Category Archives: beer

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Kona Longboard Island Lager, Hitting the Salty Curl and Getting so Pitted, No Barrels Brah.

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It is hot out, your mouth wants a lager. Admit it. I don’t mean Kuhnhenn Raspberry Eisbock or something crazy, I mean a regular old pale lager. Admit it. In today’s review, we see how it stays light out later in the summer. We learn how the other side drinks with an American Pale Lager. We learn to stand in someone else’s flipflops.

I had this in Maui, appropriately enough. This picture is probably from somewhere in Fresno.

Longboard island lager
Kona Brewing Co.
Hawaii, United States
American Pale Lager | 4.60% ABV

A very light pale gold color with a thin yellow pallor, open any mainstream lager, and well, there you go. What else do you want me to say? When was the last time you poured a pale lager into a glass and had to go retrieve your socks, having them knocked clean off? That’s what I though, Reality Czech, but that doesn’t count. Not a bad looking beer, but a solid type of girl who shops at Forever 21 and begins sentences with “not even gonna lie-” that sort of pedestrian shallowness is what we are dealing with here.

Whenever I hate on pale lagers, the mouthbreathers get all up in arms and defend session beers. Raters gonna rate.

S almost nothing a slight lemon and a hint of bread, water is the overriding note. What does water smell like? Like the salty pipe when you are carving so hard on the barrel getting so pitted. Water smells like a Point Break marathon. It also smells like Trumer Pils, Rolling Rock, Beck’s, those all smell like water+x.

T the taste is very fleeting and imparts a light honey and apple character overall it is water and thin croissant notes. I would make up something flambuoyant or clever but there simply is nothing here but a mild initial taste with a crisp finish. It’s like biting into a malty piece of celery. It is super refreshing and I can see models and size 0 women enjoying this beer judiciously, watching it turn warm in their palms since it serves as a perfect prop so as to say “look, I am slumming it and not drinking a cosmo because the setting dictates such.” It is refreshing and you can drink, well you really would HAVE to drink several, for the desired effects.

Not everything that happens on the beach is a good idea.

M there is almost nothing to comment on, it is exceptionally thin with no coating. The bubbles cascade the limited flavors up and about but, like most Drama club kids, it just doesn’t bring a lot to the table. I would say a Gose would remind me of a longboard, but the limited sweet notes would probably be pretty enjoyable on a hot day. You know what else reminds me of longboards? Long Beach, and no one wants to be reminded of that foul den of iniquity and Sublime fans.

D this is great for manual labor or pushing nerds into trashcans. I can see its refreshing character as having some utility, but the fact is that there are more delicious ways to attain refreshment. Witnessing a high school sophmore deliver a book report on Island of the Blue Dolphins is refreshing, but hardly rewarding. Such is the case with this beer.

SKERLER WE NEED MORE FLAVERS. WE ARE IN DANGER.

Narrative: Tatum’s parents got divorced at age 8, they said it wasn’t his fault. He never got those Streetsharks action figures that he always wanted, he knew it wasn’t his fault. He got placed as a second string nose guard when he was a Senior on the football team, he convinced himself it wasn’t his fault. Somehow, this lackluster individual carried on day by day. He worked diligently at Blockbuster Video, until Netflix arrived and, that really wasn’t his fault either. Ultimately, Ohio’s economy had too many Tatum’s, too many Skylers, too many Aidens, Braydens, Jaydens, Haydens, Maydens, Raidens; but I digress. His strength was his utter lack of individuality. These days, when you get your auto insurance claim handled just appropriately enough, that was the sweet work of Tatum. Update: his job will soon be outsourced.

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New Glarus R and D Gueuze, S you in your A’s, don’t wear a C, and J all over your B’s

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A gueuze? From Wisconsin? Let me hold your horses for you, because I know everyone is gonna get all up in arms about how this is only a “belgian style” imitation of a “real gueuze” and all the trappings that come with that madness. Take a deep breath. I know, this isn’t a blend of three different years of lambic, shhh, hush. People in the midwest need nice things too, so let’s just proceed under the impression that this awesome beer can be called a gueuze, everyone wins in today’s review.

Do you enjoy fine print on your beer bottles? Well sir, you are in luck.

New Glarus Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.20% ABV

1,900 bottles
Brewed March 24, 2009
Bottled August 6, 2010

Brewed in the tradition of the Lambics of Belgium but using a blend of Ale Yeast, Brettanomyces, Lactobacillus, Pediococcus, and Acetobacter. These microorganisms came from our culture collection as well as many collected by Dan around the wilds of Wisconsin! Fermented and aged in Oak. This beer spent the summer of 2009 aging outdoors in used oak barrels, then bottle fermented.

A: The glass has a strange murkiness to it with a clear yellow hue and fluffy white lacing. It is more carbed than I was expecting for the style but, no complaints resounded through the mahogany walls. You’d probably like a picture of the pour right? Well too damn bad, I took that pic with a Blackberry, you’re lucky those janky things even had a camera at all.

This is a blend of some familiar aspects of different styles, but the result is still equally bad ass.

S: There is a tart Ginger ale smell to it. It is not exactly acerbic, but it is certainly sour. Is it the most sour Belgian offering that I have come across? No. But it is not disappointing. There are small bubbles that break and cascade artfully like a Rubens painting. This is just one note granny smith apples, not exceptionally funky or complex, but as refreshing as puppy chow when those Social Security checks run out.

T: Again, this is not overly tart but it has a great grape skin quality to it. There is an element of mild drying some white grape on the finish, but redundancy is redundant. There’s not that big doghouse musk to it that I look for in funky gooezy oferings, but the tartness and acidic lemon zest aspects make this wild ale pretty enjoyable, just not altogether a “gueuze” per se.

My face when this beautiful wild ale hit my glass, straight cowabunga.

M: After the mellow “gueuze” taste, which was more pedio with a slight acidity (read: not gueuze) it mellowed out into this thin, wispy crackling Pan that enchanted the nostrils more than the palate. It doesn’t coat, it doesn’t dry, it just rolls in, hangs out for 4 seconds and then peaces out, leaving its card on your Ikea coffee table. That is all.

D: Given the fact that this beer is so non-commital, it is a great Bachelorette Contestant, but it is a substandard gueuze. I don’t feel that this imparts enough to be worth the effort to obtain it. This is a great beer but trades for much higher than it imparts. You could land a Tilquin or a 3F Oude Gueuze and be all set. Take it with a grain of salt but this is not my favorite representation of the style and there must be a BETTER WAY. But seriously, I don’t feel like paying Lexus premiums for a Prius. This is good, just not as good as the hype would declare.

It would take a hell of a lot of gueuze to get you to this level, usually you are doubled over in a different position.

Narrative: “I like the pink room next to the PURPLE ROOOO-” The new season of the Bad Girls Club would be taxing on Jeremiah’s nerves, for another 3 months. It wasn’t the girls, it wasn’t running the camera, it was just the incessant vapid statements that pulled him limb from limb. “I’m just saying like, not even gonna lie, if someone ever, ok let’s just say, no one can run this place-” He counted the subordinate phrases, not a single statement to be derived from entire sentence. The sweetness of the premise, the light tartness of the girls in passing conversation, and the smell of chardonnay throughout the house was welcoming. “OH NO SHE DI’NT! I AM FINNA SHOW HER WHAT TIME IT ISSSS!!!” but ultimately, this offering was not a show at all really, it was a conglomerate of other base emotions melded into a single unerring gaze through fake eyelashes and colored contact lenses.

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Olde Hickory Eiraphriotes Imperial Pilsner, Reality Czeck meets Temptation

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Every single time that I get one of these Olde Hickory bottles I know that it is going to be herculean effort to get them open. Even their normal beers like the imperial stout uses no fewer than 12 coats of wax to seal the bottles. Who are these fervent North Carolina collectors that require this level of sealing? In today’s outing we have foil, a gold seal, and a Pontiff certificate of Authenticity that I had to deal with before I could give this beer the business. Imperial Pilsners are srs bzness.

How did I celebrate IPA day? With a chardonnay barrel aged imperial pilsner, of course.

Olde Hickory Brewery
North Carolina, United States
American Double / Imperial Pilsner | 7.50% ABV

A: The appearance is dull tangerine orange with nice lacing and foamy carbonation. I had some cling but that was due to the fact that I used as dirty a tulip as possible. This is required by my Carolina contingency, so I can only abide. It looks more like a DIPA than a pilsner but, I don’t miss the yellow hues. I think we are better off without one another, like your iPhone and the Grinder app.

This beer is so extreme, even the chardonnay is imperial pilsner

S: Wait, this is a pils- oh ok, CHARDONNAY barrel aged imperial pilsner. Things are making sense now. This is a pilsner in the same way that a Mitsubishi Evo X is a 4 door compact car. Like people who drink chardonnay, this smell dominates the entire conversation and the muted honey and conbread aspects take a backseat while you listen to a dry narrative about how HARD it is to raise kids as a working parent. It isn’t off putting but, your mind wanders.

T: The dryness from the Chardonnay is like a Jehova’s Witness visit to the OBGYN. There’s a nice oakiness and a tart white grape aspect that is draped lovingly over the tableau of light hops, biscuit malt, Bisquik chalkiness, and a a sweet roll finish. It is a strange hybrid but, innovation comes at the stress upon the trapezius of experience.

White wine and powered up pilsners? My face be all like-

M: This is not as dry in the overall aspect as my earlier simile would connote. It is dry, but it is also hoppy and sweet at the same time. This tug of war match is like Wild N’ Krazy Kids, where the adults are seldom triumphant. The winner is the sweet notes as it warms and the consumer is edified as a result.

D: Despite the abv, and dryness, and crazy chimera that is presented, is exceptionally drinkable. I don’t know if the 750ml fancy schmancy bottle lends itself to drinakbility, but I ball hard so it is sessionable for me, the average poor ass consumer without alcohol problems might not agree but to them I say, how did you end up on this site? Did you Google Channing Tatum sex tape? Well here we are.

This beer is a big refreshing blast to the face.

Narrative: the premise is that Dionysus has an evil twin, that doesn’t drink. The two switch roles on a blind date, or something. My liver hurts too much to flesh this one out today, do your own work.

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Russian River Brewing Framboise for a Cure, The Perfect Cure for Those Thursday Blues

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Alright before everyone starts bitching and pulling out their cellar penises: YES, this is batch 2. This is the old “Temptation” base not the “Beatification/Sonambic” base that all the fanboys rave about but guess what- IT IS STILL DELICIOUS AND PRETTY rartastic so let’s stomp smashing each other’s raspberries and get on with today’s review. For the cure.

The sales benefit breast cancer, the beer cures my lingering sobriety.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: Holy radioactive hell, call the mayor of Raspberry Town because his test subject from the lab has escaped. The hue is overwhelmingly beautiful and I am sure you could use this to light your way if you every got lost at a dark Filipino rave. It is straight up Mariana Trench bright luminescence with pinks and radiant Lisa Frank binder hues. One of the prettiest beers that I have ever seen.

I was already enjoying Temptation, and then Raspberry Dubstep happened.

S: This has a nice tart berry at the outset and a waft of lingering fruit dryness like a Farmer’s Market gone horribly right. The whole thing beckons like an acidic smoothie. There is a slight earthy note that isn’t funk but isn’t quite the berries themselves, let’s just assume it is ground up stems and seeds and sticks, put it in the air.

T: The taste is incredibly tart with a lactic aspect to it but the fresh berries balance things out and offer a good palate/bad palate routine that works well. I got a hint of Chardonnay but it’s like hearing the organ in a song by the Murder City Devils, you really have to look for it, the whole affair is dominated by fresh, tart raspberry preserves.

This beer is incredibly strong, but gentle at the same time.

M: The mouthfeel is dry and puckering not in the same acid range as those hot lambics or that asshole Sch. Kriek, but still holds its own with a light finish that leaves a lasting acrimonious memory and some signed raspberry headshots in your palate’s studio to remember them by.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and you might even be able to do it without a Mylanta chaser. It is incredibly simple in execution and lacks some of the funk and musk that some of the Eastern gems bring, but the raspberries and fresh acidic finish are too good to pass up. For all the problems that I had with Temptation, both of them, are remedied in this format with an awesome Oops! all berries panache. I will donate plenty of money for cures if this is the recompense. NPR needs to start just kicking out lambics for their members and watch how short those pledge drives would be.

I can see this beer changing over time into something magnificent.

Narrative: Macualay Culkin gritted his frail mandible and threw the copy of US! Weekly into the fireplace of his spacious 1 bedroom Koreatown apartment. “ADDICTED TO HEROIN!?” he thought to himself and looked at his sunken, pale features. “Look at you man! You’re the picture of good health, Mac!” The crimson rifts in his eyes pumped all white aspects a pale pink. “Sure, I might look a little gaunt once in a while, but living in Los Angeles, am I supposed to be in the sun all the time?” A paparazzi flashbulb pierced his flimsy IKEA curtains and he pulled them closed. “I know what to do! I must appear as the paradigm of health to my loyal fans.” He collected a biographical work concerning the expulsion of the Huguenots from the Bourbon Empire and a big bottle of raspberry juice. He headed directly to the Grove and attempted to look non-chalant while grimacing at the taste of real fruits. He could not understand a single word about the Edict of Nantes and looked nauseous the entire time. Next week’s issue of US! Weekly read “Kevin McCallister FALL FROM GRACE! IN DETOX WITH RASPBERRY JUICE AND UNREADABLE LITERATURE!” He lithely held his hands to his cheeks and muttered a faint “erghhhhh-“

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Hill Farmstead Society and Solitude #4, If You Haven’t Seen Parts 1-3 You Might Not Be Able to Follow

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I know, I know. In my Fear and Trembling review I said I would ratchet back on the Hill Farmstead reviews, but a DIPA this good and the generosity that I have unexpectedly incurred warranted some sticky new hop beats for the club. Can’t leave hops alone the game needs me.

If you don’t like drinking REAL juice, and Wakefield Berliners are too nutritious for you, this will do JUST FINE.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: This has that classic Hill Farmstead milkiness to it with a creamy opaque orange glow that is turbid and frothy at the same time. There’s a ton of sticky lacing with generous carbonation that stacks and layers like US Weekly magazines in a hoarder’s home.

The number of amazing beers from this brewery is too damn high. Add some filler once in a while, brew a red ale or something.

S: The smell is incredible with notes of tangelo, grapefruit rind, tangerines, and blood orange. The pine aspect is muted but oversees and doesn’t micromanage, the sign of a true leader. The subordinate malts seem light and support the olfactory profile like a keystone in a Gothic cathedral.

T: This has a nice citrus aspect to it that is lighter than Abner in the fistfulls of pine needles, the citrus aspect is unmistakably well done and starts to infringe upon the classic Citra taste that I have become so indoctrinated to. The orange rind lingers as though there was pithy orange peels tossed into the boil, but I somehow know that they did with with no adjuncts, Vermont rolls au natural with a nice supple hop rack.

Unlike your horrible Comcast internet, this beer has always got you covered.

M: The mouthfeel has a dry oiliness from the hops that imparts an acidic bite and lingers, handing out fliers to the exiting taste buds. The entire affair is incredibly pleasant and the 750ml growler seems inexplicably too small as a result. The greatest problem in this review would be separating this amazing DIPA from their other incredible entries, Double Citra, Abner, Galaxy, the list goes on. I would say that this is better than Abner and Double Citra, but falls just short of Galaxy single hop. It is robust but presents a great diversity that keeps it memorable. At this point though, it is like selecting WHICH Lambo best expresses your personality.

D: This is exceptionally drinkab- oh hey the growler is gone. It is just that easy. 8% has never been so fleeting, the citrus kiss is a deep acidic wateriness that clips along like a Jetski with two naked Ford models on the juice ocean.

This brewery will keep rolling out awesome DIPAs, I have a pretty good idea that is what is going on.

Narrative: Blammo Corp. was in dire straights and the new toy line was simply not working. The citrus acid battery only served to get nerdy kids beat up at school and prevented home school kids from getting laid. Finally Bill Walmsly had hit rock bottom and pulled over to a roadside fruit stand after the pre-Chapter 11 meeting. He sighed and kicked a rotting strawberry and sat watching the lemon yellow sun sinking into the horizon. “Ahn sometimes…chu know you jas…see the son and es like…naranja.” Bill looked up and saw a sage old Bolivian man polishing a tangelo on his worn Tommy Hilfiger overalls. “Ahn sometimes…you jos say, I don’t need material theengs, es solo importante a ser feliz.” Mr. Walmsly nodded and listened to the broken English of this migrant labor Erasmus and rubbed his chin. “If we can convince kids that they don’t need toys…WE WILL MAKE A KILLING.” The following Friday, Sabino handed out a ripe pluot to each of the board members and continued a bilingual phillipic which seemed to last hours, “en see, chu give kids all the fruitas, and they say, well why can’t we ride the bus then, maybe you don’t need a car when estas dieciseis?” The members looked around confused, Sabino had failed to captivate their minds with his pro-citrus resignation from establish society. Mr. Walmsly injected “and on that note, we will now be selling mango flavored action figures coated in cayenne pepper and grapefruits with fireworks inside of them.” Old Bill had done it again and saved the company from certain ruin. He never forgot that stoic old Sophist, Sabino. A gorgeous marble bust was placed in the grand foyer of Blammo Corp.

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Oscar Blues Ten Fidy, I Gave That Loch Ness Monster About Ten Fidy

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This is the best stout that comes in a can, that is until Peg’s G.O.O.D. Rare D.O.S. gets its canning line up and running this fall [fn1 – citation not found.] But having the best canned beer is kinda like being the hottest camp counselor at D.A.R.E. camp, you really didn’t accomplish much. Let’s look beyond that cold metallic exterior at the heart of this dark beast in today’s review

God. Damn. Loch Ness MONSTAHHHHH

Ted Fidy, Imperial Stout
Oscar Blues, 10.5% ABV

A: This has a pretty viscous appearance to it with nice coating and sticky mahogany carbonation. However, contrary to what most people think, this is not the most viscous used motor oilesque beer that I have ever seen. Rare, Parabola, Abyss, and particularly Hunapuhs are all thicker and exhibit better coating. That is not to say this beer isn’t as black as Satan’s magic, it is. It has tiny bubbles and isolated dots of lacing.

Canned beer: changing the face of the United States, can by can.

S: There is a bit of coffee and some black licorice. You can smell the roasted malts and a sort of burnt turbinado sugar. The bouquet is a bit flat and unremarkable, pretty standard for the genre and style.

T: It has a huge bitter chocolate sweetness at the outset that subsides into deep chocolate malts and finishes with a drying effect. This is a very solid offering especially for the non-barrel aged crowd that can be seen as so pedestrian. Everyone just shaking their heads, “tisking” to their heart’s desire, knowing that a baller version exists out there.

An amazing stout from a can? Well then-

M: The mouth feel has a great stickiness that lingers for about 25 seconds after you swallow it. The mouthfeel is thick but not oppressively so. For the huge gravity and alcohol of this beer, it doesn’t come off as overly filling. I enjoy the interplay of sweet and very bitter elements.

D: Strangely, this is a very delicious and drinkable stout, despite its shortcomings in the aroma and taste aspects. This is not a session beer, but the cans make it very versatile and I can finally take a huge thick stout to the beach. All of my dreams finally come true, my tossing a Frisbee around care free, swishing in the tide with stained khaki teeth.

Beer in a can, works every time.

Narrative: “Don’t do it Sarah, don’t send that tweet,” the former Vice President nominee told herself with waning confidence. “Just stay out of it, people don’t need to know your opinion of Chick-Fil-A, just put the phone down.” Suddenly, the opulent den of her Alaskan parlor was filled with a deep gaseous spirit, murky and black, flowing like crushed linen. “Yesshhhh Miss Palinnn, tell themmm, let them knowww you schiinkkkk that CHICK FILLL EHHH isss a good businessss” this petulant black demon had been her ill advising counsel on more than one occasion. Five years ago she was trekking through the Alaskan tundra and found a small Inuit artifact with warning inscriptions on it, and the rest is pretty heavily implied. “Annnddd thennn once they know how you feeeelllll, you should thennn startttt talking about GUNNN CONNTROLLL and vvviiiiideeeoooo game VIOLLLEEENNNCEEE, tie it in to REECEENT EVENNNTSS.” She nodded with stern contemplation and sent a series of tweets the pundits could only call “completely par for the course.”

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Brooklyn Monster Barleywine Ale, The Monster Under Your Bed Is Your Uncle Drunk on Barleywine

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I went to Manhattan once. It was loud and humid and everything was needlessly expensive and people ran like Korean commuters everywhere. On that trip I tried some random gems that I picked up at some liquor stores in the village, with a staggering markup. The KBS bottle that I enjoyed was $9.59 for a single 12oz bottle. Ruminate on that one Michigan, the next time you think about complaining. Anyway, let’s get all into Monsters in today’s review:

I went all the way to Manhattan and drank this there, that’s how dedicated I am to, drinking things kinda in the eponymous settings.

Brooklyn Monster Ale
English Barleywine, 10.1% abv

A: Deep amber hues with transparency, no lack of clarity, nice middle bubbles, medium carbonation, bubbles that stand firm like an undergrad’s convictions, albeit lacking substance, not unlike an undergrad’s conviction.

Whenever I see a barleywine, my hopes are sky high, then I see that it is an American style barleywine and I be all like-

S: It has a thinner character than most American barley wine profiles but the understated notes are good, some cherries and currant on the nose, Oak, ginger and caramel in the waft. It comes across like a halfway home between American and English barleywines, really, master of jacking trades for none. It is interesting but nothing earth shattering. Earth remains unsheltered, albeit, not unimpressed.

T: The taste really lacks the fruit aspects and has some grape skin, plums, woody dryness, and an herbal hop finish to it. Maybe some barrel aging would have done this more justice, however, it seems lacking in a distinct note to it given the traditional aspects but, no one ever complains while driving a Honda Accord, they just wish for a Lambo.

After having so many amazing barrel aged barleywines, it makes it difficult to take the non-BA offerings seriously.

M: It is much thinner than I expected for the ABV and maybe the lack of maltiness is an attempt to embrace the English side, but, then again I hate when English people do things. They just end up more unreliable and expensive, by my experience. So, is the mouthfeel of this Aston Martin worth the entry price? Yes. Could you spend your time on a bolder more experienced barley wine? Sure. Again, this is a solid beer, a welcome extra, but not something I would seek out, living 3500 miles from its blast radius.

D: It is exceptionally drinkable as a result of the mild malts, thin mouthfeel, great hop character, and juicy dark fruit. It feels similar to a watered down quad more than a barley wine but, here I am just complaining about my struggle buggy while a SIDNEY BICHET SONG IS ON!

This beer, like 50 Cent, will make your whole block feel like summa.

Narrative: “Oh god, they know, they have to know.” Chet Warrington was breathing deeply in the presence of his inlaws. “Allo! Es quite a oice moyning eh soire!” His faux cockney accent resonated through the stone archway with an echoing falseness. His father in law sipped his Earl Grey tea knowingly and utter slowly, “My dear son, I fear not your intention, but cast upon this trepidation, it is ceremony redux outright.” Chet tried to casually laugh off the statement utter to him, which he had no idea how to interpret. These coy englishmen were so dapper, so poised, but so difficult to grasp. “Eres a lump of tea et ees!” He recreated his character from Pygmalion impeccably and smiled a goofy smile to the Earl whose crisp Burberry suit remained uncreased. The lesson he learned from this whole debacle was that it was a fool’s errand to emulate the English, for they were all knowing, and inimitable.

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Drie Fountenein Schaerksbaek Kriek, Just Try Pronouncing That Without Sounding Like a Beer DBag (BDB)

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You’ve been to the bottle shop. You’ve seen this Belgian treat for $39.99 and you’ve always wondered if you’re worth it. Let’s pop your Sch. cherry in today’s review. You are worth it to me.

Get ready for some face melting, and I don’t mean from cat dander.

Drie Fountenein Schaerksbaek Kriek
6% abv, kriek, no shit.

A: It glows a transparent crimson hue with magenta notes at the edges. The middle carbonation is unparalleled. It looks like a red champagne, but more refined and people actually buy this. No lacing, no stickiness, just cherry sticky shurikens cast pell mell.

Poured a radioactive cherry beer, my face was like-

S: There is an intense drying of cherry skins and cabernet tannins. It feels a bit vaporous but fulfilling. It smells really dirty, like a cherry locker room, where they engage in all their tawdry cherry muskiness. You know the type, the movies are under your bed as we speak.

T: It just infiltrates and the cherry is clearly the hostage in this drying, hostile currant raid. It is incredibly crisp and it empties the vault of your palate and smashes the glass case within your bitter zones and imparts a mild hopiness that is almost imperceptible to the incredible acidity left behind. It hurts my tum tum, but it tastes like burning in a good way.

Feel that acidity light up your chest, embrace the GI problems.

M: It feels like I am being worked over by the cherry mafia, It is crisp and amazing for a moment, then I feel my gum line recede when the incredible acidic flavors impart their magic. It is worth it. Each swallow is crisp like champagne and beckons for more.

D: This is incredibly drinkable if you have a fortitude for incredibly tart hectoring. I could merk bomber after bomber, but I am not of the everyman opinion. Most will give this an offputting vinegar rating and complain about the tartness while I am shooting it all over my chest like a victorious Nascar entrant. That’s how I roll in the kriek.

Feed lambics to 95 lbs girls, observe results.

Narrative: “I love this Farmer’s Market, but I LOVE YOUR CHERRIES MOST OF ALL FARMER JOB!” he smiled wryly and handed the customer her 2 lbs of organic cherries. “I would KILL for these cherries on the east coast!” She turned on her heel and Farmer Job exhaled “she doesn’t know old boy, take a breather, relax.” He pushed past the back curtain into his back lab. The truth was that his entire cherry empire was fueled on the blood of felled cherry trees. He looked at their mangled forms, bleeding out, their saccharine juices imparting life to his super cherries. “Soon, soon my grafts will impart tartness beyond belief.” “BUT HOW MANY TREES MUST GIVE THEIR LIVES FOR YOU GOALS!” an apparition called from his potted apothecary. Farmer Job fell to his knees not unlike the character whom his name is unabashedly derived. “OH GARDENING TENANTS! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME SO!” At that moment, the most succulent cherry blossom opened in his face. It was at those times that Farmer Job was the weakest, that there was one set of footprints in the cherry soil that the super cherries carried him.

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Lost Abbey Box Set Track 7 – The Devil Inside, Devil on the Inside, Clean on the Outside

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Ok, let’s give some context to this box set series since most people have more productive things to do with their time than monitor rare ass beer releases. Lost Abbey is releasing one of these beers each month, available for consumption onsite only, in limited numbers. You cannot take bottles away, don’t ask or you’ll get socked. You can enter a lottery to win a box set of all 12 tracks, to be sold at the end of the year. So, basically massive whale box is what we are looking at here. Here is July’s track: The Devil Inside.

If you have ever drank too many lambic/sours, you have felt the devil inside.

The Lost Abbey
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 8.12% ABV

Here’s what the brewery has to say:

“We went back to the well for this one. It is a remix of our classic Veritas 006 aka sangria. We have raspberry and cherry providing the bulk of the fruit texture over a sour yellow base beer. To this we also added some orange peel and freshly zested mandarin orange zest as well. The beer finishes with a nice tannic finish and is truly a refreshing riff on a Lost Abbey classic. ”

A: This is a deep crimson meets magenta look that is inviting like a Lisa Frank binder but menacing like the velvet curtains of that touchy camp counselor you remember too well. The lacing is minimal and the bubbles are light but crackly with acidic rancor. The whole thing looks and feels like a Prince concert, and the elegance is maintained.

When the server dropped off the bottle and radiant glass, I was all like-

S: This has a huge acidic and berry profile with notes of blackberry, raspberry, cherry, currant, tart plum, and a nice citrus finish. It is evident that you will need to switch to PPO dental insurance for drinks like this, because the acidity is nothing to fuck with.

T: This crackles with a juicy acrimonious burn along the gumline that brings some awesome fruits to the bouquet. There’s cherry tannins, that raspberry dryness that you remember from Framboise de Amarosa, then slinking in sheepishly is that fruit profile from V007 that we previously visited. This doesn’t feel devilish, necessarily, but it has a deeeeep burn like those cross-fit box jumps you are so sick of hearing about.

Take fruits and make amazing beer with them: FUCK YOU SCIENCE.

M: This is incredibly dry and tannic like a red wine that has been juicing and using n0x for a sick deep pump. There’s a juiciness at the outset that brings a nice sweetness to accompany the acidic profile. You might get some ulcers from this, but it’s a way cooler story than the old “oh I worked at a failing car dealership” song and dance that burns most people out.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable if you are one of those kinds of people that can play Lifeforce or Rock Band on Expert for hours on end. It is relentlessly punishing but incredibly satisfying. I recommend winning the box set and then taking this one to Jamba Juice and then just sip on this while looking at the other suckers getting fruits in their boring, traditional way.

When you have enough hardcore sours, you start to understand the nature of the universe.

Narrative: Mikayla “Raven” Collier was not adjusting well to 8th grade. Her parents had moved 4 times in the past 5 years and it had taken a toll on her frail psychological profile. As a result, she turned to the all too common practice of adolescent necromancy. The PDF Necronomicon file that she downloaded was substantial and she printed it onto parchment paper from Staples, to give it a genuine luster. She assembled her other awkward friends, the girl with the inexplicable orthopedic back brace, the large girl with a massive lisp to match, and the Samoan girl from her P.E. class. The children had no materials from which to summon the dark fugues of the past. It was almost impossible to find solid alchemy materials in a track home in Charlotte, North Carolina so they made do with what was around the house. Raven found a box of produce from the monthly fruit colelctive that her “lame ass” parents subscribed to and produced the most evil fruit of them all: the unholy durian. After crushing copious amounts of blood pulp from raspberries and cherries, Samoan girl lit the incense. She brandished a Cutco knife, uttered the scrawling script in papyrus font, and cut the foul blackness open, releasing the odious soul of the durian, crusher of mankind. The eyes of the pubescent girls watered and they nodded, this was still much less shitty than Sadie Hawkins.

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Darkhorse Brewing Plead the 5th, For Those Nights When You Are Going to Self-Incriminate

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It’s no secret that I absolutely love the Bourbon Barrel version of this beer, but what about the original source of all the majesty? Is this the magnificent seed from which the 14% abv monster was begotten? We shall see in today’s review. If things get heated, step down from this review and plead that fif.

I lost my picture of the beer, somehow after hundreds of reviews, got feided like Tyga. So if this is yours, enjoys its notoriety on my site.

Dark Horse, Plead the 5th
Imperial Stout, 12% abv

A: This is another deep, angry stout, and it delivers on the appearance in a huge way. The inky blackness spills out as from a pressed squid, delivering no splashiness, just dropped heavy and thick into the glass with little rebound. This is incredibly viscous and lets no light escape its dark pallor. Nice mocha chocolate foamy head that subsides at its own pace.

This is not as amazing as the barrel aged bretheren, but I regret nothing.

S: This has huge acidic coffee notes, bitter chocolate, burnt caramel, and smoked raisins present. Very nice smell, this beer has nice roast and a great cocoa finish. No jokes to be made here, pretty by the numbers, much like an episode of Home Improvement.

T: This tastes very similar to Event Horizon, but with more of a coffee bitterness to it in place of the sweet notes. This delivers a great sweet chocolate note for a moment then starts going to town on the haunches of your bitter zones almost taking your mouth to a tobacco no-no zone where daddy keeps his secret things. The most pleasant part of this beer is the swallow which is, trout cleaning, firewood gathering, man all the way though. It is a deep bitter smokiness with hints of cigar. Tough enough.

This is how it feels to sip pt5. For rls.

M: This isn’t a malt bomb, despite the huge flavor profile, it has a moderately fleeting taste that allows the taster to reel a bit but return wanting more and not carrying it around all day like a pengiun with a salmon in his backpack. It imparts huge charred notes and then gets on down to the liver where the matter of payment is directly at hand.

D: This isn’t exactly drinkable, but for the same reasons that make it great. A Dodge Viper would be a great car for Sunday drives where you take pictures of local children at parks with a high power lens, but not an everyday experience. It is just too imbalanced and aggressive to really invite over to dinner or have on a long car ride. Somehow, I get the impression that this beer doesn’t care what I have to say about it. If a beer had a dismissive brow, this is it, it stares down it scornfully waiting for me to complete my order uncaring of my tastes.

I dont know if pleading this fifth will protect you from anything, but the stories will be amazing.

Narrative: “But, if I don’t testify, the record will remain incomplete and all those people will think that I RAPED THAT GIRL!” William Colgate pleaded with his attorney entreatingly. His counsel, Bruce Levinson sighed audibly and rested both palms on the cool metal table in between them. “GOD DAMNIT WILL. If you DO TESTIFY, they will find out that you RAPED HER DOG.” There was a tense silence between them for a moment and William sipped his water pensively. “I ain’t no human raper. I don’t get off on that SICK SHIT” he noted emphatically. “Well quite the catch-22 we have here, your alibi make it seem as though you raped the dog sitter, but GUESS WHAT, you aren’t charged with raping her, you are on trial for animal abuse” Bruce ejaculated and slid a packet toward William. “You have to plead the Fifth, we can’t have you testify, human raper or no.” William sighed and shook his head in disbelief, “well, if that’s the way of it, I guess Scylla of sexual assault is no better than the Charybdis of dog sex.” Both parties looked at one another in cool reverence.