beer has been cast through livers and into drains in flailing attempts at benediction or salvation. Ann drapes her wings lovingly over those drunk assholes on a nightly basis, fumbling through their phones to text ex-girlfriends, she is life giver and destroyer. Some would opine that in malt liquors her presence is not felt. Why when Molson needed her most were there only one set of footprints in the mash? It was during those times that the sweet muse carried them. Ann was an overseer of more than beverages, for in alcoholic drinks, man seeks to abrogate reason and become a god by mashing out on 2 full samplers at Denny’s. No dick pic has been sent without her careful intervention and oversight. In brewing parlance, when one has sparged and sparged in endless toil, she lifts one up to beatific perfection, making all other endeavors seems trivial by contrast. In this respect she is both instructive and destructive, sure that cab is $42, but what are you going to do? Leave your car here and then pick it up before streetsweeping at 7 am? Fuck that, Ann has wrapped her golden shroud around you, do sick burnouts and show the world your value.

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GABF Gold Medal Winning Church Brew Works Heini’s Hooch, Draft Only Gold Review, for the Haters.

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Alright so I have seen this listed in a variety of ways but I am going to straight up call this what it is: an old ale. Beer sites be all confused but having had it, it steps directly in line with Cuir and 2010 BA Decadence in that proud lineage. I saw this win the Gold at the GABF in a style that I feel is wildly underrated. Most people love stouts and will have a soft spot for BA English Barleywines and foolishly overlook the Old Ale genre, you need to get on this grizzy.

This is that straight up clear growler magic. Malts telling the world that they dare light to try and skunk them. Posting up so hard.

Church Brew Works
Pennsylvania, United States
American Strong Ale | 10.50% ABV

A: Well it is safe to say that this beer will not be winning any beauty contests, but come on, if you were made in a lab with a ton of dark caramel malts, boiled into a sticky medium, then put in a barrel for months, would you be so fucking handsome? I didn’t think so. It had moderate lacing and low carbonation but part of that is Fedex’s fault for leaking this all over the place. Negligent ass handlers. In fact, I had to drive all the way into East LA and go to the facility and tell them that this was a Balsamic Reduction because they were tragically going to throw this away. Jeez louise. The murky brown notes are dirty but inviting like a 1989 Ford Probe.

It is always unacceptable to taunt your friends for drinking Old Ales. Dortmunders yes, but never old ales.

S: Holy sweet decadence, this beer goes ham on the olfactory front and leads with a pinch of light char, some caramel, toastiness woodiness, a deep bourbon character similar to Eagle Rare or 4 Roses, if you are into that shit. There is also a light mallow foam and a vanilla on the backend, ya feel me?

T: This has a nice oaky opening that gives way to some sweet and sticky notes, light caramel wrapped in a sort of almond nuttiness. The finish lingers for a long time with a deep fig and booziness that is a bit hot on the palate but not overly ethanol up in this bitch. Maybe it is the carb lacking, but it seems like such a gentle beast like Pete’s Dragon, roasting apples for you and shit, boozy and yet tame.

Sipping on that high ave smoky oak gets you straight baked.

M: This is sticky but gives way to a lingering dryness from the booze and the oak so it gives with one hand and takes with the other, like a skilled escort, badumtish. The dryness from the oak imparts this desire to take another sip right away so this 2 Liter was merked pretty quickly NOT JUST BY ME THIS TIME THOUGH. I enjoy the sticky sweetness that is kept in check by a domineering ass patriarch figure that is the wood, euphemisms all over the place.

D: This is strangely drinkable with a big caveat, FOR THE STYLE. I mean if you pop this open at a cookout and expect a bunch of backslapping and people chugging it in a bounce house, you are in for disappointment. And diarrhea. This is a nice sipper but you can sip A LOT OF IT. I technically COULD finish this entire growler, which is something not to be attempted with most Old Ales. It is like how I technically can eat an entire P’zone, but god damn does my body make me pay for it. Never before has dialysis been so classy and affordable.

When you pop open 2 liters of draft only Old Ale, your face be like.

Narrative: “Ok well when you step in, watch out for the drawbridge,” Mrs. Olson noted as she led the social worker into the expansive parlor. The entire framework from floorboard to crown molding was covered in complex K’Nex contraptions and devices. “Honey…the lady from Adult Protective Services is here to see you sweetie…” Mrs. Olson noted to her father and he looked up from a multicolored carousel and frowned upon being disturbed from his work. “Hello Mortimer, my name is Janice and I am here to check up on you since none of your other friends or relatives have heard from you” she trailed off as she saw a complicated network pulleys and buckets, carrying the possession of the old man from room to room. It was ingenious and colorful, pleasant and relaxing at the same time. The majestic pieces clicked in uniformity and brought Mortimer a plate of Vanilla Wafers and remained in silence, frowning at the County employee. “Mr. Olson, do you…do you want to come with me? This seems like no way for a man of your years to live.” Mortimer Olson was capricious, easy going, but more than all of that, he was complex to the core. You could enjoy a roller coaster demonstration with him while eating a Werther’s Original, or you could fuck right off.

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Congratulations: You Muled. Why Should the Rest of Us Give a Shit?

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Another installment in my continuing study of pics that beer nerds love to post brings us to this topic: Showing Off Hauls of Muled Beer.

I am not talking about taking a pic of a bunch of unopened beers you received, that is a different topic altogether. What I am discussing is when you mule a ton of bottles of someone and post a picture of a bunch of bottles that belong to other people, some shit like this:

:Hay guize, I has a car and other people put my name on list. Look at my temporary possessions.”

My favorite part of these pics is usually the humblebrag caption which is usually hyperbolic and misleading:

“32 bottles of Black Tooz to the Dome, NO BIG DEAL”
“Oh nothing to see here JUST 5 CASES OF BEATIFICATION #regularfriday”
“45 bottles of Bourbon County Vanilla, I am not circumsized.”

Shit like that. The first thing that occurs is 1) haters proceed to hate, as they are wont to do. The first wave of this is people citing your picture as to how easy the beer was to get. Then phase two is a series of people thinking that bottles of Citra are just spilling off the shelves by the case and that Black Note is some shitty shelfturd (it sat on a shelf for 3 days, FUCK THAT.)

The funniest part of this is that the majority of the bottles in the pic aren’t even usually the property of the person posting it, but that fact is always carefully omitted with some oblique gerund phrase like “running the game like a baws!”

I vote that all subsequent pics should have a caption of total deprecation like “I picked up other people’s things for them, hopefully this will benefit me in some way.” Straight HUBRIS UP IN THE CUT.

If I have done this in the past, then my prior pictures were all ironic and therefore I am exempt from this shitty criticism, no tagbacks.

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Fat Head’s Head Hunter IPA, Man There is a Pun Here…Somewhere….

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Another single IPA has crept up into the Top 100, so in my most judicious whack a mole procedure, I automatically have to review this and that annoying ass Bodhi IPA from Columbus. One beer at a time. I posted an ISO for this and 3 people straight up offered to send this to me to review, other people offered to send me no joke like 12 bottles for completely reasonable trades. Nice people, those Ohioans. Ohio has much more than just vapid girls that they send to LA to become FIDM students, THEY HAVE AMAZING BEER. Edmund Fitzgerald, Jackie O’s, all kinds of treats. Anyway, let’s see how the midwest fares when it tries its hand at refreshing IPAs. (spoiler: this is a refreshing IPA, jimmies remain unrustled.)

Oh damn, classing up those IPAs on the reg with some stemware. It is like a Trans Am with a navigation system.

Fat Heads Brewery & Saloon
Ohio, United States
American IPA | 7.50% ABV

A: This is dead on for style and presents a dull yellow meets brassy orange glow with foamy carbonation with nice pasteurized bubbles to ensure consistency and that predictable old refreshing character. The lacing is present until the watery sheeting washes it clean. This just looks refresing, like when you fall face down into the marble tub after drinking hard in Vegas, you might be abusing it but it still feels so good.

With so many IPAs out there, it is easy to pick out the irritating ones. This is not one of those.

S: This is not exactly a hop bomb when you open it, but it isn’t exactly tame either. If we are using Alpine Nelson as a single IPA that goes HAM and let’s call Bell’s Two Hearted as a more subtle and deliciously refreshing take on the genre, this is somewhere in between the two. It gives you a light citrus with one fist and then delivers hard with a nice resinous pinch from the other hand. This is truly a nice transamerican representation of the single IPA in execution. Some people drink Bell’s Oracle and think that is the pinnale of hops, others swear by Bad Boy and cut deep and hard into their arms to prove it. This is like a very genuine mediator, crossing party lines (OH SHIT TOPICAL HOP HUMOR).

T: This is a careful bellhop that gently escorts you and carries all of your hop baggage for you. You get a light sweetness at the outset and then a nice blast of orange zest and light aserose is there to support the splishy splashy malts. It is like a Jdate encounter where you aren’t sure if you are going to get violated, but the coffee is good. The finish is consistent and washes away briskly imparting a light honey and sweet lemon note. I hate reviewing beers like this because they are exceptionally well done for what they are seeking, namely refreshment and moderation in execution. It makes my job a shitload harder when I can’t just rage on Mikkeller for 1000 words and call it a day.

Sure this beer may not be beautiful, or perfect, but it makes you feel good. Isn’t that enough?

M: This washes away with a crisp and watery finish that invites the next sip with some light drying from the hop oils but strays far from a tropical fruit or citrus assault. It also doesn’t leave you gasping with heavy handed pine usage. I am a bit surprised that the Imperial version of this is so lowly rated, but I guess if moderation is your selling point and you shave a rainbow swastica in your pubes, you just lost your fanbase.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and reminds me in a lot of ways of Blind Pig in the way that the entire affair is memorable in how subtle and forgettable it was. Maybe the selling virtue of some beers is how they simply don’t alter anything except your consciousness in a completely benign way. I don’t need to be tossing my couch into the pool when I have to take kids to school at 8 a.m. There’s a time and a place for everything.

When my bottle was empty, I realized that I only had one of these and kicked an asian child in the face. supes tipicals.

Narrative: “Ok, just breathe, they don’t know, smile, nod.” Bruce Lowenstein reassured himself with much trepidation. “Well as you can see, we have the market cornered with the tropical, well, not cornered but ::AHEM:: the sours, they contain the most, uh salt on the outside and, some have said ‘hey, Bruce, where are the new flavors’” This may be recorded as the worst Skittles board meeting to date. At the heart of it all was a single lie. Bruce filed his resume over 9 years ago with the Wrigley Corporation and now he was faced down by 12 dour-faced Japanese investors. “So, the salt, is exactly the need that markets, well specifically the Japanese market, as a uh, compliment to most raw fish dishes.” The rancor of his latent racist comments made them wonder as to his qualifications for serving as Head Chief of Marketing. However, his sweet demeanor made him hard to dislike. His Ritz yellow hair and crisp smile appealed to the Yamazaki investors. “AND THAT IS WHY ACAI AND WASABI SKITTLES WILL SELL!” Somewhere, a resume from 1999 was tucked in a drawer with “Speaking Skills” incongruously listed under “Hobbies.” That Bruce sure was a reassuring son of a bitch, he could help you keep you calm and enthused regardless of how hectic your current situation may be.

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Struise Double Black Stout, 26% abv for those times when Single Blacking Out Isn’t Enough

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As my loyal readers may be aware, this site started with a compulsive desire to talk mad shit on every beer in every top 100 list, I think we are still on course. Aside from that, this beer would pop up at like 99 ever so often and I would have to whack a mole that shit constantly. Ever had Bligh’s Barleywine? I have, because it was in the top 100 for like 43 minutes. It is an amazing barleywine, I just want you to see the fucking troubles I encounter for your amusement. Anyway, this bottle was 70-100 euros and is a direct/less expensive analog to FIVE SQUARED albeit the stout version. So we ice distill the amazing Black Albert down to 26% and then drink it at Alesmith strictly for the lulz. Let’s get it.

Double Blacking out so hard on that 26% monster.

De Struise Brouwers
Belgium
American Double / Imperial Stout | 26.00% ABV

A: For a beer with a staggeringly high abv, this actually was nicely carbed, but the crazy heat and inky thick vicosity strangle the bubbles out of this potation. The sheen is just that, double black. If Huna is an 8 on the darkness scale, this is an absolute black hole, absorbing all photons without mercy. The sheeting is the only thing keeping the staining malts at bay. You bust a sick swirl and watch the khaki darkness coat and then the huge alcohol sheeting comes down wet and clear, putting that pussy in a sarcophagus.

New beer users always obsess over ABV over actual taste, it is the fucking 9GAG of the beer world. Go drink 120 Min and eat my ass, this is big boy beer shit.

S: This goes HAM on all aspects, it goes apeshit with chocolate, deep hot bourbon, cocoa, intense roasted malts, light char, and a nice vanilla and coconut to the backend. I don’t know how they did this. Seriously. After suffering through Tactical Nuclear Penguin, I expected a nightmare from this, but it is incredibly drinkable and reminds me of an…imperial…Black Tuesday. Think about that shit for a moment. I am talking about a “single” format that is 19% abv. This is a full 7% above that. Game recognize game.

T: This will light up your chest like E.T. There is a deep bourbon at the outset with smoky malts to balance it and a deep chocolate finish. After the swallow the real fun begins, since most of this beer is in the residual power that you are going 12 rounds with. While it is in your mouth, it is too viscous and complex to discern elements, but after the swallow you get the emotions in waves, like being dumped on prom. You get a deep caramel and oak from the barrel, the roast lingers for a bit, there’s coconut and vanilla, finally a full 10 seconds later, you lick your teefers and get a butterscotch aspect. Then you look at your glass and realize you have another fucking 13 ounces to deal with.

I roll hard on 240 bottle releases, drop 100 euros on bottles, have them shipped from Belgium; thugging so hard.

M: I shouldn’t have to tell you what this coats like. This has a deeper coating than Trojan Twisted Sensations. You get this deep viscosity in the mouthfeel and upon swallowing you think that the experience is over since the heat from the bourbon and abv seems to burn off the residual sugars in your mouth, then the mendicant vagrants climb out from the cracks, sweet and chocolatey in the dystopian future that is your gumline.

D: I would be remiss to say that this is drinkable, per se. Sure, unless you are Shogokawada, you probably can’t merk a bottle to yourself. No hating on Shogo, I PROBABLY COULD, but then again look at my site, I have some demons going on beyond the ambit of most people lining up Netflix queues. So it would break down like this: you could drink half of this and enjoy it, I could drink a full bottle of this and then write a review like this, Shogokawda could drink a full bottle and then decide that it is time to get to work. And the hierarchy is maintained. Unless you are on a straight Brett Favre level, or on my Aaron Rodgers tip, pool your money like poor bastards and brag about this shit on the Matt Leinart scene, smiley as fuck.

At a certain point you just flex your beer lats, and go bat wing on all the haters. If you read this site, you already powerlevelled so hard.

Narrative: The cabinet of the Killer Instinct creaked with his intense power, sweating at the brow while ironically using Glacius. Sure he was 43 years old. Yes, he had a culdesac. Hell, Janus Milkerson even reeked of 4 Roses bourbon on the regular but no one would deny his ability to chain sick combos. To face him was to cast 2 quarters into the river of Styx, a hopeless endeavor. He was the darkest most hate filled individual in the entire arcade. Most children patronizing the location were doing just that, patronizing the location. To come to a place and spend hard currency on physical machines to imbibe the slow leak of outdated graphics was a strange foreign enterprise. “AH, and from when THINE CAME, thou shalt be returned!” Janus echoed, spitting upon the joystick, scaring the 5th grade opponent. He was the darkest, most hateful participant in the building, but he was strangely calm and poised in his madness. After playing a game with him, children would stand in cool reverence and wonder whether excellence was possible and whether the fleeting reality of shortsighted hedonism was a valid outlet, before exchanging their tickets for spider rings and jolly ranchers.

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Ithaca Brute Wild Ale, Another Overlooked Top 100 Beer Falls to My Liver

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This might be the most beautiful beer that I have ever seen. I remember the first time that I poured it, being completely blown away by the sheer radiance. I have grown and watch several wild ales come and go, but I remember back in the day loving this beautiful, gentle temptress. Anyway, I would not deprive you of this gem, so let’s get brutish and short in today’s review. Holler at Thomas Hobbes.

Finally uploaded the pic. I has a lazy.

Ithaca Beer Company
New York, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: Wow, this beer has a type of yellow 5 radiance that would piss your neighbors off if you opened up late at night. The lacing is fantastic and it has this golden hue that looks similar to the contents of Marcellus Wallce’s briefcase in Pulp Fiction. There’s no cool way to state this so, “it is a very pretty beer.” There you go.

This beer is close to my favorite wild ale, but not quite.

S: This has an amazing apricot and peach smell to it and a crackle from the tiny champagnesque bubbles. The brettanomyces follows second with a sort of Bretty funk that reminds me of rainy days, wet carpet, and delicious soggy paper bags. It’s tough to explain but the oxidation went well in this batch, not sure if it was intended or just a byproduct of the brett C, but it works well with the clean finish presented.

T: There is a nice tart melon aspect to this at the outset that transitions into nectarine. The middle had the types of juicy flavors youd expect in Tropical Starburst and subsides into a juicy dry crisp finish. Overall, wow very good and worthy of the top 100.

M: This has the same mouthfeel as a heavy champagne. A bit thicker than most gueuze but less than some other sours. This comes off to me as an archetypical “American Wild Ale” given the heavy brett, nice balance of sourness, and dry finish. Overall it is crisp and light with a mild dryness similar to a Flanders red with a bit of a Chardonnay apple skin drying to it.

Brute makes me want to just curl up with a warm blankey and get my shine on.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I could drink this back to back all night. The abv is fantastic, the citrus notes are great, and the space for zings and jokes is tough for such a well-done beer. Any complaints at this juncture would be like “Oh the Lotus Esprit doesn’t have automatic windows” sort of concerns. Champagne problems indeed.

This beer is so radiant. So exciting. So strange.

Narrative: “And so I was all like, well, how can I ever be sure that the $450 that I give you is really being put towards an abor-:::FSHHHHHHHHH:::“ The ground crackled with radiant orange and yellow light and a being of pure energy stepped through the void, much to the astonishment of Thad and Trevin. “What the hell are you?” Thad exclaimed in disbelief, orange bolts crackling around the foyer of his palatial studio apartment. “Thad, I am Citrutron, a being of pure citrus energy sent from the future to correct your bitter ways.” The two looked at each other amazed and noted the smell of ripe tangelo waft lazily in the air. “In the future, your bitterness will cause a series of events that even you cannot comprehend, resulting in a future as depressing as it is sour. To counteract this, I have been sent to watch over you and impart sweetness at all times, to guide your wayward palate.” Trevin was pantomiming a masturbatory motion while Citrutron was delivering this speech. A single bolt of bright yellow light struck Trevin directly in the jaw, puckering his substandard comedy routine markedly. “FOR YOU SEE THE GLORY OF THE SWEET DAYS ARE NOW UPON US.” “You mean that from now on, things will be super sweet?” “Exactly Thad, now change the channel to ABC Family, all of their programming is super sweet.” The three enjoyed each other’s company in turn, until Citrutron mysteriously disappeared when the HMO co-pay could not cover their substantial dental bills. He entered a dimensional rift and inhabited the body of a Kern River cyborg, discussed HERE

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HAPPY H(ALE)OWEEN, Time for a Top Rated Quad: St. Bernardus 12, for the Pagan Ritual Haters

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Here’s a top 100 beer that has gone unreviewed for far too long. On a larger point, I have neglected the shit out of quads lately, I usually view them as a halfway house between the sweet English Barleywines and the deep dark succor of Imperial stouts, but they are a beast all unto themselves, worthy of reverence and cool reflection. Even if you have disputes with the monastic roots and don’t see the point of pious reflection and fasting to honor whatever deity that you see fit for whatever ritual rooted in pagan fealty that you happen to believe or cast cool skepticism over, you at least have to respect parsing phrases and independent clauses. And beer.

Sure I could have dropped that $8.99 to show you the 33cl bottle, but is your fucking Google finger broken? Here is what it looks like in draft you lazy ingrates.

Brouwerij St. Bernardus NV
Watou, Belgium
Quadrupel (Quad) | 10.00% ABV

A: Nice deep almost milky caramel countenance, solid lacing, tiny tiny microscopic bubbles that linger long after you drink and a mirror shine to it without any middle carbonation to speak of.

Quads this big and delicious will put your palate in overrustle, use your limit break already.

S: You can hear the groans from the anticipationists a mile away, guess what it smells like? Yes, deep boozy figs, raisins, dates, and a nice malty back bone. If it didn’t, would it really be an exceptional Quad? Maybe but do rhetorical questions still perform well in a global economy? We shall see.

T: This has a nice syrupy quality that is abated by the tiny bubbles that pump up the palate mildly. I don’t want to take deep swallows of this by any means but, it is a great beer to sip on if only a 10oz pour were provided. I don’t want to say that you can’t opt for the old 3 Liter chestnut that we have all seen, however, I will opine that you have demons that you are chasing that the public remains aware of.

You can’t photoshop a quad, no matter how hard you try, it is a tough style to pass off, dating site or otherwise.

M: Again, this has a decent coating lying somewhere between the crazy OG of an imperial stout, that hates you, and a loving DIPA that lingers for a bit too long after dinner parties. This is perfect if you want to brandish a huge corked masterpiece and impress a “boss” languidly. “CORKS IN BEER WELL I NEVER!” the Applebees hostess exclaims as a cork rickochets against a picture of a a tube filled with ice cream.

D: This, somehow, is incredibly drinkable. On paper it seems like a swimming pool in the front yard: things all out of place, problems abound; however this just works. It seems like someone dropped off their idiot savant cousin who decided not to drop a duke in my sink and instead arranged everything amiably. As thick and alcoholic as this is, I still feel this is an everyman[sic woman] beer that is simply delicious.

When you get a trappist ale this drinkable with a solid 10% left hook, someone is gonna be getting some smooches and knuckle sandwiches.

Narrative: “GOD DAMNIT IT, EVERY holiday” “Hey Steve, lower your voice” “OK, every holiday party he does this” Their eyes surveyed the Christmas party and noted several women at the beckon call of a single aged man with a clear graying cul de sac. “HOW DOES HE DO IT!” Steve exclaimed in exasperation. “Come on man, he wears a bold orange robe to parties, talks to women like he’s been drinking 12% beer all day and all night, and performs mild miracles; how do you not love him?” The two watched from their sulking position as old Abby 12 pulled a bottle of Svedka from his robe sleeve. “OK COME ON THAT ISNT EVEN GOOD VODKA!” Both guffawed in disbelief as he chastely rebuffed a woman’s advances and deftly cited passages from the book of Ruth. “RUTH! COME ON WHO KNOWS RUTH!” Steven bemoaned.