Category Archives: belgian

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Cascade Strawberry, Just Kiss Me Through the Phone Strawberry Style

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Oh Cascade, you can be so helpful, or such a difficult minx. Sure, you offer most of your amazing sours online for purchase and that is as awesome as it comes. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER RELEASES? Then I have to actually go and FIND a PERSON to go get them for me. This is one such beer. What will I do when Figaro drops? What will I do then? Anyway, this brewery has a pretty stellar record for knocking out incredible sours like oh I don’t know:

Remember this club banger? Me either.

Anyway, so we have done cherries, we have done apricots, now let’s taste that sweet sticky strawberry. Things are getting sexy up on this page.

Don’t eat the green part of this beer, it makes you pregnant.

Cascade Brewing / Raccoon Lodge & Brewpub
Oregon, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV 7.39%

A: This has a nice radiant glow of deep amber and orange with a slight pinkish hue like rose`, Trey Songs be pouring up cups in the club. There’s minimal lacing and the carbonation is there but doesn’t show off. It posts in the corner just whittling a little wispy white profile.

Age probably won’t change this beer. It will still be strawberries and acidity 15 years from now.

S: This has an incredible berry profile with fresh skins, nice strawberry juiciness, kinda has a stripper scent to it, you know that pink dust that you can never get off of your clothes, I mean, not me, but I have heard. Smells like Bath and Body works meets a Farmer’s Market. The whole endeavor feels exceedingly gentle like a tableshower. You just Googled that shit.

T: This follows the traditional lactic Cascade formula and, while it usually works, this mutes the fruits and makes this come off as a kind of a generic tartness that could be really anything. I love the finish and the dryness but the whole strawberry aspect of this takes a backseat to the abusive acidic boyfriend that tells her what to wear and who she can have in her phone. This isn’t the best Cascade that I have had, but it is still a pretty dank offering. This tastes strangely similar to Sans Pagaie, so you Bruery lovers, just pop that and use your imagination. Feel me.

This is sour.

M: This has a nice prickly acidity that stings and delivers along the gumline but doesn’t take things to the Weyerbacher Riserva levels. It is balanced and pleasant to enjoy. I could see myself reading Parade magazine and drinking this, in about 50 years when my life has become meaningless. There’s a nice chardonnay quality and I am sure you could get a Delta Gamma pretty drilled off of this, but that’s not a feat to record in the annals. No typo.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and doesn’t give me the lambic guts. I enjoy just sitting back, listening to Diplo, mashing on some berries and wasting the night away. Your mileage may vary, you could show this to your friends and they think your dick is small, bent, and dark. Who knows. Final verdict: other Cascades are more accessible, and probably better, but this is still a BERRY GOOD BEER.

Sometimes I think my readers aren’t even strawberrying.

Narrative: Most exotic dancers don’t plan things as far in advance as Jezebel. Well, for starters, her legal name was “Jezebel” and that should show her parents’ limited knowledge of the Old Testament. She was All State in Hurdles and got 5’s on 6 different Advanced Placement tests, this was all a part of her grand design. “But why for you are to be in dancing and not in the college making?” her scarcely bilingual Ukranian co-worker once importuned. “Well you see, the State is broke, the Federal Government wants to offer me high interest loans, and desperate Cuban men pay hard cash immediately that is untaxed and does not need to be amortized,” Jezebel explained. “Oh, I am to like dancing but also would like to be making bakery,” Svetlana insightfully added. Some would look with an ill repute and disdain upon Jezebel’s Keynesian economic theory, but she studied during the day while her clientele were nursing their hangovers and danced at night for cold hard currency that she put in a Roth IRA to drive down her capital gains. Smelling like strawberry lip gloss all the time was not easy, but she was a refined exotic, yet entirely approachable in sum and substance.

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Evaporated Beer? Sounds legit.

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How many times have you been 14 in geometry and wished you could be sipping on an evaporated stout? What about during a long, hot hike, wouldn’t a powdered barleywine hit the spot?

If you said “fuck no” then perhaps you are amongst the small consumer base that can be identified loosely as “every fucking person on earth.”

Anyway, if you want to know more about this, here you go:

http://designtaxi.com/news/353376/Beer-Concentrate-Just-Add-Water-For-Drinking-On-The-Go/

Wipe it on your gums. Get nasty with it.

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2008 Cantillon Lou Pepe Kriek, Cherry Poppin Daddy

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Oh loonz. Everyone wants them, and yet they seem to gravitate to the cellars of a chosen few that inexplicably never seem to drink them. If anyone is posting pics online of their 300+ collection of Loonz and 3F, pokemon hoarder extraordinaire to the fullest. Ask them to post a pic of a single open Fou Foune and watch their little hearts break. For example, for the lulz, I took some loonz to Cabo and drank them, because I drain lambic harder than a Brazzers account:

Drinking loonz on the Tropic of Cancer is money, having a basement full of things you never drink is a janky episode of Hoarders.

Loonz are meant to be dranken, so we are gonna smash some cherries in today’s review. Oh also, this is on some top 100 lists, for those who care about that SUPERFICIAL SHIT.

Step on that cherry, aws jeah, smash my preserves.

Alright let’s get this review underway, oh WAIT FUCKING PSYCHE-

CANTILLON PSYCHE OUT: MOAR SHARED LOONZ.

Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 5.00% ABV

A: Get the haz mat suits out, this beer looks like radioactive grenadine. The ruby foam billows up and just exudes a tannic berry character and when the light hits your eyes it is more radiant than an Aphex Twin concert. You just googled that shit. The whole affair is a beautiful garnet gemstone from old Gam Gam that you hold so precious but want to share with others.

If you have never had any Cantillon, it will make you flip your shit.

S: This has an initial tannic cherry skin quality with a musk similar to the OG Lou Pepe Gueuze, for obvious reasons. You get some wet yard clippings but with a healthy does of cherry juice and Cherry 7up sprayed over it. It has a crisp finish to the nose like a red champagne and the whole thing just feels refined, like if you got accused of being an alcoholic on Intervention and pulled this out people would be like, “well HOW OFTEN are we talking about? Does he beat his kids EVERY day?” Making friends and shit.

T: This is incredibly tart with raspberry, cherry, and essentially any candy that has Red5 in it. It reminds me of sour ropes and a juicy, authentic berry profile that blurs the line between beer and tastebud orgasms. Which is the opposite of an orgasm ON your tastebuds, so we are clear. I love the incredibly acrid borderline brackish finish that this imparts. The dryness is like a fine Pinot Noir meets the sweetness of well-done Cyser, balling Lisa Frank style, stuffing singles into some Hudson jeans, balling out so hard.

If you don’t drink your Loonz, that is bad and you should feel bad.

M: Hey, how is your short term memory holding up> This beer is fucking dry. It is also thin, and…cherries. There you go. Next section.

D: Did you recover from that huge blast of sass in the last section? Pshew, can you walk? This is exceptionally drinkable, you could power down a full bottle of this and still show up smelling like a Fruit by the Foot addict in time for your kid’s Parent-Teacher conference. If you got pulled over after binging on this beer, the cop wouldn’t think you were drinking, he would just assume you had no self control and fucking loved candy.

Actually opening a Cantillon feels good man, try it.

Narrative: Rainier Bing swirled the pink potation in front of him and wiped the sticky juice from his slick skin. His stem was chapped in this humid weather and this tavern felt like a prison, letting him know all that he had done wrong. “It all reduces down to MASTER and SLAVE roles, ultimately, that’s what the Story of Job, Psalms, pretty much all the Old Testa-” Rainier stopped his drunken rambling when he saw her walk through the threshold. Her skin was still flawless, perfectly unbruised, looking as though harvest season was just last month. “Is that…SKEENA SANTINA? God, she was the prize of the last harvest.” Her sweet ruby skin glimmered under the red lights, and the heat floated on top of her skin, like an ice cube in a glass of gin. She quipped to a couple of currants in the corner booth and sat, BY HERSELF NO LESS, and casually lit a cherry cigarillo. There was no smoking in the Cherry Pit but she flashed a coy wink to the bartender and he continued drying the glass and put on an asymmetrical grin. “HEY…er hey Skeena?” Rainier stammered to himself, suddenly aware of this pints of juice that he had just consumed. “Gosh you, I mean, look at us, same TREE! God, I remember you from budding season, you just-” Mr. Bing continued and noticed that she was staring with an apparent prescience at the white fuzz on his right quadrant. “Ha! I mean, look at me, a lil old in the tooth, did some time in the bottom of the plastic bin, a little moisture expos-” Rainier trailed off as Skeena Santina gave him an acrimonious glance and put her cigar out. He was right, in the end, all was reduced to master and slave relations. Reality was a tart endeavor.

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Coors Brewing Blue Moon Belgian White, Because Your Stepdad Isn’t Watching the Kardashians Sober

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You knew it would come to this. We have been slaying wales and enjoying our time in the sun, but now the time for around fucking has long since elapsed: it is time to confront the Blue Corn Moon. I am going to show you assholes how to paint with all colors of the wind in today’s review:

Apologies to Shaun Hill for the misuse of the glassware, we are slaying wales today.

Coors Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
Witbier | 5.40% ABV

A: This has a hazy orange aspect to it and frothy cloud of mediocrity that dances playfully so as to say, “don’t worry, having a second kid isn’t the end of the world.” A panacea for pedestrian problems. The lacing is insubstantial but it looks the part of a summer beer, something you can drink when you are 14 years old and you can’t really fuck the world up that badly yet.

If you wanna be the best damn beer served at a Prince concert, BE THAT SHIT.

S: The smell is kinda like that girl who you always cheated off of in Algebra, standard, but forgetable. It has some light biscuit qualities, pale malt, a light orange zest, and a lil bit of coriander on the backend but I am talking like 1 molar unit. This is all irrelevant though because you will probably be drinking this out of a plastic cup with half an orange dunked in it anyway, looking out over the shitty waterpark, wondering how your life ended up this way.

T: This has a mediocre biscuit and conrbread quality with an emphasis on hackneyed wheat execution. In the realm of witbeers, this would be somewhere inbetween a Chevy Aveo and a Daewoo Lanos. It will get you to your middle management job at Golden Corral, but no one is going to be turning their heads in stern reverence of your chunk of orange sitting on the rim of your 22oz glass. It tastes like it smells with a watery wheat profile, some orange notes that seem almost synthetically added there via the beer equivalent of photoshop.

Dude you have a Blue Moon, what?

M: This is watery with some mild foamy expansive corn and biscuit maltiness. You get the traditional pale aspects and some light drying from the orange. Describing this is like using an electron microscope on a loaf of bread because extrapolating the nuances from something this simple seems to belabor the point. You have probably had this beer a million times before at Applebees, why the fuck am I even reviewing this?

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and it will be the taste you remember when you are booked for public intoxication. The type of people who drink this don’t read my site and the type of people who brew this go home from their factory jobs and watch Storage Wars, but, it IS drinkable. Water is also drinkable on a long hike, but it doesn’t have biscuits and orange rind floating around in it. This beer will get the job done at a Sugarland concert if the venerable Shocktop isn’t available. At a certain point I just look at the prospect of getting a mild buzz from this and think of the 150 calories wasted in the transaction.

After 9 of these at a Pony convention, you will never drink (this beer) again.

Narrative: Life at the Sunkist packing line wasn’t how Jacob Killigan saw his life culminating. He was in charge of 31 people and his regional director said that his efficiency yields were exemplary. He even had various certificates printed from a bubblejet printer lining the walls of his modest cubicle evidencing how qualified his fruit harvesting efforts were. Still, he would come home at night to his Birmingham home and look at the Billy Bass on the wall and pop open a Red Stripe and wonder how it all came to this. In high school he played noseguard and people loved his S10. Oh how those slackjawed Alabamian women, so ripe with indiscretions swooned when he hit the bags. THE BAGS. He exhaled and tossed the cap across the room into his Kansas City Chiefs trashcan and turned the TV on. He took a deep sip and felt an existential crisis on an uneducated level, there had to be more out there than re-runs of Celebrity Apprentice, but what? He would toe the cusp of greatness at the Sunkist factory, until he meets a biscuit mouthed Denny’s waitress who has just started a jewelry business on Pintrest. True love.

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Fantome Clos Preal Batch 2, Ghosting Harder than a Terran Nuke

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You ever watch a Megadeth video and have no idea what the fuck is going on? That is kinda what is going on with this fantasm. The ornate packaging is so high handed for the amazing artisinal fantome saisons that you are accustomed to, but you feel special. This was only available in Belgium as far as I know and the hefty 10% abv caught my eye. I love this brewery and this style, so let’s see if Fantome continues to exorcise the dead in today’s review:

Ghosting harder than a Terran nuke.

Brasserie Fantôme
Belgium
Bière de Garde | 10.00% ABV

A: This is as fantome as it gets, nice eggshell carbonation that releases the crypt with billowing white foam. The cork is released as willingly as a Mexican parking ticket, with less corruption. The golden hues have a cloudy brassy tone to them that keep things in the saison cut. Black strap you know what that’s for.

At the outset, I am not sure what it is that I am celebrating with this bottle. RIDE THAT GHOST YOU PUSSY.

S: This has a strange waft at first, not the imperial apples and hay that I was expecting, no this beer has gone down a different road altogether. There is some citrus but it is mostly just funk to the max. I am talking incense dealer at Venice Beach levels of funk. There’s this musk that is kinda like the potted plants aisle at Home Depot and a rich acidity on the backend similar to zested lemons.

T: This is incredibly dry from the outset with a pithy citrus aspect to the finish. The bready notes work to mask the abv amiably. This starts going into a strange new realm of non-saison that I am not confident that I agree with. I wanted more of the citrus aspects, but instead I was treated to a fennel extravaganza, pushing fox tails into my gullet. Unless I am getting bullied by some poor Bolivian kid at a Fresno elementary school, I don’t need to eat weeds.

These saison ghosts are the best ghosts.

M: This is drier than your Statistic teacher’s sense of humor and lingers just as long. There’s this acrid assault on the gumline that borders on brackish and even Noel Coward thinks this is a bit salty. As this beer warms the abv starts waking up like a Snorolax and, if you’ve ever woken one of those up, you know shit goes off the rails real quick. There’s this charred wheat aspect that makes an entire 750ml tough to finish to myself, but maybe I was meant to share this. Maybe I shouldn’t be such a selfish asshole maybe?

D: This is too big to bee drinkable, too rare to be opened often, too ornate to take places without people clowning the shit out of you, and if you drank this while working on an IROC Camaro, people would seriously question your political affiliation. This was pretty solid and I love Dany Prignon, but just didn’t knock it out of the park for me. I have heard that Extra Sour is the second coming and resurrection of Ann’s ghost, so I would love to pursue this saison love to its logical conclusion. I will keep you P(gh)OSTED!

This mischievous ghost will hit you when you least expect it

Narrative: The first day of 9th grade was especially trying for Thomas Caraway. Tommy Hilfiger overalls were not only dated, but also a wildy unacceptable fashion decision in a world of waiting derision. “HEY FARMER TOMMY WHY DON’T YOU SU-” He learned to tune them out and calmly stride to Geometry with the cool poise of a 14 year old who just wasted $120.00 of his parents money. It wasn’t that he was a bad kid, he was sweet enough, it was just a question of leadership. He wasn’t a follower, but he set himself out as more of a chairman without a board. Thomas was a bold innovator in a market that abhorred change and friction. He pulled out his iphone and began to ironically play Puddle of Mudd around other kids in the cafeteria, much to their chagrin. When he was sweet, it was irascible, when he was bitter, it went too far. He was a strange kid but, you never could really dislike him for it. However, his bucket hat justifiably got struck in the genitals on not an isolated occasion.

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Squatters’ Fifth Element, Bruce Willis is Wilding Out So Hard on this Saison

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At first I saw some stir in the trade boards for this elusive gem and thought nothing of it. THEN I LOOKED DEEPER. It wasn’t the low bottle counts, the sky high ratings, or the fact that it is my particular favorite style of beer; it was a love for Chris Tucker. Ok not really, but this is an amazing farmhouse, so let’s hit the barn hard in today’s review:

This approaches that amazing Fantome ghost level status saison, consumed by Latter Day Saints.

Squatters Pub Brewery
Utah, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.75% ABV

Fifth Element is a delightfully complex and rustic “Old World” style Belgian farmhouse ale. Aged in American oak barrels for a year and bottle conditioned, this artisan Belgian ale is sure to refresh.

A: This has an amazing look to it that is all saison, all funky turbid glowing radioactive hay with substantial foam and lacing. This is what I imagine a Vengaboys concert to look like, potentially Aqua. The hues remind me of glowsticks once your crack them open, straight up radiant.

Wait for the next Squatter’s release? Ain’t nobody got time for that.

S: This is all sharp citrus, lemon zest, l’orange, pomplemousse, nice grapefruit with funky Sunkist zest and a bready cornbread aspect to it. Whip up the Bisquik and start serving saison fiends in the trap.

T: This has an incredibly refreshing light citrus aspect to it with brett, lingering acidity, hay musk, there’s some light pepper and cloves but the citrus and dryness is really what impresses here, it just registered the domain Bomb.edu because it educates you in all things bomb. I really wish the bottle counts on this weren’t so ridiculous because I would hazard a trip to Utah to make this happen. I don’t ski and I drink caffeine so I might not fit in, but i could always buy a Costco membership and a trampoline and fake it. Mormons always get the nicest things.

I need my go go juice sweet saison booboo.

M: This is exceptionally dry but the acidity and light wheat profile makes this an exceptionally well rounded beer that reminds me quite a bit of Fantome Pissenlit and potentially a less dry version of Hill Farmstead E. This beer sits in nice ass company like how Two Chainz ruins every song but gets on tracks with Yay and Darke. Except that this beer is amazing, unlike Two Chainz.

D: I merked this bottle faster than Calvin Broadus, murder was the case this beer gave me. I want more but I feel it gauche to just demand it given the low bottle numbers and hand bottled status. If you open one, you will understand, this just gets drained relentlessly like lipo from Persian housewives in Bev Hills. I WANT TO GET DRAINED A SECOND TIME. Close the Brazzers tab, we spitting real Saison game on the musky tip.

I NED MOAR OF THES SASON. Srlsly guize. Srsly.

Narrative: “Damnit Devin, this Babylon 5 convention has no hot chicks here.” “Well what the hell did you expect?” The two were quite a pair, Devin and Pao. One was complex and foreign, the other was white, bland, and thick. “In the show, there are some sexual overtones but, I don’t think I have ever met a female fan of this series.” Pao ran his fingers through his shiny black hair, the halogen lights reflecting off of his tier 5 press pass. The two scanned the packed convention hall full of middle aged, mouth breathing fan boys. “The Centauri are kinda hot“ Pao offered consolingly. “Oh wait…tits…those are definitely tits.” The ceramic chest piece turned to reveal four prosthetic breasts on a woman whose gender was certainly already questionable absent any alien garb. “Ok, no, this is exotic and fun, but ultimately, a forgettable experience. I just can’t do this anymore.” Devin ran through the double doors. As he left Pao introduced himself to the shows executive producers, two stunning German girls of Conneticutian descent who later invited him back to the Marina Del Rey Sheritan.

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Brouwerij Het Alternatief The Bitter Truth Tripel IPA, You Can’t Handel The Truf

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I don’t remember ever having this beer, and I lost the picture that I took of it. This tells me that this 10% heater did its job. Anyway, let’s sip this esoteric gem in today’s review, THIS BEER BE THE TRUTH.

This isn’t my picture, but since we are telling the truth, truthfully you probably don’t give a shit.

Brouwerij Het Alternatief
Belgium
Belgian IPA | 10.00% ABV

The Bitter Truth, Tripel 10% 70 ibu

A: Faint chardonnay yellowish faint gold with very thin character similar to a thin lager. HUGE head with carbonation throughout. The carbonation might be my favorite part of this beer, which sounds strange but it is executed perfectly.

This beer is a little strange, BUT YOU SECRETLY LIKE IT.

S: Lots of pepper and spice, some clove, mild sugars and tart white grapes. This isn’t your standard Triple IPA offering, but I enjoy it.

T: A sweet white wine savignon blanc taste opens with a tart grape that fades into a peppery finish. Great mild hops round out the profile.

This beer, like Latonja, don’t give a fuck.

M: This has a great mouthfeel between the constant carbonation and thin mouthfeel it equates to a strangely balanced and original Tripel that almost leans toward the Gueuze. Very tasty and seems more west-coast than Belgian in character. Love the tart dryness that it imparts.

D: This is an exceptionally drinkable beer with great lasting appeal. The price is a bit too much to make it a session beer but the 10% abv makes it a contender for a great well-rounded beer. I would love to bring this along for a hot weather activity and other venues. The more that I drink it the smoother and milder it gets, I love the tart character that is akin to a sour cuvee.

Picture unrelated.

Narrative: Tipper Poppington was born a proletariat merchant assistant with a secret . He worked hard all his days, overseeing the notary, making sure the itemized bundles were packaged correctly, sealing all the correspondence with the hot wax seal. He wasn’t the best in the office, or the brightest, or even the most amiable. However, young Tipper was born under a conditional will from his great great grandfather which stated that if Tipper could become a fencing master by the age of 21, he would take his grandfather’s large estate, heretofore unbeknownst to him, and win the heart and mind of the winsome female interest in the clerking office. He was alerted on his 20th birthday with a knock on a rich mahogany door. The package contained a terse note wrapped around a perfectly balanced Epee, “train you will, take you shall,” with a copy of the holographic will attached. “God speed, Young Poppington” the clerk master whispered to himself as he watch Tipper practice fervishly in the courtyard, each parry a daunting swipe at greatness, and the heart of his beholden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Kuhnhenn 4th Dementia Olde Ale, The Non-Barrel Aged Version Bangs on 808 Drums

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Whenever someone brings up King Henry, I tell them just to drink Kuhnhenn Barleywine. They make delicious things and meads and sweet treats that people who dont live in a state shaped like an oven mitt seem to overlook. Today we look at the less celebrated, but still danky, regular old 4th Dementia.

I used the regular picture for BB4D and now I am using the Bourbon Barrel picture for the regular review, WHOA FREAKY FRIDAY.

Kuhnhenn 4th Dementia Olde Ale, 13.5% abv

A: Nice raisin purplish color with deep amber and brown hues, very minimal carbonation and no lacing. This has always rustled my jimmies about Kuhnhenn beers. When Lost Abbey releases flat beer, everyone loses their shit and makes jpegs for days about it. Kuhnhenn just hangs up their mash paddle and calls it a day. In an Old Ale it really isn’t a big deal, but Road Rash, BB4D, 4D, BBBW, have all been as flat as Keanu Reeves dialogue. Leave Tomme Arthur alone, srsly guize.

When you see someone at a party sipping on a 13.5% abv beer, you know they embrace that tug life.

S: Smells of smoky tobacco and figs. It comes across like someone overboiled a batch of barley wine. There is a mild bourbon note but without the oakiness. The alcohol is well integrated and the charred caramel is good, it reminds me of the time I did a burnout on top of a box of Werthers Originals in my IROC Camaro.

T: There are initially no huge notes to speak of for a split second and then the smoky deep plums and dark fruits rise out of the watery murk and set up Hoovervilles. The taste resounds with a lightly bitter hop balance and just reverberates like church bells in an abbey. When this beer warms up, things become real in and around the field, stone fruits, bruised peaches, plums, figs; it is like Gamgam’s Apotehcary, which is what I will name my Old Ale if I ever brew one.

There’s so much going on in this beer, you may miss the subtle nuances. Give it time.

M: The mouthfeel is surprising light for a beer this huge, also, the booziness is kept to a minimum. It is very impressive that they were able to pull this off with such a strangely balanced imbalance. I mean that the notes are very aggressive and watery at the same time. It doesn’t fill you up and doesn’t have a huge maltiness but manages to coat very aggressively. Nicely done.

D: I never understood the different between aggressive barley wines and olde ales but this is an exceptional example of an “Imperial” Barleywine which is basically an Olde Ale as far as I can tell. Some people will get butthurt and point out differences in the malt bill and the grain profile, start mumbling something about residual sugars but, come on, we all know who you really banging on the side. It has all of the deep dark fruits reduced to a syrupy watery mouthfeel. The taste is very good and it is therefore a pleasure to drink regardless of circumstance, however, the abv is prohibitive and the lingering almost coppery agro deep fruit notes may be difficult over a long session.

You’re expecting one thing, you get something else that is equally awesome, and all the kids need tomato juice baths.

Narrative: “Just chopping and screwing beats all day man, if I aint in the lab, I aint worth nay thin.” DJ4D had an impressive work ethic and remained steadfast in his phillipic against the illusory “haters” that allegedly were constantly holding him back. “They said “yo 4D, you just layed the most savory stickiest flows we ever heard, then I pulled it clean on them and dropped sweet notes right on the treble, see haters hate when you pull of that saccharine shit, they just sit back, judging your sticky crispiness.” The reporter nodded pensively and scribbled furiously, hovering up these gems for his forthcoming article. “THAT’S WHY I PUT THE GRAPEVINE JAMS UP IN THE MIX BECAUSE YOU JUST ALWAYS GOTTA KEEP IT STICKY FOR THE HATERS.” His furrowed brown knitted his fitted cap back; the Expos logo bobbed in concurrence with every statement. None of this made any sense and people would question the death of print media with every word.

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

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

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

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

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

Poured a radioactive cherry beer, my face was like-

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

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

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

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

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

Feed lambics to 95 lbs girls, observe results.

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