Category Archives: beer

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Midnight Sun Arctic Devil Barleywine, . . .And the Devil Makes Three.

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Well it was only a matter of time before this angry beast showed up. It is a top 100 beer that took me a while to land but once I did, the maltgina was never the same. Initially I traded a 2011 Black Tuesday for the 2008 Arctic Devil and people were clowning me like I bought a Better than Ezra T shirt, acting like i got all ripped off. The 2008 was gentle and caressing, but that makes for boring ass reviews, let’s look explicitly at the asshole version: 2011.

Running with the Devil.

A: This has a nice wateriness to it like the beginnings of a boozy Arnold Palmer. It has some ruby hues at the edges but the center is all business heavy malt. The wispy carbonation falls off faster than Aubrey O’ Day. There is no lacing and it’s a fairly spartan affair as far as appearances go, unlike Aubrey O’ Day.

If you kill an entire bottle of this to yourself, be prepared to look and sound like this.

S: Wow this beer takes you to the candyshop. There is a deep burnt caramel and sweet brown sugar like mammy just made some cream of wheat for you to mash on. Mama lets me lick the spoon.

T: The sweetness pokes its head out for a moment and imparts a molasses, maple, and toffee flavor that quickly ducks back into its hole for the malty winter that sets in. This maltverine knows how to dish out the bitter and the sweet concurrantly. That wasn’t a typo, there’s a nice hoppy dryness and a currant note to it as well, not infection, but in the tannic manner. I previously had a 2008 bottle of this and I am now scrapping that entire review because this beer is COMPLETELY different like in an Urkel vs. Stefan way. The 2008 way boring, muted, smooth, and predictable. I like this crazy, boozy, erratic Urkel version way more, there’s a lot more Jaleel White malt up in this bitch.

It's tough to accurately describe how good this is, so, here's some pics of iguanas in sexy poses.

M: There’s a nice oakiness to this beer that dries but at the same time presents a pulpit for the saccharine notes to preach from in a perfunctory manner. I can’t really focus on how the carbonation or coating is because this is such a complicated ass beer, just from typing this sentence some new banana esters starting rolling in as the beer warms and they are welcome. The booziness is a bit intense but it is welcome to separate the men from the bitchly wines. It’s funny that, for a beer called Arctic Devil, it actually tastes way worse at colder temperatures. They should call this lukewarm devil and people will be more on the rails for how to serve it.

Mmm well my devil certainly isn't Arctic.

D: Well, take all of this in the context of a 13.4% beer: this is amazingly drinkable. It is not like a hef on a hot summer day after you just got done beating your children for leaving the hose on, not that level of refreshment, but for the cold 65 degree winter I am suffering through right now, it hit the spot better than a run on sentence.

This tease in his tiny bed.

Narrative: Clayton was raised in suburban Ohio and always dreamed that his mediocre bar chords and major melody driven pop tunes would catapult him to the same fame that Hootie and the Blowfish once enjoyed. But a Darius Rucker he was not and reality set in, in the particular Ohio way wherein he informed all his friends that he was going to make it in Los Angeles. Spoiler alert: his accoustic guitar was not on par with Puddle of Mudd and therefore, in the strict hierarchy or talent = success that is the music industry, he was resigned to work at Chili’s. Finally, in a night of desperation he left work after having a few too many hard Mango Ice Teas, and stumbled upon the Westwood streets, which was practically what they were designed for. In his moment of weakness an opaque badger appeared before Clayton. “Are you my spirit animal?” he muttered through the smell of cheap gin. “Clayton, long have I waited for this moment of desperation, your place is amongst the caribou in the upper reaches of this planet,” the badger noted remonstratively. “But why snow badger, on those times when I needed you most I saw only 2 sets of pawprints in the snow?” “You see Clayton, it was those times when you drank 4loko and were the most wasted, that I carried you.” Clayton nodded and knew that frostmourne hungered for arctic adventures. The Anchorage police retrieved his body from a Mitsubishi Mirage just weeks later and the autopsy report unprofessionally noted the cause of death as “Suicide, kinda?…X-D”

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Hill Farmstead, Society and Solitude, Ralph Waldeezy Emerseezy would be proud

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If you haven’t caught the vibe just yet, I ride Hill Farmstead’s jock like a Sybian. I will seek out anything and everything that they release for the simple reason that every, single, thing that I have had from them has been nothing short of amazing. The only beer that was a B+ to me was Jim and that was still an amazing beer, just not suited to my palate. So here we go, another world class Double Black IPA, inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Some prefer Society, others prefer Solitude, and then some people prefer both and have to issue apologies for Party Rockin.

Hill Farmstead, Society and Solitude, Black Double IPA, 9.5% abv

A: At first glance this looks like someone fucked up and sent me Everett and I am about to spend 25oz in Porterville. Not the central California mountain town. Then you pour a little bit and shit turns arboreal very quickly. The beer cascades from the swingtop growler in a needlessly descriptive stream of jet black with mellow mahogany at the edges and the user ponders where the line between charred malt and hop usage places his palate in this penumbra of capricious tastes. The carbonation is dead on, not too much, not too sparse and the lacing looks like a monochromatic Jackson Pollack work. She is a thing of beauty, fuck Stella.

Just the smell and look of this beer takes you to a magical far away place of verdant fields and floral culture, Didney Worl.

S: This is interesting beyond belief. Most black IPAs I shirk off in a cantankerous manner, upturning my mandible and tightening my lips. This thing is the real deal. I thought double dry hopped Stone Sublimely Self Righteous did not have fuck arounds to spare, but this thing is in the poor house if fuck arounds were currency. It comes right out with a pine that subsides into a chocolate waft, just when you think shit is tame: a MINT NOTE. I am dead serious, then some juniper and finally the citrus grapefruit I was looking for, all in all its like the craft aisle of Michaels went into a blender and then was coated in Godiva chocolate, and it is fucking amazing.

T: The taste just carries out the complexity and the bitter and sweet zones of your mouth are already dividing up the tenancy in common because they can’t agree on shit. It starts with a nice english stout or american porter charred chocolate roastiness that, upon swallow turns into this epic Mars Volta solo of herbal notes and again, fucking MINT and juniper are present. To bookend the experience, the chocolate delivers a nice eulogy to the sip and your tastebuds mourn the loss. But shit is on again real soon, to the tune of 24oz more.

This beer gives me so many feels. Feels like I am in gay Paree, feels like Vermont, feels like Chocolate Factoree.

M: The mouthfeel is similar to a heavy DIPA or a thin imperial porter. God damn, if I wasn’t so lazy I would make a line graph but, just use your imagination, I shouldn’t have to make an App for every aspect of description. The bitterness from the hops lingers far longer than the bakers chocolate aspect and I like it more that way, the coating feels lighter as a result and suddenly a 750ml growler seems pretty insubstantial. It’s like if you’ve ever dated a girl who just gets on your nerves and you bemoan every visit to Chick Fil-A with her, but when she goes away to her Mormon mission, you have a tiny Latter Day Saint Shaped hole in your heart. You know the feeling.

D: This beer is incredibly drinkable for how ambitious the flavor palate is. For all the mint, chocolate, pine, grapefruit madness going on, the glass seems to have a mild leak, directly into my mouth. However, I don’t know if I should rate this relative to the other Hill Farmstead offerings since the 2 Liter growler of Galaxy that I drank, by myself, was gone instantly and all my characters were power leveled when I woke up the next morning. It was like the RPG fairy just changed the game on me. So yeah, super drinkable.

Hill Farmstead beers always strike me as so distinctly American and I am always left with that lingering suspicion and sadness when the growler is empty. Get beers from Vermont they said, pay Fedex bills from California they said.

Narrative: After losing his job at the pencil factory Gunnar Taylorson was at a loss with what to do with himself. His degree in American Studies did not seem to evoke the sense of awe and prestige that he had predicted, despite graduating from the inimitable University of Florida, an institution practically enshrined in American Study. After long hard thought and several days at the EDD and unemployment offices, Gunnar resolved to set forth into the everglades and open a boutique herboreum. His business plan was simple, venture deep into protected government lands, uproot rare plants, grind them down into a consumable paste without FDA approval, and then sell it within interstate commerce: a bulletproof scheme. The first concoctions largely just caused blindness and erections that lasted more than 4 hours, and he felt like a failure. “GOD DAMNIT GUNNAR, the hell were you thinking, a deep south apothecary? You should have just went and worked at the Waffle House fer fucks sake!” he would think to himself. One day, while speeding about on his stolen pontoon boat he came across a rare hibiscus flower in the shape of someone flipping you off. “Well fuck you flower,” he quipped as he pulled the lot of them from the roots. He sold them piecemeal to passers by and it soon became apparent that Gunnar had stumbled upon a tactile halucinogen. The south never seemed so interesting or so racist as when you viewed the scope of nature with your fingertips in a Baton Rouge AMPM.

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Charleville Vineyards And Microbrewery, Box of Chocolate, Mama Always Said Life Was Like a Box of Cliches

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I remember seeing this beer tearing up the billboard charts last year and I never quite understood what was going on. Ok so it is a quad, so there’s gonna be some pitted fruits and deep malts and, oh wait what? No it’s chocolate. So it’s a stout? No, it’s a quad. Yeah see, fucking confusing. Anyway, I finally traded for one and here are the results, NESTLE` your ass into this review.

See what I did there? CONTEXT IMAGES, hot chocolate on chocolate action. GOD DAMN IT IS SO META.

Charleville Vineyards And Microbrewery, Box of Chocolate, Quadruple, 10.5% abv

A: This seriously looks like Coca-Cola Classic. Next section. Ok fine, it has a mild wateriness that is black in the center and darker at the edges. The lacing is minimal and there’s a big watery profile going on with middle effervescence throughout. It doesn’t look like a quad, but that’s what the Temecula boys said before they broke their necks on those sick dune runs.

This beer is all good and fun with your friends but drinking it alone you just get hit by the caramel refuse truck.

S: There is some chocolate, but moreover I get a sticky sweetness more like maple syrup or burned caramel. I have definitely encountered more chocolatey monsters than this offering as far as noses go. August Gloop would be disappointed as all hell.

T: Ok there we go, even at a very chilly temp, the chocolate comes through and. . .that’s about it. You get a very mild caramel finish but it is seriously just a one note chocolate that fades into cocoa and caramel. I don’t to make a Rolo comparison because those are more sticky and decadent but this is a watery rolo, it has the chocolate going on, but if you’ve ever had Chocolate Rain, this will seem like the anemic artsy brother who is into interpretive dance chocolate. Not the hardcore 85% shit.

I was so jazzed for some decadent treat, and while the chocolate was still very present, I was all like-

M: This is incredibly watery and almost comes off closer to a porter in mouthfeel with less roasted malts. The sweetness gets a bit old after about 5 ounces and this is clearly meant to be shared. No one ever sits down to this much chocolate unless she’s single on 2/14 and there happens to be Lifetime marathon on. There is this lingering Dr. Pepper finish that makes me assert that this soda character is there through and through with the syrupy notes on the finish. But it’s like the busser fucked up and didn’t put the co2 mix right on the soda machine because it gives too much chocolate caramel and not enough xanthan gum.

D: I guess if you are at a 5th grade sleepover, this would be ideal. However, if you are bringing 10.5% craft beer to a sleepover with 10 year-olds, we have some other things to discuss. The more this warms, the thinner that the beer feels and the big old box of chocolate that I was expecting is turning more and more into a bag of Mr. Pibb concentrate. It doesn’t paint the walls with decadence, it just leaves a mild wateriness that sprays away with the gentlest of Shamwow treatments.

It is so much chocolate and burnt soda goodness, I can't handle this formidable bomber alone. Halp plz.

Narrative: The rain streaked small rivulets down the pane of Jericho’s hazy window. Phoenix never received this much rain and ever since he received that debilitating text message, it seemed to pour even harder. Jericho aka Faded J aka the Feeze had a budding hip hop career in the strictest sense of the word, a graft planting really. He tried unsuccessfully to learn Fruity Loops, then audio forge, then a simple Casio keyboard, until ultimately he decided that Arizona needed a pure lyricist. Notwithstanding the foregoing, his girlfriend dumped him after a staggering 5 months of these charades. “Jericho, your raps sound like change in a dryer and have the rhyme structure of an E.E. Cummings epic,” she would rail at him while he tapped out his sonnets on a Pringles can, crafting his magnum opus, 300 bars dissing a variety of movie theater chains for overcharging on concessions. “Your candy aint even sick, why you always, even, I mean, I am just here posted up chilling with my chick, not a bitch, but you know, like, Cookie Dough bites for like what, sometimes $4.50. . .well fuck that shit.” The local manager of the AMC autotuned the flows and received over 500,000 hits, at poor Faded J’s expense. Now he was sitting caressing the case of Cookie Bites that was sent to him in concession, the bitter chocolate underscoring the pain on his mediocre existence.

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2007 Michelob Cherry Lager, I’ll Take You To The Cherry Shop, Let You Lick the Lager Pop

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Well Saints alive, what rare vintage have we been blessed with today? You read the foregoing correctly, a delicious Michelob Cherry Lager, aged for 5 years in a lava lamp. Shit is getting real in an around the field.

Some things age gracefully, like a sweet persian cat whos- ok I can't do it, this ages about as well as a Bolivian coal miner.

Michelob Celebrate Cherry Lager, Fruit Beer, 8.5% abv

A: I think it is ironic that they call this beer Celebrate because usually “Michelob” and “2007 lager” are not the things I would begin whipping up the cake batter for. This thing looks like the type of thing that savvy professional bowlers buy for their harem of harlots. It’s like if Sonic Burger started selling alcoholic drinks and their first foray was in ornate packaging. The bottle itself looks like a depleted uranium shell or a marital aid, depending on how freaky you like your shit. No lacing, no sheeting, mild carbonation: drink a cup of grenadine for the haters.

I just don't trust this beer after seeing the bottle and smelling what it is up to.

S: This smells like cherry lime aide and gives a distinct waft of bubble bath. If you you’ve ever chewed a piece of (yipes stripes) Fruit Stripe gum, you’ll know exactly what is going on here. The amount of hating upon the player that is your olfactory system is staggering. The finish is like if an escort spit a Sucrets into your nose holes and gave you a deep Fruit by the Foot smooch.

T: Alright well, you ever have an awkward hook up that shouldn’t have happened, and you regret it, but at least you get breakfast afterwards? Well this is like that except you don’t get breakfast. This tastes like some old fruit roll-ups left in the sun, or perhaps a blowpop dipped in 4Loko, which by all accounts, is far too many Lokos. It reminds me of those sour ropes in the lingering distaste in my mouth that I usually associate with Jody Foster movies.

Just from its appearance alone, you know your mouth is about to get violated.

M: This was a fleeting experience, but I found myself pointing out on the cherry doll in court where the bad man touched my palate. No matter how much imperial stout I drank afterwards, it still hung around like a vengeful roommate, taking all my Crate and Barrel catelogs. Shit was not bitches. I could see Lil B the Based God loving something like this, sipping it judiciously through his well appointed gem-laden grill. But for the rest of us, I can just snort Mountain Dew Code Red and be done with it.

D: Spoiler Alert: I did not want to drink a lot of this shit. It was juicy juice nightmare and I can’t recommend a return forary into this western theater. The cherries were sickening and the lager base didn’t help matter much with a malt complexity. It just shirked there in the courner shaking awaiting for the cherry domestic violence to stop. I can thank my good friend Eric Hammond for this gem. I gave him Funky Buddha Raspberry Berliner, and this is the fruit treat that I received in return. Equitable exchanges.

This should have been obvious from the start, a 2007 vintage lager from Michelob? Shitstorm from the inception.

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Bear Republic Racer X, My X Racer Took All of My Staind CDs.

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This beer has FINALLY been bottled, after many requests but then they go and don’t ship it outside of the bay area, so oh well for the rest of us UNLESS YOU GOT MAD SOLDIERS IN THE TRAP SHORTY. I once bought a growler of this and the girl serving it told me that it would hold up well over time because there are a lot of hops in it and hops are used to preserve beer. It was the most clear example of fail I have encountered in the field.

This beer is completely Racerist.

Bear Republic, Racer X Double IPA, 8.XX% abv (not looking it up, bottle is in the trash)

A: This beer has a nice amber hue to it with deep orange like that sunset you watched after seeing Human Centipede, special moment. The carbonation is fair, nothing to get tatted on your body but doesn’t leave you wanting. The jets are set to low on the lacing and she’s wearing a one piece. A tame affair.

Me and all my pimp ass friends used to drink this up in Healdsberg and pull so many bitches.

S: There’s an awesome honey and apricot zest to this that brings a radical pineapple closer. The relief pitcher has notes of some light grassiness but the nose is just phenomenal, real spit.

T: The taste is a bit more herbal and medicinal than the exemplary nose would suggest, but it’s still very refreshing. The herbal note subsides into a mild sweetness and the whole ruse about citrus just exits through the gift shop. Overall, the taste is a middle class worker in a Michael Kors ensemble. I hate it when that happens.

Just reviewing another amazing, rare beer, U mad.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and light and nails it for the style. The bottle says this beer is all about balance and I would say that’s pretty accurate, the maltiness doesn’t press its balls on or around the wall, but the hops don’t really use overdrive either. Everyone is getting good gas mileage in the number 3 lane. The coating is gentle and the carbonation doesn’t overpower things.

D: Aside from this weird Jasmine/floral note at the end, this is pretty smooth sailing considering the ABV and profile of the hops. For all the Lindy Hopping that the east coast does to their “balanced” approach, this nails it with much more clarity. It’s like Rosie O Donnell at a bisexual bridal shower. The bottle was gone pretty quickly and I am glad they finally decided to make some serious COIN by bottling up this extreme Racerist.

I told Bear Republic they could bottle anything. They finally followed my dreams.

Narrative: “What the, oh come on, she’s entering the Nestle Cup? Come on!” the judges looked onward at Thomas Dillery’s frustration. Kaitlyn knew that this race meant so much to him, but apparently he didn’t care about that or her hopes and her wants. “Listen, we broke up ok? You don’t need to stalk me and enter every heat and semi-pro circuit to garner my attention, give it up,” Thomas stated entreatingly. She pushed her hefty size 14 backside within the confines of the racing cage and quipped “well maybe if you spent less time focusing on Jimmy Johnson and cared to address my needs, we wouldn’t be in this situation, and I know what you are going to say, the cabin incident notwithstanding, you have always had communication problems.” She strapped her Marlboro helmet on and began priming the engine. “I am competing today and I will do it with the poise and grace that I held when I supported you when you were out of work, remember that time? Yeah, that’s what I thought, and for your information my metabolism has slowed naturally so-” Thomas’s head felt like a bucket of shark chum hearing her incessant droning. All those days of pretending to care about her stories about her co-workers, the relentless barrage of mundane, now he had to square off for 300 laps against this harlot. “And Sheila said you went to Twist last night and said you talking to some red headed slut, funny, you always said that you hated red heads because of your mo-” Thomas fired up his balanced engine, smelt the herbal oily burn, and prepared himself for 300 laps of hell.

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Bell’s Two Hearted IPA, It Takes a Lot of Heart to Make a Beer Like This, TWO HEARTS

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I have been waiting and waiting for this beer for the longest time. I just anticipated it would show up some day as an extra or somehow land on my doorstep and a year later, nothing. There was something about this beer that apparently people want to drink it and not ship it across the country for free, weird I know. This is the final beer on the top 100 popular beers, so that’s also a milestone for me too. Anyway, randomly RatedZ just packed up two and shipped them to me, FOR NO REASON. The beer community’s generosity is getting out of hand.

Total eclipse of two heart

Bottled on 1/31/12, DRANKEN ON 2/23/12, the freshmaker.

Bell’s Two Hearted IPA 7% abv

A: This is a beautiful beer and is certainly worth the hype in the old looks department, this dame is a looker. Not sure about the trout on the bottle, but the carbonation is NOT FISHY AT ALL.

S: Hoppy citrus notes that feel like a westcoast throwback, super grapefruity, it hits the switches and lets the 5th wheel fall, mild pine scraper bikes are all up in the cut and supported by a mild honey but not balls out like Hopslam. The whole thing is a wonderful hop ghetto and I feel right at home.

T: The taste is very muted and gentle and imparts a slight orange rind and chinook or simcoe sort of vibe to it. It tastes bright and cheerful like an amiable old barber that happens to smell like delicious Pine Sol. The whole experience is very mild and has that balance and coercion I have come to expect from Bell’s. The hops are integrated incredibly well and doesn’t assault the palate but instead goes for a classy Oscar de la Renta tux and a modest cumberbun.

M: The wash of this beer is incredibly foamy and light, it begs for sessionability. The coating is very crisp like tongue kissing a cold pinecone covered in apricot juice. Don’t front, you’ve done it. Anyway, a very solid IPA and ranks among the best, no question. It isn’t the most offensive or gauche, but its strength is in its amiability and gentle repose. A nice hop hammock to fritter the days away.

D: If you didn’t catch the clear notes above, this is likely the most drinkable IPA out there, Hill Farmstead notwithstanding. But I ride the HF jock like a 2 Live Crew video so let’s set them aside for now. This beer is a muted lupulin ninja that strikes and disappears in an herbal cloud. It’s a classy IPA that you can take to a play, give a smooch and not try and go all the way with. Also, this beer is not of age.

Narrative:

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Duchesse De Bourgogne, The Mistress that Starts Every Man’s Sick Foray into Sours

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This is every man’s gateway drug into sours. Some people use La Folie, but this or Rodenbach is usually the potation that makes them start wiping vinegar on their gums and getting all acetic. Shit is a sad path.

Teach me how to Duchess, teach teach me how to Duchess

Duchesse De Bourgogne – flemish ale, flanders red – 6% abv

A: It looks like a maraschino cherry juice with a bit of amber added to it, a transparent stage blood color with steady cabonation, 11oz bottle pours a formidable 2.5 finger head, off pink in color. I’m not going to go for the predictable Spin Doctors joke here, so don’t ask.

This sour isn't exactly generic, but it's not exactly the best on the market. It just gets the job done like an asian Steve Jobs.

S: theres a tart bitterness to it, almost vinegar in the dryness on the nostrils, with hints of underlying sweetness. You get this juicy cherry note like skittles and a sweetness to the finish like a push pop, dont act like you didn’t mash on those so hard.

T: it starts out tart with a sour cherry note that reminds me of a wine-based jolly rancher, but rounds out to a nice sweet mellowness, no hops present on the finish, the drying effect comes up front but finishes with the sweet so it becomes for another taste. I have met people who have drank bottles of this from the 90’s back when I was in diapers still…my teenage years were…difficult.

This disguises itself as a serious sour but, eventually you will pat its head and look longingly to acetic face melters.

M: mouthfeel is as thin as the appearance connotes, its very light and watery on the palate but the dryness to it adds a bit of complexity to the chewiness, namely your own mouth lining degrading like the sands under tide.

D: It is a good beer, fun to split with someone, but not an all purpose beer. I cant see it being very civilized out of doors, not especially housebroken, but a refined anemic purebred that is for show and posterity only. However, the fleeting joy is like a puppies feet upon your shins, you just wouldn’t welcome 4 or 5 in your home, for obvious reasons.

You know she has a slight harshness to her but, you put up with it for lasting benefits.

Narrative: I didn’t think that this old metal detector would be any use, I mean, come on, what’s the likelihood that someone left GOLD TREASURE underneath the sands of Marina Del Rey? Right. The joke is on them because I found the treasure, and not in the Miramax “your friends are the true treasure” sort of way. I am talking about smoking hot redheaded seacreature treasure. It turns out, obsessively walking the beach day and night makes you pretty attractive to mythical seawomen. Yeah I said it, mermaids, big whoop yawannafightabout it? So I was walkin along minding my business and then suddenly this sweet merbroad comes out of the depths and foam, mumbling something about whozits and watzits galore. So I showed her the boot I found, the bent fork, the book of cliches, you know things you find in the ocean. She was totally stoked and took me to her underground cave lair, which I lamentably could only enjoy for a few moments before blacking out due to depth and lack of oxygen. I tell you this though, she had some PRETTY NICE THINGS. So sure, falling in love with a sweet, elusive redhead is great, but sometimes it takes a lil work ya know? Big whoop

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Southampton Imperial Russian Stout, Small Bottle Runs for Big Beer Ballers

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This brewery has a reputation, at least in my tiny sad existence, for tiny bottle runs, and massive whales. I have been trying to land their ridiculous Berliner Weiss since before it was cool to drink 2% beer, with no success. Here’s my consolation, lucky bottle #229 of all 650 of them. I like my stouts like I like my steaks, MEDIUM. If you thought I was gonna go with “rare” or “well done” that’s low hanging fruit my friends.

I didn't pour it like an asshole, this beer must have PTFD, post traumatic fedex disorder. That's a thing.

Southampton Imperial Russian Stout, 10.5% abv

A: This is about as deep and murky as it gets, T5 levels of blackness on par with Abyss and Hunaphu’s. As you can see above, the carbonation is outrageous in the classic sense of the word: causing outrage. There’s no reason for that much foam unless its the late 90’s and you have some glowsticks. The lacing is like a Baroque armoir, ornate and frilly. After about 5 minutes this excitable asshole settled down and stopped weaving tales about his Fedex journey.

There's something amazing about this beer, and it feels like I am bothering it, but that's fine because I know in its mimicry is a deep strength.

S: This is fairly muted on the palate but got better as it warmed up, like those shy recent divorcees that always order the salad. There’s some chalky chocolate, cocoa, sticky vanilla, and a subtle macaroon. Then, wearing a cape and goggles comes COFFEECOCK to dominate everything at the end. Javatastic COFFEECOCK all over the place.

T: Well if you weren’t on board with Coffeecock from the last section, you can stop now because it just goes deeper in the same vein. That was not a euphemism you sicko. There’s a bitter drying at the outset that fades into a delicious baker’s chocolate like brownie batter, and as expected, coffee, well you saw that coming. I think this is slight underrated and perhaps its the small bottle count that makes people say fuck it, like when I decided I could live without the entire Step by Step DVD box set, I can imagine what happens in Season 3. Cody gets a horse or some shit.

You can cellar this beer for 10 years and you will still be an asshole for not sharing.

M: This beer has a huge sticky coating that lingers well after the first drink. The coating just sticks and does operation grill maker over in short order. The coffee and deep chocolate makes you feel like you were just mashing on some serious bowl licking for hours on end. Don’t act like the foul spatula of indulgence has not soiled your lips.

D: This isn’t exceptionally drinkable unless you have insatiable salivary glands and a post-menopausal rapacity for chocolate. That hits a fairly small niche, maybe the coveted pre-pubescent market is what they were seeking but I am pretty sure 9 year olds dont have Fedex accounts. Or…do…they….

fucking around with a beer this big seems like an inherently bad idea.

Narrative: Baron Southampton was the regal son of Lord August FitzRoy, but the cut of his jib was not unremarkable. He knew that this title was entirely created by his hateful old father as a fading sign of regal power in the days of an expanding merchant class. Just across the channel the barbarous franco-massacre had run the cobblestone streets red with the blood of an oppressive regime, leaving the largely mercantile class staring with despondence at the titled land owners. Baron didn’t give a shit. He spent the majority of his days walking the regal gardens, burying items of value in a spiteful manner to hide them, throwing rocks at the champion hunting dogs, and berating the help for streaking the sterling silver. This dark tiny master hated the opulence that he was subjected to and lashed out accordingly. He wished to be one of the masses and apprentice in a trade, press the rough hands of the working classes and see the Carolinas. Sadly, the common man would never look upon a Southampton, and he knew it. The Southamptons were few but poised, out of reach of the commoners but held just close enough to remind them of their failings. His cousin from Austria Count Berliner Vyass was the most acerbic asshole from his lineage. He did not even allow the proletariate to look upon him at all. They were rare and untouchable, that’s basically the, that’s the jist here, it’s what the underlying narrative is trying to convey, in case you missed it, just tossing you a bone.

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Central Waters Kosmyk Charlie Y2K Catastrophe Ale, Willenium Jams Bumping so Hard Right Now

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What’s gonna happen, ain’t nobody know, two zero zero zero the new millenium, hold up, Willenium.

It's hard to write a review when you are listening to Will2k on repeat

CWKCY2kCA, 10% abv American Barleywine

A: The beer looks like a burnt penny that comes from an age that remembers the value of pennies as something more than things to flick at small children. There’s some mild lacing that peaces out pretty quickly, patting its pockets like it hasn’t a dime to spare, but we know better. It is a deep amber with no lacing and a strange wateriness to it. Not even mad tho.

I got this beer as an extra thinking it was an English Barleywine, not even mad tho.

S: There is a burnt toffee, basically burnt everything like they reduced the malt too deeply in the boil with a 240 minute harassment session. Mild hops for the style, sticky marshmellow, and a general sort of Payday smell to it. Relax, go nuts, that whole bit.

T: There is a huge smoky brown sugar like old mammy done burned the oatmeal, then there’s a piney bitterness that shows me where all those high alpha acid assholes retreated to in the boil. It has a mild raisin sort of finish that thankfully doesn’t make the final cut entirely hoppy. The entire finish is very pleasant.

I hate when people reject an amazing beer based on its color alone. So much derp. Derp everywhere.

M: It is very light and not as boozy as I had expected for a 10% abv beer. There’s some light malty residue but it comes off so fresh and so clean clean. However, your girlfriend and friends will not drink this shit. Let’s not delude ourselves craft nerd, come now. Shave that neckbeard and join the rest of the world in enjoying a shocktop if you have those delusions.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable in the way that a Bad Girls Club marathon is consumable. You will feel like shit after a few, but it secretly makes you stronger.

This beer is threatening, but familiar at the same time. I can get on board with it.

Call it a cop out, but I am too tuckered out for a narrative, enjoy this meme instead:

ULTIMATE MEME MASH UP

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Pannepot 2005 Grand Reserva, Because I Had So Many Amazing Memories of Nothing From 2005

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Oh well, another day and another top 100 beer, ho hum, just another day in the life of a gosh darn overseer.

This review is actually the ultra-baller 2005 Grand Reserve bottling of Pannepot, but oh well, you get the idea, ONLY MORE BALLER.

Pannepot 2005 Grand Reserva, Quad, 10% abv

A: deep chocolate brown with a slightly offwhite head that produces nice lacing. Not exceptional carbonation but it is the 2005 batch so complaints dont seem to be in order, henceforth, the beggars become the choosers.

I wasn't a huge fan of quads but, after you have some top tier shit, you want to catch em all.

S: This seems to be its weakest trait with the anticipated huge dark fruit bouquet being rather muted, more of just a general sweetness without pronounced notes, it’s like when I tried to learn Clarinet, you know the greatness was there, the notes were just a little fucked up.

T: The smell does not indicate the incredibly rich profile of this beer, deep roasted almond notes, burnt currant, s;ightly boozy character with minimal heat that is displaced by a nice finishing sweetness. The taste more than makes up for any other shortcomings, it’s a rich kiss from uncle quad and there’s serious boozy wincest.

I know I am experiencing something amazing but at the same time, I can't help but feel like a total piece of shit for not sharing.

M: the mouthfeel lingers for just enough time, but leaves you wanting more, like each song in the first 2 Ramones albums. The coating is just long enough to make an impression, but not long enough to be overwhelming. As far as quads go, this is pretty light on the maltiness and I think given the character of the fruit notes, it is better as a result

D: Most quads wear out their welcome either due to overpowering booziness or an expansive maltiness that takes over your palate and stomach like japanese kudzu. this is a great beer that you could substitute for any beer in its class and people would welcome the complex sweet notes and high abv. Give this to any Newcastle drinker and bankrupt your friends overnight.

Struise are in Europe but I pretty much imagine shit is popping off like this after hours

Narrative: This was easily the worst High School Reunion that Jacob mellors had ever been to, and he had seen his fair share. His obsession of crashing High School Reunions started simple enough, play the role of the muted Magic the Gathering player, the forgotten 4th chair trombone, lay low. It worked like clockwork, the open bar started flowing, old enemies regailing each other with carrer conquest exploits, soon Jacob, soon. His latent abilities went far beyond the scope of the pedestrian masses that he regailed. At the strike of each gala, 3 hours in, he would emerge as the forgotten socialite besting the former nerds in volairean wit, intimidating the portly former jocks with a panache and bravado that oozed confidence. It was this latent power that fed him at night, the knowledge that his unknown ability was his greatest asset. However, he could not drink so much that night as it was mid-november and class reunion season was in full swing.