@lostabbey Isabelle Proximus, Dat Izzy on the Codeine Fizzy Make Tickers Straight Dizzy

July 18, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright since we are slaying whalez, might as well gut the massive heart out of this cetacean beast and lay another one of these AWA monsters to rest. You probably don’t recognize this beer without ISO: in front of it and some shit like FT: HUNA following it, but this acidic banger is izzy prox, aka dat 6/28/08 birth that rocked balloon knots back before people knew what a folding chair release was. These 1620 bottles still live on in people’s hearts and dreams but most in OCD hater tickers nightmares. When this was rolled out in 2008, that $30 price tag puckered many-an-O-ring, now we just call that shit Battle Priest and go back to work on a Tuesday. Anyway, let’s mouthkiss this lady and see if she shows her age.

Mouthkissing that 6 year old lady, Molly coming out of your pores, posted top floor in a 3100 sf vegas penthouse trying to get rid of your stretch marks.

The Lost Abbey visit their website
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.00% ABV

If you don’t know about this shit, here, read this and let the rest of us get on with our lives. Let’s hope your offshelf liver can keep up:

A collaboration between five of America’s best craft brewers – Tomme Arthur of Port Brewing / The Lost Abbey, Adam Avery of Avery Brewing, Sam Calagione of Dogfish Head, Vinnie Cilurzo of Russian River, and RobTod of Allagash – Isabelle was created from a common base beer to which each brewery contributed a yeast strain and barrels for aging. After 16 months in oak, the beers were blended to create the final product.

A: To be honest, Izzy is not a particularly beautiful or bubbly woman. Perhaps she has lost a touch of grace in her old age but there is a deep amber meets pyrite sort of glow to her but it is nowhere in the realm of those OGV curves or even a radiant Brute finish. Of course it might have been those baleful gold tinted windows but I took her into the bathroom to more carefully- nevermind, just, ok next section.

Izzy is a savage beast that most acorn penises will see in their worst nightmares

S: This smells like a shitload of tart movie candies smashed up and then mixed up in blender with peach juice and limonata. There is a peach ring, apple ring, sour patch kids, tangelo, an acidic middle body to it that is almost nectarine/stone fruit in a way but then gets back to the Harvey Dent face melting fruits on the finish. You could huff this all day if you were a well connected 13 year old. Huffing is for 13 year olds only.

T: This kicks down your sweet zones and breaches the perimeter with a lemon/grapefruit flashbang and lights up the elite tastebud guard with a fucking SMG popping off apricot and kumquat shells. There is kum everywhere. There is a single quivering child tastebud left in the bitter zone left unharmed, to tell the others who did this. The hateful siege is complete and that lingering lemonheads taste makes you want to take another sip. It’s like how you leave the movie theater with pounding ass kankersores and you aren’t sure if it was the 300g of sugar you just ate, the salt, or the clearly HSV chick you were necking on. Life is a sour mystery.

Mmm cant wait for those Unemployment Bennies to pay out so I can pay these fedex billzzzz

M: Well see above, this shit is painful in a way that even the most hurtful Belgians could not engineer. It took some American access codes and ramp up the pH levels and I am sure at least a few brewers were kicked through some boxes when prompted for the access codes to this SOUR WARHEAD. Oh wow, if puns were jizz I would be a 14 year old home on a sick day. But seriously, this is exceptionally dry and just hits those bicuspids harder than Steve Buscemi’s orthodontist. If this beer were a lady she would be Anna Paquin because your grill will be fucked after you skull this. I drank full pours of this side by side with Armand and Tomme and pound my anoos if this wasn’t straight peroxide next to that gentle Belgian mama bird.

D: This is probably the closest American Wild Ale that I have had to a straight Belgian gueuze but like everything else from America it strolls out with amped up DD sour tatties, tart pumped up duck lips, musky tummy tuck, every aspect of it is overdone in an amazing Spearmint Rhino sort of way. I drank almost this entire bottle like a complete fuck out of a Martini glass and I never once was like “ooh that’s plenty.” I had mean ass ulcers afterward, I am sure. But tiring of Izzy is like paying for an escort just to beat her ass in Call of Duty. No one does that.

WOA BRO you drank a rare bottle of beer BY YURSELF? Alfa as fuckkk.

Narrative: Izzy Arthur decided at age 15 that she had enough of the Deliverance church services that she had attended for years. Sure, for a child, people wretching and rolling in the aisles had a note of noble bitterness to it. However, after years and years of this behavior, the sad rancor in the room was just an overriding malaise. “ALL OF YOU CAEIUFH WREGHHHH BERRRRR!!!!” Izzy sighed as she held down a middle aged woman down with an outstretched blanket as she expelled her demons. “Wreghhhbleghhh-” to her right, the local librarian gagged and spit into a paper sack. Sure, it wasn’t the AVERAGE triumph of good over evil, but in the end it was still a type of grassy purity that came from a solid agrarian community. It was this deeply acidic character and complex inner monologue that made Izzy so strong. A local mechanic burst into the building covered in lemon juice holding two anacondas offering up a pithy prophecy “And until the BLERGHGHHA norway titans cannot UNTIL GEHHHHHIIHHH IN OUR LORDS NAME!” Izzy popped a Shocktart into her mouth and soldiered on with an austerely regal posture.

@santeadairius Bernice

July 10, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

So I guess this is one of those “regular” SARA offerings, that is kinda like saying “oh that is one of those Kuhnhenn REGULAR RELEASES, you know 52 bottles in the middle of Arctic Tundra.” That sorta thing. I don’t know if this is the base beer for West Ashley but either way, Thank you Based God. I have my suspicions and until one of the portmanteau components of that Sante Adairius chimes in, old DDB will have to grind it out like a 7th grade dance. I put on Tony Rich Project and shit got sexy real quick with that octogenarian Bernice. I spelled that shit without spell check, this is gonna be a legit review.

Cupertino muggy and mean muggin on that radiant sesh.

Sante Adairius Rustic Ales
California, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.50% ABV

I was told that I am drinking batch 2. Like you give a fuck.

A: In journalism an auto-correct error is called a “Cupertino.” This is because when the software was first developed there were several instances of changing the word “cooperation” without the hyphen, to “Cupertino.” Why should you give a fuck? This beer is the Cupertino error of subbing in straight saison for what should be “American Wild Ale.” Just look at this glowy ass ho straight emitting free radicals and lasers from its core engaging in cold fusion without remorse. This looks really similar to West Ashley and again, the investigation continues.

Yeah, Twista was sippin Sante Adairius in the Source and tickers offering Abyss. Do they even Outlaw?

S: This doesn’t have the ripe apricot or complexity of the tannins but plays more of the river cards in embracing the lightly lactic nectarine acidity that is coupled with a faint gorgonzola aspect to it at higher temps. At cold cold cold temps in them 45 degree range I was kinda crestfallen, this was seriously like Pineapple Fanta or what old ass people would call THE OLD EGG PHOSPHATE maneuver. Let this open up to them mid 50’s like your favorite librarian and then work it hard, without remorse for its cats or estranged children. The light acidity takes a backseat to this Siren call of bubble bath refreshment. This is Bath and Body works nose fucking you and the 18 year old cashier is wanting. Legit.

T: This beer enters with a gentle ester that really needs higher temps to showcase and complexity in the residual sugar vs. enzymes battlefield. That is not its strongest suit. The Brett C profile is present but again, this is not the Chad Crooked Stave water on bugs refreshment either. This executes like somewhat of a hybrid between Crooked Stave Vielle and Seizoen bretta in that it is incredibly light, drops some lemon, tangelo, nectarine, and some clementine but isn’t acidic enough to warrant some comparison to say Beatification or that realm. The whole experience is like being tucked into some lemony 500ct sheets. Most of you still sleep with an unfolded sleeping bag or a FUBU sheet set from Walmart so I can’t explain it that well to you degenerates but, splurge and buy some dryer sheets next month when you wash your mountain of black screen print shirts. It is like that.

I got two boxes full of Sante Adairius shit this week, the Fedex truck be all like-

M: This is incredibly light, to the point of being insubstantial almost. The acidity adds some dryness that remedies things to add a lingering that is kinda like a power chord versus the fully fleshed out 3 additional notes of a major chord, but something feels too simplistic and transparent in the splishy finish. The West Ashley had an apricot walker to lean upon to add strata to the silt but this is a simple affair like a Misfits album that is satisfying for exactly what is immediately presented. There are no lactic/brett C/barrel solos that run on for bars and bars, you get a punch of lemon, water, light musk, and it is over. You want another sip immediately because that tart smooch with the latter day saint of the saison world just teases you hard.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and you feel bad about the rate in which you can slay a 750ml. Your mother in law will look at you like a UPS driver, straight alcoholic, when you drill this shit like a dental assistant. You will be able to put this down triple double no assist. This is like when you drive a Honda until the 99999 odometer turns to 000000. I love how drinkable this is but it almost pisses me off how fast this disappeared, but that is largely the fault of my heaving back tits, deep bellybutton and insatiable liver. I wreck bottles and lives.

Florida traders suddenly lost their wind to this Farmhouse upstart. Watch them offer up some MZ shit and reap the lulz.

Narrative: Berenice ran her fingers through the fine Byzantine textiles and looked at the Gregorian calendar wondering what the nature of the Roman Silver age could hold. Her golden locks were held simply but there was a certain piquant complexity to here demeanor. No woman seeks to be a thrice divorced woman during the Flavian dynasty, but such was her Lot. No pun intended. The cool acidity of her treatment and interaction of the servants showed a poise that predated the Justinian morality laws. Any servant could approach her and take in her refreshing nature, the cool perspiration of Judea bathing salts and desert air made her a breathtaking site to all who sought her company. The only harshness that she ever exhibited was a harsh hand exhibited during the Jewish rebellion, but even in trying times the afflicted sought her clemency. Later her empire would be replaced with apricot groves and a new empire would replace her gentle feudalism. No seed germinates everlasting in the chosen land, not even Berenice.

@santeadairius West Ashley, This Beers Gets More Tickers off Than Cochran

July 5, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright so changing gears from a Vermont 300 bottle release, let’s peep game on this 300 bottle pre-wale from the west coast Hill Farmstead. Sante Adairius is a hot new brewery running the trap, slanging farmhouse ales, and dropping low bottle count beatdowns on the trade boards. Also, their product is 99.3% pure, that all blue Jesse Pinkman blend. So in today’s review we have a rare+saison+apricot+wildale+unzip pounding things out without remorse. Bay area kids were hella stoked on this and clutch them for good reason, this beer sets my apricots ablaze with careless abandon.

No filter. Srs. Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace’s briefcase.

Sante Adairius Rustic Ales
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.30% ABV

A: This is that goon shit, mess up your whole afternoon shit. Just take a look at that burning fireball above, it is like looking directly into Beatrice while in paradiso. That isn’t a play on words because Beatrice may or may not be the base beer for this, it is just that radiant and melts your impure soul to take in those bright orange/tangerine/pure sunlight. The wispy carbonation crackles away like a piccolo pete and leaves no real lacing to speak of, but who is really speaking of lacing anyway? If you said grade A microcock beer nerds, you are correct.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

S: This reminds me of Logsdon Oak Aged Bretta scissoring Beatification’s thighs raw with a musky funk, tart apricot meets Fou Foune’s effeminate brother. The acidity doesn’t get in the way and you get this watery dog groomer’s air about it that the fruit supports nodding in the background on a 2/4 beat. There isn’t a ton of cheesiness or elements in the way of Cantillon/De Cam/Boon, nor is the acidity as harsh, but this is its own jam. Selfmade millionaire wild ale poppin that .45 acidity at haterzzz.

T: This is the absolute perfect beer for summertime. Take that floral/tart aspect from Ithaca Brute and add some apricot tannins and you have a massively drinkable beer that doubles as titty elixir for Yacht parties since this beer is balling outrageous. The tartness doesn’t go overboard and instead serves to compliment the hay/leather dryness, it wilds the fuck out like Bobby Bouchet. The fruit again is just mindblowing and links arms in the same realm as Fantasia (batch 1, not that brett bomb b2) Peche n Brett, Persica, and to a lesser extent, Fou Foune.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

M: This is drying at the outset with the apricot leading first but it has this murky waterines to it that washes so clean it leaves a sweet apricot life saver flavor that lingers and not unlike a Brazzer’s actor, you gotta get your mouth on it once more. I could crush these without remorse, the apricot jury would deem me an unsympathetic Ashley mass murderer. I love the careful tartness because it allows the underlying saison elements (which are fantastic) to show off in a manner more approachable and ultimately satisfying than say, Upland Peach, which is the acidity show in execution.

D: To double down on everything else that I have mentioned, this is scary drinkable and the ABV is not only present but this beer straight up feels GOOD for you. Like you conscience wouldn’t kick in drinking this before a funeral or a classy bris. The jamba juiciness keeps things lively but the oaky dryness lets you know the refined MILF will also enjoy this as well, inbetween her sips of Yellow Tail Moscato. Get this, actually dont, I need more, so don’t seek this out. Don’t ruin this shit for the rest of me.

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

Narrative: Life at the Behr paint supply store was a mile a minute. Sure there was the time that they accidentally mixed turpentine with the eggshell, making the ignominious muted halogen color, completely off style but mindblowing nonetheless. Yes sir, Ashley West had seen it all in her duties as overseer of the interior vibrant tones division of Behr paints. It was her sworn duty to ensure that no paint scheme stood as too far fetched or offputting. Nothing escaped her trained penchant for searingly bright colors. If she saw a mild yellow that struck hier as too explosive, she’d be the first one to take it down a couple notches to a sublimely genial canary tone. For Ashley, life was all about the Golden Mean, in the Arisotelian sense, the paradigm of good taste. “Miss, do these sandstone swatches look appro-” “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Look at this, I’m sorry, where are we the Luxor casino? You need to mute these down to C11H14 palate, we don’t run some kind of funhouse, you can take these monstrocities down to Tempera paints Mr. Jackson Pollack if you feel like expressing yourself on my KHAKI WATCH!” Another solid day of work for Ashley West.

Your Macro Beer is About to Be Baller as Fuck

June 7, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

These assholes went and flipped the script on the beer game, look out for your shit Drie Fonteinen:

http://ontapbeer.com/

Summer is upon us, that means adjunct lagers, hefs out the ass, and trifling witbiers galore. You probably already look like the world’s hugest prick at any BBQ that you go to, what with you either 1) bringing your own beer 2) asking what they have or 3) bringing your own glassware. Fear not, a product that the world has been clamoring for is here: ONTAP BEER. No, not like draft beer, this shit:

OH FUCK IT’S LIKE MIO FOR YOUR ROLLING ROCK.

So the website expects you to carry this little vial in your pocket to spruce up your mediocre beer into a horrible craft beer analog. Don’t like the way that Miller 64 tastes? How about if we add some caramel extract and hop oil to it? BOOM INSTANT BOTTLE OF BA DARKLORD. I don’t understand this fucking product because even people in Section 8 housing can buy Lagunitas with their EBT cards. Craft beer is not expensive, at all. If you are in a place where you are fiending so bad for a shitty Fat Tire or some other bottomshelf craft offering, maybe skipping beer might be the option for you. Maybe you should clear your browser history before you let your GF use your computer. waitwut.

Imitation craft beer is almost always as good, your move Google.

I love how one of the “flavors” is “American Ale.” What does that mean? This bottle of afterbirth shoots in and turns the adjunct lager into a top fermenting ale from America? They have made the lambic version of this product for years, it looks like this:

OH SHIT MY MICHELOB ULTRA JUST TURNED INTO DON QUIXOTE.

I love the spin that marketing likely prolapsed their collective buttholes to push out:

“Make each beer you drink the same or make each one different. Its up to you how each beer in the case tastes. Which is why we say it is time you get to enjoy Your Beer, Your Way!” You like American Ale? Put more in, boom instant amber, oh shit a lil more, who has a big barleywine now? Oh wait, entire bottle that Keystone just magically turned into an Old Ale. I think if you non-ironically pulled this shit out at any social gathering it should come with a card to enroll you into a 12 step program because your beer priorities are fucked.

I don’t even know why I bother addressing shit like this. The people who read my website are already degenerate asshole beer snobs well beyond the rebellious intro-FUCK MACRO phase.

Imagine the shit eating grin on your face at a wake when you pull out your PALE ALE FLAVOR and jazz up that paltry Shock Top offering from the host.

check this shit out in action:

The marketing committee then lets you know what an amazing deal this is, “The American Ale single bottle contains enough flavor enhancer to convert a 18-pack of domestic beer. That’s a saving of about $10.00 over buying 18 craft beers! Plus it is gluten, carbs and calorie free.” I am no scientist, I hardly even sparge bro, but how do you convert a shitty lager into a bold AMERICAN ALE without adding carbs, gluten, or calories? Oh, it’s xantham gum and brown food coloring? I knew Goose Island had some proprietary secrets.

This product is like hiring a cut rate tranny off of Craigslist to hold a plastic vagina for you. There are cheaper and less degrading ways to get what you are seeking, put your plastic object away.

yeah it seems like craft beer, until a real world class craft beer shows up and War Machines your butthole into a pale mess.

Ale Apothecary Sahalie, Thanatos Has Assembled all of the Saison Gems and Your World Is About To End

May 1, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

It is not a well guarded secret that I love me some saisons. Shit, didn’t we do something like 34 days in a row of saison reviews? That’s what I thought. Anyway, this banger started some serious buzz on the top saison lists and at first I dismissed it as some farmhouse chicanery, but batch after batch it kept creeping higher and higher until I buckled and sought out this elusive farmhorse. Some people got their tampax all sideways when I said that this was rare, apparently 55 wants 4 gots wasnt rare enough for them. But landing this is kinda a bitch, so take that for what you will. Plus this bottle was like $30 or something, so you gotta ball outrageous to fucks with this. Let’s get to it.

As with many of my other saison reviews, I swear I didn’t pour this like a dicktouch. These saisons come out like broken washing machines.

The Ale Apothecary
Oregon, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 11% ABV (Jan 2013 release)

A: This is just outright beautiful and pours a hazy turbid orange with bright gold hues at the edges. The cabonation is ridiculous and almost to the point of being obnoxious i.e. Upland Lambic steeze. The soapy bubbles keep on coming and its like bath time for the farm hands. The lacing is also pretty ridiculous making the inside of your glass looking like a Baroque sex party, lace and frills all over the place.

If you think you are a saison expert, you probably are a raging pussy. I should know, I am a saison expert and no one can beat my ass.

S: This has an incredible nose to it at low temperatures. In fact, let me condition this entire review by noting that at 45 degrees and 60+ degrees this beer is an entirely different experience. When very cold you get this light acidity, pears, melon, lemon grass, floral hibiscus sort of earthiness but a big juiciness to it. As it warms, this thing pulls out its 11% dick and pounds your nosehole with careless abandon. It gets this really offputting fusel and astringent quality and reminds me of pissing off the saison Hulk. You wont like this beer when it is angry.

T: Again, when this beer is cold, it is mindblowingly good and absolutely world class. If you have had Handfarm, think of that but a juiced up imperial version. If you had Clos Preal batch 1 then you will know exactly the high abv saison beat I am talking about. This presents apricot, acidity almost like a musky beatification with less tartness, apple skin, honeydew, lemon and a sorta of parmesan cheese musk that lingers with the juiciness after you swallow. This is just phenomenal. When this beer gets warm, watch out because shit gets real pretty quickly. It gets this heat to it like an imbalaned Belgian Tripel with this boozy pineapple meets gin ester that is really offputting. It is incredible that a beer can be both world class and hateful at the same time. A truly bipolar bitch.

With an 11% saison, part of me things someone pulled a nasty trick on me. BUT I LIKE IT.

With an 11% saison, part of me thinks someone pulled a nasty trick on me. BUT I LIKE IT.

M: This maintains a nice lip smacking dryness with a lingering oakiness to it not unlike fresh Temptation. The acidity is restrained and the abv is masked in a way that is staggering. IF you have a sorority girl you want to put to sleep, this beer will do the trick. “Date rape jokes are not funny” I agree, but we can all agree that having a quiet DG is a vast improvement in any situation. This is exceptionally refreshing at low temps and just starts flipping over card tables if you dont watch your glass at higher temperatures.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable as long as you get to it fast and dont let those sticky alcoholic tones spread their wings. If you sit on this its like a colony of zergling eggs that just need some incubation. You go from exceptional funk and musk, light lemons to face melting pineapple liqueur in a matter for 25 minutes. Again, take all of this under the caveat that you cannot just take Sahalie out to a seafood dinner and expect to hit the sheets. You have to put that saison time in and really enjoy this under the right conditions, otherwise things get out of hand really quickly. It is like “This is the best beer I have had in a long ti- OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME THATS WHERE I POOP FROM-” and the kid is pointing out what the saison did to you on a doll in pretrial proceedings.

Tell me how easy this beer is to land. I don’t give a fuck.

Narrative: Dwayne Johnson was a mild mannered tier of the rural Texas community within the pleasant town of Elderton. His tan Grecian form lumbered to the mailbox and he waved to the mailman with an inviting smile. “Hey Big D!” Thomas Norse, the local postal officer waived to the monster of a human from across the street. As he walked inside he reviewed his Verizon bill and felt his traps pulse with a taut anger. “I…I am on the unlimited PLANNNN-” he thought angrily and clenched his jaw. Dwayne exhaled slowly and regained his cool composure and sat down to his usual breakfast of 2 eggs, 10 oz filet and oatmeal. “I dont see why they would charge me with OVERAGES WHEN I HAVE UNLIMITED ACCESS” he gripped his melon and fiercely bit into an apricot. He rounded the foyer of his house only to see that someone had writted “TOO FAST TOO FAGGOT” on the side of his tasteful raised Bronco. “THAT IS TOO MUCH!” he roared and tore away his tiny tank top revealing his massive frame. He was a gentle soul, but if you got him hot, his genial aspect converted quickly into a 250 lbs wrecking ball that even the most patient DMV employee could not console.

AC Golden Peche, Squeeze Dem Peaches Until You Get To That There Juicy Pit

April 8, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright, let’s see if this micro with macro parents can run with the big dogs in today’s review of Peche. American wilds might be the hardest fucking category to classify one’s beer in. When you adjust the ratings for style you basically have to crush it out of the park to even turn someone’s head. This beer won some GABF awards, but let’s see if it really puts the tires to the pavement or if that power is all lost at the barrel aged flywheel in today’s review

No granite backsplash for today’s review, classing shit up and going modern.

AC Golden Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV ?

A: This beer comes out disinterested as fuck and just kinda lays there like a discount escort, but for $80 off of craigslist, were you expecting some kind of Fantome excitement? The lacing is non-existent but for the style, this isn’t exactly the foamy soapy pillow fight that people anticipate. The SRM looks good and juicy, there’s a brassiness to the middle with light yellow radiance to the edges like illuminated holofoil rares. Venom vs Spiderman Marvel Masterpiece level.

Wild ales in general dont present a shameful display. Even when they are mediocre, they are pretty bomb

S: This has an incredible nose to it and reminds me a lot of Cascade Apricot in the high acidity and fruit that is just getting manhandled by the lactic aspects. It is difficult to ascribe depth and cheesiness to this because the musk is almost non-existent and a boost of some Brett C would have been a nice inclusion, but maybe I am asking for too much. This is certainly a pocket knife and not a Swiss army knife. It has utility and executes well for a single purpose but doesn’t present a crazy panoply of aromatics. Sometimes you can pop in Twisted Metal and appreciate the simplicity of pure destruction.

T: This is incredibly sour and delivers on the tannic peach front and has a drying finish that just assaults the gumline relentlessly. The brett that was missing on the nose shows up and peeks its head at the finish and sheepishly carries the books of the popular kids, in this case the peach and acidic profile. Similar to the nose, you get that Cascade sort of one trick pony that makes this good but fails to mystify on deeper levels of musk and funk. If Michael Bay made an American wild, it would be this spectacle that tears shit up but leaves you ultimately aware that you came to the movies alone.

I wont say that this is the most alpha Wild Ale that I have ever had, but it battles on a different field.

M: This is incredibly dry and save for a few fleeting moments of juicy peach in the middle, this is your dentists worst nightmare. Unless you have PPO insurance, don’t pound this on the reg because that acidity will catch up with you and you will get the old “Lambic Gurgles” when your insides get turned out harder than a Plan B overdose. It is incredibly acidic and the peach serves as a trojan horse to leave the charge to your lower intestine where the magic happens. Deuce crew for sheeze.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and the ABV is non-existent. Aside from the sheer pain of drinking a highly acidic potation, this has utility amongst those of the XX chromosomal order because, dem peaches. This would be good to have on hand for those times when you don’t want to go balls out on fruited lambics, but lightly acidic beers dont seem to be hitting your lactic spot. Fans of Grand Funk Ale Road and Upland Lambics will appreciate the direct approach of this sour, Fantome ghost hunters will long for a bit more complexity. At the end of the day, everyone gets a reluctant hand job.

The ultimate irony is that beer nerds, the least impressive people in the world, are the hardest to impress. Paradoxes abound.

Narrative: Chelsea Rosacaea was an offputting tart little beauty of 20 years. She was brash, acrimonious and honest to a fault. Her parents always warned her that being too forward and harsh was a bit intimidating for young suitors, but she cared little for pageantry and grace. On one date, she went to a Sonic Burger and began to prostrate at length about the sorry state of the Chevy Cruze that her male counterpart had picked her up in and gave a full dress down to the Coney Dogs section of the menu. “I mean really, I wore a dry clean only dress for this? When am I supposed to be impressed? At the crest of the banana split in a plastic tub? This courtship might fly in South Carolina, but I feel like an enterprise such as this hardly warrants some titty groping,” she demurred to the poor young man who had no idea that with the sweetest of peaches comes the largest of pits. She was a bit harsh, but refreshing in her simplicity, like so many .ROM files lost on hard drives along the way.

Cascade Bottleworks XIV, The Barret .50 cal of the American Wild Ale world, dropping shells in that chiquita

March 27, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright let’s knock out some more of the recent walez that have been clogging up the trade boards recently. This one is a glorious return from the complete Bottleworks nonsense that Stone offered up as last year’s anniversary beer. Every other year was like “hey let’s take our time and make a limited, amazing sour with almost zero distribution” and Stone was all like “how about we make a hoppy belgian strong with that same yeast strain that no one is stoked about? Ok now we will ship this to 34 states. Good.” So this was a breath of relief to see things getting back to normal. Let’s pound on this 14 year old in today’s review

You read that label correctly, almost 12% abv. Dropping more Lane Bryant panties than a Chris Brown record.

Cascade Brewing / Raccoon Lodge & Brewpub
Oregon, United States
American Wild Ale | 11.95% ABV

A: This is an outright beautiful beer with minimal lacing but substantial carbonation at the outset that sits in a sticky white cap (EUPHEMISM DETECTED) on the rim of a golden hue. Look at that, looking all like Nana’s broach, that sort of beauty you only see in your girlfriend’s eyes when she says “we lost the baby” or something like that. Tragic yet life altering. The sheeting is present in thick clear legs running down the glass like a Sir Mix A Lot video, NSFW stuff.

It is tough to imagine that massive 12% abv could have the fruits and grace of a complex american wild ale, but it pulls it off straight up Manticore style.

S: Holy hell, the traditional super lactic Cascade ultra acid bomb is present here, but he brought some ass beating friends to the school dance. In tow is Pineapple dipped in bourbon, Rum with some vanilla numchucks, and finally a Navel Orange with oak ninja stars. It is a formal fighting force that kicks ass on both tart and savory fronts.

This is a powerful hybrid of two things I love, maintaining power and beauty at the same time.

T: This maintains at the outset the incredibly tart apricot and juicy tangerine acidity but languishes into this really strange sitting chair of caramel and mallow kisses. The rum aspects kinda remind me of 5 Golden Rings or a super lactic Belgian tripel. This is complex almost to a fault because right when you get grounded with all the tart characters, shit turns into some crazy old ale realm where you can’t follow the plot of this beer. Supporting characters be popping up all pell mell, offering handjobs and kicking out barrel aged secrets.

M: This is a heavy double barrel heater all up in your oralfacehole. The residual sugars roll around like substrate in a lava lamp and the heat is decidedly present for a strangely distracting beer. You’d think this beer would have plenty of other aspects to focus on with the sour and crazy barrel properties, but the alcohol burn is still there and at higher temps it is the femme fatale of the film noir that’s going on in your mouth.

D: This is just too heavy, too hot, too everything to enjoy on long stretches. That coupled with the fact that this is a 12% beast with tons of beeetus inducing final gravities, makes it a tough one to take down solo. If you went deep on this 750ml, keep it in the fridge between pours because the complexity it gains at the high 50 temps is not what you are seeking. These are not the flavor droids that you are seeking. The carb makes this easy to drink and unless you let this open up to room temps, it will be tame and treat you right. At colder temps that 12% abv is kept in tow like a Korean wife, but behind closed doors, makes you its bitch.

I LOVE BIG WILD ALES THEY BE SO BAD. Oscar Wilde bad.

Narrative: Elvis Dumervil tossed his keys onto the rick mahogany table and lowered his head cautiously and skulked into the home, hoping that no one was awake. “SO GLAD YOU DECIDED TO COME HOME AT 2:34 in the morning, Elvis,” Latosha Dumervil remonstrated and flipped the light on in clear agitation. His massive frame shifted on his sore quads and he quickly set the bag in his arms down on the dark teak floor. “Baby please, you know it ain’t gotta be like that-” he pleaded and watched her pace back and forth shaking her head in disappointment. “Oh it aint gotta be like that? How it gotta be Elvis? You leave the Broncos and start living this double life, putting on more and more weight, more power, lifting barrels, eating strictly acidic fruits? WHO DO THAT? WHO BE DOING THAT ELVIS?” Elvis clenched his jaw and stared at her. “OH SO 63.5 SACKS WASNT GOOD ENOUGH HUH? NOW I GOTTA ANSWER TO THIS SHIT?” He kicked his duffle bag and horticulture equipment rolled out, among gardening supplies. “Oh so you WEREN’T AT RAVENS PRACTICE WAS YOU!” He turned crimson and gathered the items up. “I swear to God Elvis if you have been working on that orchard again and barreling preserves…WE JUST CAN’T GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN.” Just then his phone lit up with a text from Dink Martindale “YO ELVIS WE NEED THAT BRLED FRUITS NAO!!!” His wife began packing a suitcase.

Oh Great, Another Fucking Ancient Recipe Beer.

March 19, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Hey guize, guess what, they found another ancient example of a beer, and sure enough, they are going to recreate this shit found at the bottom of some Finnish ocean.

More stupid fucking rebrews of ancient ales

It seems like every 3 or 4 months the beer world gets another stupid ass release from an established brewery predicated on an ANCIENT RECIPE. These stories always get picked up by dumbass mainstream news outlets like Huffington post and the rest of the hardcore beer nerds have to suffer through questions about these shitty beers. I am all for innovation, but innovation and recreation for sheer marketing’s sake are usually done at the expense of taste. Have you ever read some of the recipes for these beers? It is always like “cardamom, jasmine, muddled figs, muscat grapes, saffron, annatto and pottery fragments.”

The worst part of these bottled gimmicks isn’t that they taste like complete afterbirth, it is the pull that it enacts on the “normal” beer drinking world. They will stumble into a Whole Foods and “TRY SOEMTHING NEW FOR A CHANEG!” and invariably hate it. Then the beer nerds are left to reap the spoils of their shitty releases. I can’t tell you how many times I have been at NAMBLA fundraisers and someone will always chime in with “OH I HAD THAT REMAKE OF THE EGYPTIAN BEER, IT TASTED LIKE I TONGUE FUCKED A WASP’S NEST” and suddenly I have to defend Dogfish Head Midas Touch for its innovation or whatever else.

God.

Fucking.

Damnit.

You know why people brewed these bizarre beers in the first place? It wasn’t because they tasted so fucking amazing, they brewed them because:

1) Their water was fucking poisonous
2) Their local ingredients were the only fermentable sugars available
3) Their lives under slavery/serfdom/fealty/feudalism were completely shitty and
4) Drinking anything to get drunk in those days was probably pretty legit.

Just because something DID EXIST doesn’t mean it needs to continue to exist. Furthermore, most of these recipes are bastardized versions of the ancient beers anyway. If you want to go hard fucking core, brew that in Phoenician pottery casks in Damascus and leave that shit in the sun to contact ferment. None of this pussy Whitelabs or House cultures, go balls deep in the ancient world.

They don’t do this with any other artisanal products, no one except people at Lilith Fair are weaving clothing with rough hemp, no one is trying to nail that delicious Hard Tack recipe from the French Enlightenment. This garbage is unnecessary.

You want people to know how it felt to get feided during the Third Crusade under Richard I straight plundering Acre? Then brew the beer exactly as shitty as it was back then. Don’t drop these esoteric ingredients into weak base beers and expect people to have their shafts pumping at your innovation. You are the fucking Pontiac Aztek of the beer world. No one asked for you, and it is the stretchmarked mantitted beer nerds that suffer the effects.

Ok, We Get It, You Love Hops, Now Shut The Fuck Up.

March 13, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

I love when people get into craft beer and walk that magical journey down the path of exploration. It is like being in 8th grade and stroking it for the first time to an episode of Lazy Town and entering a brave new world of autoeroticism. The only problem with people who just enter the beer scene are all the johnny come latelies who are fucking obsessed with hops. It is a plant, we get it, you love hop puns, you love that resinous taste. Why do us other beer drinkers have to listen to all of your verbal jism casting thick heavy ropes on our ears?

There is a cadre of these assholes in any beer community, always comparing Heady to Pliny, Dreadnaught to Hopslam, Nugget Nectar to whateverthefuck. Most of the time they aren’t even the same style of IPA, much less style of beer in the first place. Just stop it. You don’t see people into Gose always talking about Leipzig and whose is the saltiest and OMG comparing gose vintages, no it’s always the same assholes: hopheads. The next time you see these guys, start obessessing about another minor aspect of beers like water profiles, get all rock hard over alkaline profiles and mouthswish, “OMG THE MICROCARBONATION COATING FROM THE BOTTLE CONDITIONING GUYSSSS” see how they like it. I just don’t get why people choose to focus on an aromatic plant and worship the shit out of it. No gueuzeheads are scribbling acid molecules in their binders or talking about musk profile in the same way that hop obsessors do.

Go to any shitty Cafe Press shirt site for beer and there are always a ton of these hop shirt like “HOPtimum Enjoyment” “HOP TO IT!” or “Registered Sexual HOPfender” or some shit. I get it, play on a single word, very clever.

Here let me help you out, if you are that fixated on hops, here is a shirt design for you all to dream about, wear this to the next Beer Release or Tasting:

AHHH MY HOP CONE IS BUSTING WITH STICK OILSSSS BROOOOOOOOOOOO

@tiredhandsbeer Handfarm, Barrel aged 500 bottle saison releases? This website was made for this kind of shit.

March 13, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

I hope YOUR hands aren’t too tired from stroking it to all these Pennsylvania walez. In today’s review we look at the inimitable Handfarm, a remix portmanteau of farmhands, aged in barrels, waxed and waiting for your touch. If you are new to this site, you might want to read up on Hop Hands before you just go into this review with some dry labias: Here is the cagematch from Saison Marathon yes I know that is a totally different beer. I am putting people up on that Tired Hands tip.

The only thing that can make an awesome saison even more betterer is barrel aging, look what it did to Arthur, took an already good beer to ART beast mode levels. Anyway, so this was a super small release and my balloon knot has been so puckered waiting to put my mouth on this so lets get to it.

God damn this beer is incredible. In the unlikely event that you missed out on the 180 bottles of Ann, please seek this out.

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.20% ABV

A: No surprises out of the gate here, it looks very similar to Farmhands with a milky sort of pale straw disposition, folding its arms with microbubbles and some will of the wisp lacing regenerating for one black mana on the edges of the glass. MAGIC THE GATHERING JOKES: WE ARE DOING THEM NOW.

A beer this complex and refreshing that clocks in at 5%? They must have leveled their saison specs so hard. DPS for days.

S: Wow, this reminds me a lot of Ann on the nose with just a huge dry white grape, musk, brett C, a light sweetness like those crescent rolls that people always fight over in commercials, lemon rind, and any candle that is yellow basically (lemon, birthday cake, sunlight, whatever.)

T: This carries more of a floral aspect than I was expecting and it presents a brett c muskiness at the outset that takes me to that vintage Fantome printemps land pretty quickly. There is a ton of complexity in the grain bill, you get sweetness, a light scratchiness as though rye was up in the mix, complicated yeasty profile on the backend that reminds me of banana runts. The yellow ones everyone always be throwing away. Again, this is just incredibly refreshing and the format size and inaccessibility of this beer is almost a complete “fuck you” to anyone without a legit cellar and a Fedex account. I DONT FEEL BAD FOR THEM THEY CAN DRINK HENNEPIN AND FUCK OFF.

This beer is so good, I wish they could just deliver it to my door.

M: This is dry at the outset because of the barrel and the brett c I would wager, think Seizoen bretta land, but the yeast and complex ass malt bill comes in kicking in doors without a warrant, tagging your mouthwalls up with sweetness, biscuit notes, stick floral potted plants on the gumline. When it leaves you don’t even know where to start, someone just farmfucked your mouth but you dont even fill out a police report because you secretly liked it.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and to say that 500ml is not enough is like dropping my monocle in a glass of 1995 Chateau Margoux and complaining about the dry cleaning bill. Most people will never have this, but this review site is not for most people. Chances are, if you are here you already lost most of your regular friends to the beer game. This site is for fucking lifers, guys with beer shivs tucked under their shitty ikea beds. If you want an incredibly refreshing saison, seek this out. It is both complex and restrained at the same time. It was gone before it even arrived.

Taking barrel aged saisons and comparing them is an art not a science

Narrative: Chester Wakely was an average rabbit by any onlooker’s standards. Pronounced bicupsinds, whiskers, nimble, and soft to the touch. He spent his days in a gentle repose amongst the willows and sagebrush, basking in the floral decadence of the springtime sun. Deep down Chester knew that something was different about him. There was a longing complexity to his character that transcended the run of the mill “avoiding predators” and “mating.” Chester would often look across the hills to the Perkinson Vineyard and wonder about those pale yellow grapes lingering on the vine. Those chardonnay casks rolled in and out like the waxing and waning of moons. While he was only 5 lbs and a rabbit, he longed to be get deep into vinification. He lacked opposable thumbs or a developed cortex to execute complex processes, but God damnit, Chester could dream. He would later be hit by a Suzuki Samurai while trying to cross the interstate.

Godspeed, Chester.

dontdrinkbeer

Drinking beer, so you don't have to.

Category Archives: belgian golden