Category Archives: belgian golden

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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 Compunction, NOW AVAILABLE IN 24OZ ALUMINUM CANS

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Just kidding, this tart gem is still walez. Most people go apeshit for vintage beats, large format Russian River sours, and even that elusive over the hill geriatric sucker, Depuration. BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS OVERLOOKED GEM? This has never been in a bottle, never been growlered, rarely observed in the wild, never domesticated. Let’s let guilt set in today’s review, because you know what you DID.

Draft only, no growler, DONG so hard right now.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 5.40% ABV

A: This looks suspiciously Founey, and has the light carbonation that unsurprisingly attends this elusive beer. The lacing is minimal, the head subsides immediately, and the entire affair calms down like a Lifetime movie really quickly. However, if you somehow have a glass of this and complain about its appearance, you are doing it r0ng. The gentle light orange and deep yellow hues are inviting but they remind you of that time you backed out on a trade, and you should feel bad.

This is a perfect illustration of how it feels to sip on this romantic portrait of an amazing wild. I did not urinate on myself, that time.

S: This smells like a blend of damn near all of the Russian River gems in a fantastic way. You get that bretty funk from Sanctification, a tart apricot acidity from beatification, that oaky character from temptation, and a white grape tannic profile from that asshole, Consecration. It kinda feels like Fantome put their balls in this batch simply due to the funk ghost that haunts the glass, ain’t even mad tho.

T: Again, the funk pounds out beats in double time like Tower of Power. There’s a deep tart cheese astringency, old saddle musk, nice apricot and peach aspects to the tartness with old gam gam’s sweet pies. There’s a backend that is similar to a biscuity chewy finish and somehow the dryness gets along with it amiably. The whole thing is kinda like a kumquat shortbread cookie, since who hasn’t baked up a fresh batch of those?

When I am mashing out on rare sours, bother me nevermore, I don’t care if it is my sweet love Anabelle Lee.

M: There’s some breadiness and the pastries are kept in check by a hateful acidity that lingers, knowing of your past transgressions. No one saw that traffic accident, no one except this beer. Now light malty clues are arriving with strange alacrity. Who placed those flaky biscuits on the windowsill? Someone who KNOWS.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and serves as a venerable Megazord of Russian River’s finest offerings in a united, powerful form. I wish this was available in bottles as it might be the best nominalization from Russian River, gives me a nice -tion in my heart. Then again, I am glad this isn’t available in bottles because then people would just wipe it out and trade it for Allagash wares, or something.

The things I would do to try this beer again are numerous and shameful.

Narrative: “Ayla, this simply is not possible!” Taeyler gasped as she found a badly worn Tamagotchi sitting on her doorstep. “Taytay, no one saw what we did that day in Claires.” Even Ayla knew deep down, her pangs of conscience were tart and cold. “No one could have foreseen that stealing those magnet earrings and scrunchies would have resulted in that hemophiliac girl bleeding to death in the piercing chair. WE COULDN’T HAVE KNOWN!” But someone did know, someone with a deep acidic disposition and an affinity for children’s hair care products. They booted up the Tamagotchi and reeled in horror to find a dead gigapet, fed constantly but never allowed to use the bathroom. “What kind of sick-” Taytay exclaimed and noticed, on the dead girl’s electronic pet, an attached magnetic earring. The deep sting of regret and tart shame.

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Ommegang Gnomegang, A Gang of Bangarang Tangs Bang and Slang this Gnome Gang

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Here’s a throwback from the days when off-shelf offerings were considered acceptable for beer review sites. When all the other beer review blogs thought it was super acceptable to force their friends listen to their review of Sam Adams Boston Lager, those days. Grin and bear it, we have another theme week coming up that will make up for all this pageantry. Be a solid bro.

I couldn’t find a picture of that stupid bottle, it has the Le’Chouffe guy with an Ommegang background or something. Who cares, here’s a picture of S’More Tuesday.

Brewery Ommegang
New York, United States
Belgian Strong Pale Ale | 9.50% ABV

A: Hazy yellow with lots of wheat particulates, huge carbonation from the bottle, after you wrestle open the draconian Ommegang cork that extends deep into the bottle. Moderate lacing and straw notes all around. I once opened one of these at a comedy show and it went apeshit and foamed all over, AND I WAS THEN THE PUNCHLINE. It is a nice hazy orange hue similar to well done belgian goldens (think: Duvel) but also a sort of graininess to it like 1970’s exploitation films.

I opened this beer and my eyeballs were all like-

S: There is plenty of orange and lemon zest present with a nutmeg and/or holiday spice profile to it. There are some clove notes and musty belgian yeast that are expected from the style. Look good, smell good, hit the club good. And the steering wheel wood like a baseball bat.

T: This beer has a huge bread profile with an expansive body that burns itself away with the alcohol profile. You get a honey with biscuit quality up front that subsides into a heat that tastes like chinook or perhaps just the unsupported alcoholic profile. The balance is precarious but well executed.

Bring a corked bottle to a party, people make faces at you. THEN YOU FEEL BAD. Until you vomit in the terrarium, then who feels bad?

M: This beer has an incredible balance for the three batons it maintains in the air at all times. First and foremost a big wheat and malty character lays the groundwork for all of the sweet notes including banana and very starchy fruits. Finally the heat from the alcohol appears and drives a heated zambonie over your palate to await the next sip.

D: For a beer of this abv and character, this is dangerously dirnkable. If they sold this in 12oz bottles I would see it performing as a condescending older brother to any Blue Moon siblings. It shines most in its ambition and delivers in execution. I would be able to drink this throughout an entire game of Civilization, which is to say I would pass out because 5 hours of Gnomegang is just too much gnome for any man.

If you try comparing this to some of the rarer Saisons and Belgian goldens from say, Soy, Belgium, you get taken out of the pot and into the MS Paint fire.

Narrative: PING! PING! PING! Garnab loved his craft and it showed. He surveyed the blade of the battleaxe with pride and rolled its haft in his calloused hands. The blade was competent and durable, yet light and precise. FSHHHHHH! The iron sizzled upon being cast into the cool water. “GARNAB GET IN HERE!” his supervisor called from down the hall of the Morgrem guild. Garnab slid into the chair daintily, an impressive feat for a gnome of his heft and weight. “Garnab, we have all been noticing you around here, your fine work, your precise castings, and impeccable attention to detail.” Garnab grunted lightly and carressed the chain of precious silver that he painstakingly created years earlier. “That is why you have been promoted to assistant vice-Gnome of the Belbgaar foundry.” He nodded silently and exited, his cool stride demonstrating his poise and power within, Garnab was going places.

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Hill Farmstead, Civil Disobedience Batch 2: CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE IS SECOND TO CRIMINAL DISOBEDIENCE

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Happy fourth of July. To my international readers that seem to love using Google translate to make my page already less not more understandable, cheers to you as well. For today’s review I figured I would do something symbolic and the idea of doing Budweiser crossed my mind, but it seemed contrived and predictable so I thought I would go more ABSTRACKT with Civil Disobedience, that which The United States is predicated upon.

Civil Disobedience sounded like a good idea until the war of 1812 happened. That was basically Vermont’s fault anyway.

Hill farmstead, Civil Disobedience 2: THE REVENGE
Oak Aged Saison, 7% abv

A: This beer has a radiant yellow/golden hue that looks like the contents of a treasure chest in video games. The carbonation needs an entire preamble to address sufficiently. It would take the full Too Short discography to describe the amount of head that this beer imparts.

“Oh great, another Hill Farmstead review of a limited release, I wonder if he likes it.”
Maybe I should be like the mouthbreather neckbeards on other beer review sites and make an uncut 8 minute video of me rambling talking about Prima Pils or some shit.

S: Hill Farmstead just knocks it out of the park with each release and the nose on this one is incredible, to say the least. There is a pronounced grassiness with a lemon and orange peel zest. The Belgian funk is muted and the dryness from the oakiness is present in a majestic way. It is like watching Raven Symone develop from Hangin with Mr. Cooper into a proficient thespian. The maturity from this barrel has imparted a great smell, not unlike the Cheetah Girls themselves.

T: The initial taste is that of a chardonnay dryness that melts into a crisp peppery orange peel finish. The entire experience is fleeting but makes you want to take another sip immediately. The esters are similar to a Belgian pale ale but impart this incredible crispness that just assaults the gumline in an incredibly refreshing manner. They say 27% of Americans die from heart disease, I want to see the number of people who die from drinking this amazing saison. That’s right, zero, so ipso facto, this is incredibly good for you and makes you immortal. Thank you Vermont, +1 to you.

It grinds my gears when people refer to Batch 2 as the “bad batch” when it is still head and shoulders above more than 90% of the saisons out there. Gears straight grinded.

M: The carbonation is so well done on this that, I sat hatefully waiting for the massive head to subside. The mouthfeel just laces and sets up sticky Victorian interior drapery to your mouth. It is incredible.

D: This is off the charts drinkable. There is no other way to address this. You take a sip and the dryness couple with the fantastic orange and peppery character to create a fantastic self-fulfilling prophecy wherein your glass is drained. You look around the room like in a text adventure game, although, no amount of keyboard banging will replace what has been imparted.

My face whenever a box arrives from Vermont.

Narrative: Sure, Chip Dexter didn’t go to college, didn’t need to with his flashy veneers and his $10,000.00 vocabulary. You didn’t know you wanted an extended warranty or a Dyson vacuum cleaner, but then Chip arrived and all of a sudden you had a volcano insurance policy on your Kansas home. He was a swift fast talker with the gift of gab and people loved him for it. Sure he had nothing to say and just reiterated Huffington Post articles relentlessly but, in small doses, you cared for old Chip. One day Chip found himself visited again and again by a confused eHarmony.com user. As all riparian trends go, Chips well of smalltalk ran dry and it was discovered: CHIP HAD NO SUBSTANCE AND WAS NOT FIT FOR LONGER TERM RELATIONSHIPS. Yeah, old Chip was a whore, but he didn’t care his crisp Michael Kors suits and dimples kept him company enough.

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Hill Farmstead Biere De Norma, Norma-tive Statements Abound

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In continuing with our theme this week of beers that were not easy to come by, we turn to lovely old Norma. This was a Hill Farmstead release, 180 bottles released to the public, 1 per person. Do the math on that one and figure out how easy this one was to lock down. Oh, and it is also completely amazing, so there’s also that going for it. Let’s develop the record in today’s review:

Norma-tive and Prescriptive ontology both declare that one must rationally seek out this tart gem.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Bière de Garde | 7.00% ABV

A: This pours in a similar vein as the other Hill Farmstead offerings but instead of the hazy straw this looks a bit more amber with some murky orange tones at the edges. The radiance is undeniable and the halogen lighting doesn’t do this one justice. The carbonation was incredible and took a while to subside into some tattered lacing on the edges like zombie clothing. Norma is beautiful.

The sour nature will burn your face off and make you stronger as a result.

S: The lactic aspect of this beer is undeniable and straight out of the gates it sets to work scorching my eyes and nostrils with tropical juicy fury. The funk is really apparent and there’s a certain hay, fallen leaves, and cobweb panache to this beer that delivers the tartness with a strange aplomb.

T: This just gets to drilling my bisucpids right away and there are no fucks to be given about my dental care. I get ripe oranges, tangelo, papaya and acidic grapefruit sans the bitterness. There’s a solid malty backend on this beer that is like fresh buttery sour cornbread that exudes old barn musk. If that makes this seem undesirable, let me rephrase that, it is incredible and well worth the repeated failed efforts it took me to land it. Incredibly puckering and musky at the same time, like gym class at the Sunkist fruit factory. We’ve all been there.

When this finally arrived in the mail, I was like BOOYA! Borderline racist caricatures from Tostitos.

M: This is as dry as Diane Keaton’s vagina and just as refined. Every aspect of this beer exudes poise and refinement while completely tattering my incisors and gumline. Despite the punitive aspects, I come back for more, obediently seeking tart lashings. Again, the review uses off-kilter comparisons that might convey negative aspects but I mean this with incredible reverence, this is a great beer. It is hardly a Biere De Garde, but awesome nonetheless.

D: This is fantastic and the acidic notes make you come back for more, while working in tandem with the voluminous carbonation to push it down your facehole with staggering speed. I want more but, I think with minimal effort we can get a tally of the bottles that are gone, so cue the sighs.

And eventually, the delicious bottle was gone, anger sets in.

Narrative: Nana Acrimom was a silent old matriarch that ruled her farm home with loving care and a tender arthritic hand cased in iron. The children would scamper home from school up the dirty path reeking of the floral presentation that only autumn in Vermont could deliver. The leaves were crushed in their hair and trousers with careless abandon. Nana Acrimom had a special method of allowing her tart apple pies to cool in the barn amongst old cars and her leatherworking equipment. When the children would dig their hands greedily into the tart batter, the musk from the barn would rise to the sky sending a cascade of old denim, dust, and dried hay into the air. They wouldn’t have it any other way. Later, the children each underwent orthodontic surgery for enamel destruction, but those special summers eating face melting pastries were the bee’s knees.

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Girardin Black Label Gueuze, Srsly Guezue Read This Guize

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I started trading with a short sighted idea to review all of the top 100 beers on the top beer sites, well this one used to haunt that shit like Boo Radley and put shit in my tree all the time. Well how do you kill a Boo Radley? You hire Atticus to burn his fucking house down. Whoa this mixed metaphor went off the rails real quick. I traded for it and got an amazing gueuze in the process. WE WERE ALL STRONGER AS A RESULT.

I didn’t age this shit since 1882, my Gilded Age beers are saved for when I rip off the proletariat in a significant way.

Girardin Black Label Gueuze, 5% 2011

A: This little stepchild is deep gold with some coppery hues in the center. Nice warm orange accents are illuminated by my opulent Ikea lamp. Huge carbonation greets you like a high school reunion but subsides into mild patterns. The lacing is minimal but, not incongenial. It cups my jawline gently then bites the shit out of my lip like a delta gamma.

Pop open an amazing gueuze and watch animals and small asian children lose their shit.

S: There is a deep funk to it like Jolly Pumpkin on steroids, crisp granny smith apple tartness, grape skins, tannic profile, some apricot to it. Lots of bright fruits and reminds me of Nana’s hand soap collection with juiciness to the funky aspects. You know, Nana’s soapiness. Right? Alright this is getting too personal.

T: This is incredibly interesting in the sheer taste balance that it presents. It is not overly drying but it presents a nice kick of chardonnay tartness. There is a mild fruitiness to it but the most overriding note that I get it a delicious lemony acidity with an expansive tart grassiness. It washes clean quickly and leaves a nice dry palate. Did I just eat an entire Fuji apple? Fuck I hope not. I hate fruit. PSHEW I WAS JUST GETTING WASTED ON EXPENSIVE BEER.

This beer seems pure but flexes hard and the true nature of this tart beast is revealed immediately.

M: This is dry, but not overridingly so. It doesn’t make me pucker up in revulsion like some gueuze that I have had. On that same note, it doesn’t overdo the fruit notes and presents an incredible balance. You know that perfect 16 year old parkor Olympian sort of balance. Am I alone on this one? Ok so, drink ability…

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, with the proviso that you have some water handy. You will get that “movie theater” mouth that happens when you decide to merk an entire box of skittles or sour patch kids to yourself. Stay thirsty my friends. This will keep you plenty thirsty and you should drink accordingly. Or maybe you just kiss to deeply, love hard my friends, this 3 year old beer has gone through a lot to meet your lips. Romcom’s finest.

like most ubersours, you just tuck your gumline, suck your teeth back and enjoy the destruction.

Narrative: It was a strange condition to be sure, not debilitating, but far from the norm. Waylon Roberts perpetually carried a 32oz mister bottle of reverse hydrolyzed water with him for the simple reason that, he could not spit. “An ten, the teachuh saids, ‘those are not for thuh students!’” His classmates looked upon him with silent disdain. Comedy is inherently based upon timing. It is also based upon proper pronunciation and diction. “Suh, anywasssshh” he pulled out his spritzer bottle and wetted his cracked dry lips, “ah there we are chaps, so who wants to grab some Munch Ems and go for a hike?” His peers looked upon him in amazement. He was fully aware of his condition but seemed dead set on defying all convention connected thereto. “Man, nothing on a hot day like this like some sweet Yoohoo, am I rith?” his voice cracked as he took a strong gulp of the milky substance. “HEY WHITEGUMS CATCH!” some bullies yelled as they pelted him with a packet of Quench Gum from Big5 sporting goods. Kids can be so cruel.

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Green Flash Double Stout, When a Single Stout Isn’t Enough, Double That Shit Down.

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Green Flash, ah, just the name feels like the deal of the century. They nestle shoulders with Lagunitas warmly and provide amazing beers are incredibly affordable prices. I love this brewery and they consistently roll out great gems for everyone to enjoy, not just elitist aleholes with boxes littering their homes. So let’s double down some stouts in today’s review.

This beer is stunning and this shit didn’t even go into a barrel. . .that one is coming soon. . .FORESHADOWING TO THE MAXIMUM.

Green Flash Double Stout
8.8% abv

A: This is a welcoming blackness with some deep brown hues. There is a fantastic huge carbonation and lingering forestry of lacing that webs over itself and sticks with aggression. The entire beer is incredibly well done and surprising, not in an elitist way, but come on for the price this beer delivers more than some of the overhyped brewery only releases. I am super serial.

I need MORE OF THIS STOUT. All the time.

S: This is incredible for a beer that is not barrel aged. It presents a huge drying coffee, burnt wood, and 85% cocoa chocolate profile. But with a smoothness like a Feist sustained note. Deep, dark, but entreating. There’s a dryness and a crispy brownie batter aspect to it.

T: The taste is very simple. It imparts a huge burnt dryness that tastes like the dregs of a great espresso that melts into a chocolate profile with that bitterness that is common to very dark chocolate and then a splash of water, and it is over. It is a chocolate splash mountain of flavor and Brier Rabbit barely has time to say anything, edgewise or otherwise.

With something this dark and powerful, shit gets dangerous real quickly.

M: This is swift with a medium coating but a solid coating for about 2 seconds and then it scurries off. It is almost like they want you to drink the entire 4 pack in a single sitting. WELL GREEN FLASH, I see your challenge and respectfully decline, I have other matters to attend to. The end taste of the coating has a sort of a burned black licorice that is interesting, but fleeting. This is a swift little stout but even the most capricious Clipper spies a Galeon on the horizon. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

D: This is incredibly drinkable if, and only if 1) you enjoy coffee, a lot or 2) you cannot wait for baked good to be done and you like baker’s chocolate, a lot. If you want a huge filling stout, this isn’t the one. This is a deep dark oaky coffee ninja that imparts and retreats. Toffee shurikens are likely involved.

Smootheness coupled with an integrated alcohol profile makes me not know what the hell is going on before I knew it.

Narrative: “Another one, this is a series, to be sure.” Detective Branning spit angrily upon the ground and clenched his jaw. “Another chocolate store robbed blind, in an instant, with the insides gutted and replaced with…shitty coffee.” “Yes sir, it just doesn’t add up.” his assistant, Detective Willoughby added. Willoughby’s glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he chewed on the end of his pen contemplatively. “You know, if someone wants chocolate that bad, why go through the trouble of replacing it with all this shitty coffee? Just don’t add up boss.” Branning nodded and looked into the bag’s of Seattle’s Best, then into a barrel of Yuban. “Someone is fucking with us, it’s a calling card, he’s letting us know that he can get away with it.” Branning ejaculated and flipped his notebook shut. Meanwhile, in the alley adjacent to the knocked off candy store, a lone Peruvian man garbed in all black shook his head morosely. “No detective Branning, this is far from a game, and it has only just begun,” he chortled as his diminutive 5’2” frame chortled with menacing laughter. “IN THE LAND OF SURPLUS CROPS, THE MAN WITH THE CHOCOLATE IS KING.” Branning took one long look at the crime scene and said, “well Willougby, whoever did this is either really sick, or was raised in a place that doesn’t understand relative product value, OR BOTH.” He kicked a lone coffee bean and watched it slide into a pool of melted chocolate.

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Lost Abbey Cable Car, Ring a Ding Ding, The San (Diego) Francisco Treat.

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What else can we way about this amazing sour that hasn’t been etched in the stalls of homosexual nightclubs already? This is an amazing beer. I have only had this beer three times and each time I nodded contemplatively at spending a pretty penny to try it, not even mad tho. This beer sweeps the leg and makes me want another, not unlike giving a mouse a cookie, he is going to want a vert.

This beer is only for sale at Torona- WAIT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?

Lost Abbey, Cable Car, 7.0% wild ale

Oh wait, let’s not forget about the Cable Car Kriek, not even fucking around on this review:

Take an amazing sour and then take it to the kriekzone. Feeling like a cherry popping daddy.

A: Light pilsner color, mellow gold, a refined golden ambiance. The kriek technically deserves its own review but I will just ad lib this shit, the kriek has a bright radiant hue like cherry afterbirth. Amazing beers on both aspects.

GOD DAMNIT I need moar of this beer. You must understand my frustration.

S: Strong sour geuze smell, crushed sweettarts and a melted fruitloops wafting. There is a mild funk of wet hay and a deep crisp granny smith apple note going on that is super cutty.

T: This beer is intimidating at first, strong smells and notes, but ultimately this is a calf that you can wrangle without oppression. It is akin to mutton busting, something that seems difficult until you tackle the sheep, and pull its majestic fur to the ground. At its core, it is temptation with milder souring, lighter drying effects, less tanins in the grape aftertaste, and finally champagne crisp apple notes in the finish. Nothing you can’t handle but an exceptional balance. It is the lovechild of gueuze and champagnes of the mild brut variety. I love the dryness even if it slows me from enjoying the white grape and fuji apple notes.

This beer is unique, yet respectable, strange, yet friendly.

M: Fantastic, crisp and light, the entire experience has lemon zest and feels like a Hootie and the Blowfish Album. You can dispense this pellmell and no one will look askance. If not for the oppressive Toronado’s standards, this could be something everyone could enjoy, if not for proprietary despotism. This is well worth bootlegging, well worth epic trades. Just really good, but if you want to tread this road, there are more refined paths as smoothe as marble for your wanting cart, should you not have epic cellar gems to take down this beast.

D: Again, fantastic but competing in a league of legends. I would drink this all day, fixing my carburetor, prepartying for the charity gala, snuff film exposition, you know, guy stuff. I find myself in a love hate resolution with this beer because I love what it is but I hate the air surrounding it. It feels like seeing a person with a TOOL shirt on. you love the syncopated rhythms and complex melodies, but you dislike the fanbase in general. The faux highbrow ruins what would be a fantastic experience.

I need more of this sour gem, I cannot stop thrusting.

Narrative: Sir Fredrick Willingsly is repossessing your car. You can’t hate him for doing his job, but, without a 1998 civic DX, these pizzas arent going to deliver themselves. You hate him, with his cliche antagonistic handlebar moustache and fogged up monocle. However, his wry quips relating to Howards’ End and class struggle made it all the sweeter. “And thence upon from which one has had, none shall take without” he declares with a cloud of aplomb that almost makes you lighthearted in his usurpation of your chief economic asset. He is akin to the Mr. peanut of recurring vengeance. your pocket despises him, yet you respect him for his casuistic enforcement of the law. “God speed Willingsly, dont scratch my sick mugen exhaust on the dip. Godspeed.”

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Goose Island Matilda, Naming Beers After Geriatric Women Tops New Beer Trends

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Ah my first dance with Goose Island was with sweet old Matilda. She was gentle but instructing at the same time. Oh how we’ve grown on to sample the other “rarer” madames in the GI lineup, but I don’t see Bourbon County waiting for that 2 a.m. call, only sweet old ‘Tilda. Anyway, let’s check her out in today’s review.

There was a time when I thought that this actually passed for a beer pic. Oh how we have evolved.

Goose Island Beer Co.
Illinois, United States
Belgian Strong Pale Ale | 7.00% ABV

A: the head is a full two finger affair that subsides after a moment into some gentle lacing, nothing out of the ordinary, particularly for the belgium strong style. Strangely calm color, inbetween brass and copper, nothing too menacing here, a step above a pale ale in its appearance. She’s a sweet old lady who can always jitterbug with light white lacey doilies for your cup of amber tea.

I can’t stay mad at you, old Matilda.

S: This has some grapes (white), pear, a bit of honey dryness, clove, nothing musky or out of the ordinary. very sweet bouquet. This has a huge distribution and is my air raid shelter from shitty BMC when I go to overpriced West Hollywood bars.

T: This ale is very sweet on the palate, no hoppy finish, almost sweet through and through, the finish is a mild crisp ginger almost, reminscient of a saison, not in the style of a belgium strong. the sweet fruit notes come through and linger shortly.

When I am old, I will still do my chores like a baws. Or better yet, no chores for me because I am fucking old.

M: the straw appearance gives an upfront note as to what you will be expecting, a quick burn that doesnt coat especially well, but the yeast is present and allows the spiciness to gently pass. Upon tasting a creaminess develops to enhance the fruit notes, but again, passes rather quickly. It was like that Chimpanzee movie, come on Disney, a “movie” that is 78 minutes long? Come on.

D: A solid blend between a saison style and belgium table ale, I feel the “STRONG” is a bit misplaced, but maybe my american palate is too jaded for extremes, however, this is made in Chicago, where are the meat packing houses and the spirit of the Jungle, the bitter cold, the inclement people? This is a solid Nissan Altima of belgium ales, very drinkable but not quite notable in any respect. In light of the pircetag, probably will not purchase again, pound for pound. The 7 percent is nice, but with the hops and ABV arms race out there, you can get pilsners in 7 percent so its particularly not a heavy hitter for its style.

The perfect drink to raise your children on before they get into heavier shit.

Narrative: You said this would be the last time, you curse yourself, breath swilling cold in circlets from your lips, “you ARE A BELGIAN ALE” you told yourself that when you looked in the bezzled mirror, you told yourself when you filled up your handbag, dont sell yourself short, you can do this. A john approaches in a Mitsubishi Mirage, not exactly your market but hey, “Belgium strong, what’s your pleasure” he looks displased…is it…my color? No…I look almost how I should..” YOU? You’re a belgizn strong? I had you pegged more for a French farmhouse girl…what’re you into?” He’s judgmental, and I am nervous, he knows, he knows I am mediocre and he’s smelling it as well “I am into whatever can foot the bill sweetie” He gestures knowingly that this baleful ale will be costly but ultimately fulfilling. The mighty 4 cylinder revvs towards consumption. It was a tawdry sham, but it was still fulfilling deep down.

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De Struise Aardmonnik – Earthmonk, For Those Times When Spacemonks are too Terrestrial

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Ah Struise, these crazy mixologists always roll out noteworthy gems and I always love getting these on my doorstep. Today we step away from their stouts and take a dive into their sourer side for some Belgian kisses in today’s review.

The Ansel Adams of beer photos up in the club popping bottles.

De Struise Brouwers
Belgium
Flanders Oud Bruin | 8.00% ABV

A: This beer is completely flat. I am talking like day 5 of bottle conditioning flat for the novice home brewer. I poured it with anger and, nothing. It looks like a murky quad with some deep amber tones against the light but overall just a deep cola color.

The perfect beer for baseball season. Have fun.

S: Holy hell, this lights up the nostrils with a bouquet of cherry, currant, red grape, and a huge vinegar profile. There’s a sort of delicious nail polish remover aspect going on here, but with figs. It’s like M.A.S.K. vehicles that look all janky until they transform into some bad ass robot and get sued by the Transformers lawyers, except, no one gets sued. WHICH IS ALSO BAD ASS.

T: This imparts a cherry juice sweetness at the outset and then, like bosses when you chip away that their HP, it turns into this deep brown ale base the finally fades into a bitter merlot. This is similar to Veritas 009 in that it is just completely confusing. At the bottom of it all there is a bitter cherry aspect stacked on top of a flat brown ale. This 11oz bottle was more than enough.

This beer is weird, dark, but I like it. Don’t ask me for a full analysis, it just works.

M: This has a flat, stinging, drying aspect to it. I don’t know if that was an intentional Brew Dog tactic to attempt to push the envelope but it didn’t resonate too well. Part of me doesn’t want to keep it swashing around my mouth to determine the coating. I will give this a moment to warm up to determine if it improves.

D: Ok so, it improves a bit with some heat on it but, the result is that it turns into a bottle of Rodenbach with a bit of age on it. Only more expensive. I don’t want to have to buy an Accord and wait around for it to turn into an RSX. That seems wasteful. I guess this is drinkable if you have the time to age it, or sit around and wish for better days. I like my beers good out of the bottle, not with all this molly coddling. To be clear, sours and wilds are my favorite style and this Oud Bruin should have been lazily draping its arm all up in my palate, cuddling within the ambit of my tastes. Sadly no, I can’t recommend this with more accessible and delicious things taking place all pell mell.

When you see it, you will realize this book was published in 1990.

Narrative: “Kenny, good to finally meet you, please, come in-” Mr. Jennings motioned entreatingly to a palatial foyer, a mere pre-foyer to another foyer, the transition from French to Portugese marble was an option that was specifically selected during construction way back in 2006. “Have a seat son.” Kenny’s palms began to sweat profusely and he wiped them upon his finest jeans, purchased from Nordstom Rack. The boot cut ¾ standard common to last year’s denim was not unnoticed by the constituents of the home. “They know, I can tell they are judging me.” he thought to himself scornfully. “Now Kenny, Miranda tells us that your parents own a fruit packing conglomerate, that sounds fascinating. Please, tell me about it” Mr. Jennings leaned forward importuning Kenny gracefully. “Well it’s uh, pretty interesting with the cans, and well you know the-” Kenny looked down, “they can tell that my parents own a modest preservatives operation. Why am I even bothering?” He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, “hey son, relax, I know you aren’t who you say you are, but, I respect that” “Sir, I” “son, the pectin on your shirt sleeve, the wax seal stain on your jeans, it’s obvious you are not who you say you are, but, I like the cut of your jib.”