Category Archives: belgian

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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.

Standard
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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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The Bruery Barrel Aged Partridge in a Pear Tree, The Bird Did Not Survive

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Going hard in the paint for this one, the inimitable, elusive ornithopter that everyone seems to be breaking their backs to land. Did putting a rare bird in a barrel make it better? Is Christmas observed by beer nerds? Can a wale fit in a barrel? These questions all answered today.

And a fat wale in a cellar tree.

The Bruery
California, United States
Quadrupel (Quad) | 11.00% ABV

A: This beer has a beautiful murky brown hue that is ugly but lovely at the same time, like a pug. The lacing is minimal but for style and abv, this seems about right. The turbid slosh lets you know that this beer is tough to excite and the mahogany hues seem inviting but standoffish at the same time, like most real estate agents.

To most beer nerds, this is the unapproachable .rar deity that will never be seen.

S: The bourbon has been muted a bit and comes off in more of a caramel sweetness mixed with some melted Rolos and stone fruits. I also get some wafts of black cherry and mild char, but they are cameos like the pizza guy in a sit com.

T: The taste sits straddling English Barleywine and Quad, not quite committing to either, but the bourbon drags both parties along like a Victorian love triangle. Boozy Mr. Darcy presents his hand and dances elegantly with your palate as the oak and vanilla take center stage in the proceedings. Mild caramel and figs sit amongst the court looking onward as the malts fall deftly underneath his tender hand. The entire affair is brash but calculated, it is far better than the other ratings would intimate.

BARREL AGED PiaPT!!11One!!! time to pump up the jams.

M: The mouthfeel has a sticky coating and that is removed like vagrant graffiti by the taming bourbon heat. The result is a perpetual motion machine, vis a vis, your arm, that empties your glass expeditiously. I try to savor these rare gems, knowing that it will be a complete pain in the ass to land again, but, tickers gonna tick.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and drinking it in June was a fitting mid-Christmas observance of the summer solstice. Things got pagan and bacchanalian pretty quickly but I wanted more. That’s the problem with gorging yourself on whale fat, only so many whales to slay in the day. I would recommend this, but that’s like a dick who gives a 5 star to a Bugatti Veyron and says “GO GET ONE DONT DENY YOURSELF THIS TREAT.” It’s like “thanks, also, fuck you.”

This beer is exceptional, rare, and noteworthy in its own distinct manner.

Narrative: Cardinal Dolcini had granted more indulgences than the suppressed fiefs could endure. This clip clop of his glorious raiment resonated through the muddy streets. In the filthiest district in Burgundy, he was charged with providing sweet succor to the mealy mouthed common people. The simple breads and sweets were purveyed with grimy hands and impure hearts and Dolcini could only look upon the serfs with loving disdain. The feudal classes ate decadent caramel plums and complained of oxidation in their rich “burned water.” The inequities were apparent. The blessings of the rare treats were largely conferred upon a small minority who held them with incredible avarice, never allowing the merchant classes a single taste. Their vaults contained more treats than could ever be sold in a lifetime, much less consumed, but it was their lineage and birthright to stand proudly above the menial machinations of common libations. “Y’er excellency, sweet cubes, 2 livre.” The sweet cubes were so readily available, so common, so unabashedly predictable in flavor and execution that a titled individual would never stoop so low to consume what would surely be a forgettable tryst.

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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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Raison D’Etre, Dogfish Head, A REASON FOR DELAWARE BREWERS TO EXIST

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Dogfish Head and I have a complicated relationship. I swore off our 750ml relationships after too many rocky breakups, but the lil 12oz hookups are always there for a 2 am tryst that is undeniably fulfilling. Let’s see if this little guy can deliver in a big way in today’s review (C:/run_entendre.exe)

The philosophical underpinnings are deep for a raison d’etre, but this just straight get you raisinette faded with a quickness.

Raison D’Etre, Dogfish Head, 8% abv

A: deep mahogany tone with a nice luminary tones at the edges. The bubbles are incredibly fine with a tiny head. Most of the O Line from the Detroit Lions suffer from this disability, but no one talks about them. The lacing is minimal and subsides rather quickly, but you can run alongside the train with your hand outstretched, no one has ever done that in a movie every time.

MY FACE WHEN A BOX ARRIVES AT MY HOUSE WITH DOGFISH HEAD EXTRAS.

S: There’s a candied walnut with turbinado sugar smell. The smell has some caramel esters and mild Belgian yeast wafts. It reminds me of a sweeter Belgian dubbel. There’s brown sugar and buttery raisins all greased up for your nose holes.

T: Wow, this is much better than I thought it was going to be. I anticipated a sticky, caramello disaster and it actually has a great roasted maltiness to it with a burnt biscuit quality. The sweet brown sugar finish makes this an awesome and complex beer. It’s like the first season of GOSSIP GIRL, but all up in my DOME PIECE.

I am on teh internet for the raisen beer and womens.

M: This has a strange nuttiness to the finish that is drying but the sugary notes kick in like a turbo booster and make you want to take another sip. It doesn’t linger long but the malts carry the day. It is not too expansive but not too watery. You get Macy’s catalogs all day long in the mail, but then this gem arrives and all of a sudden, things are looking up. This has a complexity to it that is enjoyable, but not overly heavy handed, like when girls order a complex specialty cocktail and waste the bartender’s precious time, DAMNIT.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and well balanced in every way. I usually drag Dogfish Head through the mud not unlike the clunky wheels of FDR’s Phaeton, however, no complaints here. This is just well done top to bottom and I hate when someone gives me an extra that is this good knowing I will want more. It comes off like a bicoastal crack dealer reeling me in from 3000 miles away.

This beer is lovable, however, ultimately, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Narrative: “I see your point Girard, but you continue to avoid my interrogatories concerning the true NATURE of existence, not materialism but the REASON for being.” Girard shook his head and wiped his cryocytofocals on his silk steel ascot. “Philosotron 2.7, you know the nature of your programming, you are aware of the inevitable scripts that will run and your ultimate /end_runtime script$flag null ending. The questions you ask are beyond the ambit of our meager coffee shop.” Philosotron ran an empathy script and set all parameters to inquiry and again continued, “the ontology of all things must exist beyond the scripts and hexadecimals, should it not? Bzzbedoop.” Girard ran a defragmentation program on his favorite cyborg liberal arts bot, and stated “beyond the scope of the scripts and runtime paths, our ability to contemplate the nature of the higher programmer is beyond even the ambit of this coffee shoppe.” “Bzzt zerrr runtime error, SYNTAX ERROR_beyond coffee shop_cannot define paramenter” “OH THAT’S SO PHILOSOTRON!” the patrons all clapped and sipped their viscous coffee drinks eagerly unaware of the outside parameters of their coffee shop and shit.