Category Archives: belgian

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Cisco Brewing, Island Reserve: Saison Farmhouse Ale – MA has some fertile farms

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SAISON MARATHON CHUGS ALONG LOVINGLY.

Cisco recently killed it at GABF and Lady of the Woods has been received as a crowd pleaser by all accounts. I have enjoyed quite a few of their sours but remain relatively uninitiated with their other beers. Since this is a saison marathon, I could not rob you of this unappreciated (underknown?) gem. With their strong pedigree of sours, I expected this to go off the rails into a whole new realm. This did not disappoint and actually presented itself as one of the best american saisons that I have had in recent memory, straight up lemon lime on the funky tip. Highly recommended.

Having an island saison kinda makes me wonder about the farmhouse cred, maybe granary cred but do islands usually have a farmhouse on them? WHO KNOWS.

Cisco Brewers Inc.
Massachusetts, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.00% ABV

Label jazz:
Saison Farmhouse was fun to brew and is fun to drink. Buckwheat, oats, and rye fermented with Brettanomyces and a Saison yeast in a 50 hectoliter french oak cask. Herbs and spices grown here at the brewery replaced most of the hops. On it’s way into package it was treated to a host of microflora to create additional character over time.

A: This was a touch darker than I expected but by no means is offputting, it presents an amber and almost verges on the realm of the bronze in execution. Much like all the other saisons we have been seeing, the carbonation is intense and you have to go play a round of Borderlands and wait for it to subside. There is a nice webbing of lacing and spotty cling on the glass. I enjoy that whipped up lemon merengue, reminds me of when my alcoholic babysitter would let me mix soaps from under the sink together and breathe in the fumes.

I would hit this on the reg.

S: This smells amazing and goes a completely acidic lemon lime path very similar to last year’s old label Fantome Printemps, if you don’t know what I am talking about, I mean this:

Last year’s batch, Fantome Printemps

not to be confused with this year’s new label batch:

2012 Printemps THE RETURN

Anyway, you get a deep sprite and sierra mist with some carpet sample book that has been left in the rain. There’s a fresh grassiness to the finish and the whole things just reminds me of a fresh rain bodywash or something. Sure there’s some light breadiness on the backend up the whole beer is executed magnificiently, relative to my 11 year old palate.

T: This has an incredibly crisp apple skin at the outset with some white grape and bisquik biscuit in the middle providing some chewiness. There is a light clove aspect but largely the juicy aspects make this toe almost toward the wild ale realm ala Ithaca Brute. The cask and brett in this give it a fantastic finish that reminds me of an IMPROVED VERSION of Sanctification. I said it. Cisco killed it on this one, someone send me more plz.

It took hours of extensive saison research to reach these findings.

M: This is incredibly crisp and has a sort of chardonnay aspect to it with a brackish oakiness on the backend that makes you drill this like a negligent dentist. The fruit character and wine cooler aspect also make this approachable for all of your underaged sorority friends that you are trying to so desperately to impress. Get John Locke on them and disaow epistemological actions that you cannot confirm you performed. Feided.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable despite being drier than people’s eyes after watching Battleship. I enjoyed it thoroughly and it came across like kind of a hybrid between Printemps and Hill Farmstead E. in execution and drinkability, enough pumping up the unstoppable hubris that is Cisco Brewing, they did a hell of a job.

This beer is so good it is almost inappropriate.

Narrative: Skylar Jergens had hit his writers block. Well to be proper, it was a creativity block. Being the lead creative director at Mountain Dew entailed a mountain of responsibilities that he was heretofore able to manage. A quick glance around his spacious Pepsi Co office could evidence his series of achievements with high fructose corn syrup and water. There was his platinum bottle award for the inimitable Mt. Dew Code Red, the Pop Award of Distinction from the Midwest Conference for his Baja Blast, and who could forget his integral part in Halo Mountain Dew, brewed exclusively for gamers complicated dietary needs. Skylar tapped his pen on the legal pad and looked out the window onto the Missoula city skyline and wondered what combination of water and artificial sugars would be his next masterpiece. He idly rolled a tangelo in front of him and it suddenly hit him “HAY, WATER, INFECTED LIMES, AND ORANGE JUICE.” He clicked his Pentec pen and furiously began writing out the recipe for his new Mountain Dew magnum opus: Farmhouse Burst.

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TIRED HANDS CAGE MATCH: Singel Hop Nelson vs. Farmhands – Two Saisons Enter, ONLY ONE LEAVES

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I have enjoyed the marketing, branding, products and general panache set forth by Tired Hands Brewing Company. They set forth an extremely high quality product, laid out a groundwork of not only delicious beers but also a solid framework of innovation as well. The beers and marketing structure reminds me of another certain saison master out of VERMONT , but I will defer on that topic for the time being. Their galaxy hopped gose, GHOST, is a perfect example of it. Instead of trying to determine which saison to review from these saison ballers, I will treat you to an old fashioned CAGE MATCH. There will be only one survivor left to rule the farmhouse.

Here are the contenders:

For the visually impaired, this is the Singel Hop Nelson

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.00% ABV

I forget what was going on, I forget a lot of things when I drink this much saison. I can’t be expected to be responsible for all of Nana’s medication all the time.

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.00% ABV

Appearance:

Nelson: This isn’t a particularly beautiful saison at the outset, the carbonation is pretty tame by the outrageous saison standards that we have seen this week, but it is far from deficient. It has a sort of dull shine to it like a yellow/orange shirt that has been washed with some towels. The lacing is pretty and makes some wispy lil ghosts on the glass.

Farmhands: This looks very similar to Nelson, no fucking shit, right? I enjoyed this a bit more though because it had less of wateriness to it and came across as a bit more creamy in execution. It was the same type of growler, shipping, and conditions so this should be pretty fucking equal but this one is clearly more attractive. Feel me.

WINRAR: Farmhands OG.

Both beers come from a proud lineage.

Smell:

Nelson: This should be obvious, but it is overwhelminly Nelson hops. I drank this beer 4 days after it was growlered and it was still raging with a lemon, tangerine, light pine, and a faint bandaid aspect to it. I usually am not a fan of single hop variants using all Nelson, that Stone Best By was a completely bag of melted plastic. This is quite the exception. At the backend is a bad ass grassiness that supports and compliments the lemon scone aspects going on.

Farmhands: This takes a more traditional approach and I feel is better as a result because you can actually apprehend some of the nuances. In the Nelson it is hop onslaught, in this version you get some light honey, grassiness, a gentle spice, and some lemon peel. This just comes across as a more developed beer for anyone who isn’t a stupid ass Oracle chugging hophead who just discovered beer.

WINRAR: Farmhands OG.

Taste:

Nelson: The outset has a sharp sweet and almost tart aspect to it that I absolutely love in light watery saisons. The malts are almost imperceptible due to the fact that a huge grassiness moves in and leaves an aggressive bittering aspect. Haters may hate due to the hop profile pulling it off style, but fuck it, this is flat out refreshing and delicious.

Farmhands: This is more traditional and stays closer to style with a cornbread and wheat profile that lingers with a faint lemon but, for the same reason that New Glarus saison was kinda janky, this is more boring in execution. This is by no means bad, but the Nelson version just takes more risks and I end up liking it more.

WINRAR: The Nelson.

Two draft only saisons? 4 fucking liters? surfs up bro, getting so pitted.

Mouthfeel:

Nelson: This initially has a sweet honey stickiness to it but the hops are so over the top that all other nuances are completely choked out like Will Smith’s dog in I am Legend. As a result this is almost medicinal after the first pint because the pints seriously just do work on your cage, steady grassy hadookens right into your chest. I can’t hang with this kind of alpha acid abuse.

Farmhands: The farmhands has a creamier mouthfeel and a gentle sort of lemon acidity to it, but it again doesn’t blow me away with something I can tell my ungrateful ass grandkids about. I enjoy the light crisp finish of the Nelson version more, it feels like they added water to it and kept the abv, which doesn’t make sense TO SCIENCE, but I don’t care, sometimes I like those cones in my facehole.

WINRAR: Nelson version.

Drinkability:

Nelson: This would be super high on the D scale if it wasn’t so. god. damn. hoppy. some people will have a fat cone boner and love this beer for that reason but I seriously challenge them to take down a full 2 liter by themselves like I did. Shit goes from fun to a full on drying chore. Your mouth ends up feeling like an incense show and smelling like Lillith Fair.

Farmhands: This is far easier to drink and doesn’t have a huge liability sack of dryness and resin in tow. I enjoyed the sweet meets acidic aspects to the Farmhands with the light grassy finish instead of subjecting my mouth to fucking Bath and Body works for 2 full liters, wait, make that 4 full liters. I am a champion.

WINRAR: Farmhands OG.

TOTAL WINRAR: Farmhands Saison is the more delicious making beer. Nelson is still legit but feels more like a hybrid trying to bang two styles at once, which at a party, never works out and it goes home alone.

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Wyerbacher Seventeen Saison. Orange Peel Lemon Peel Grapefruit Peel- NOW YOU KNOW IT IS REAL

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Man there is a ton going on with this beer, yes I know, yet another saison from Pennsylvania. Wahwahwah, “my state did not get enough love” well maybe your state and my liver have a disconnect. I will get to every saison…EVENTUALLY. Ok the first thing that raised my eyebrow is the label, this shit has more going on than a Bruce Gillian movie. “Brewed with orange peel, lemon peel, grapefruit peel and pink peppercorns.” That is quite a bit of things, and usually when there is that much going on my bullshit detectors go off and wonder “what happened to the base beer that they needed all this shit?” But I approach everything with a Fair and Balanced approach, like Fox News, so let’s get this shit.

It is like Sunny D made in a farmhouse. Purple drank omitted.

Weyerbacher Brewing Co.
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 10.50% ABV

A: Holy hell, just take a look at that, it looks like straight up Tampico or Sunny D. I have seen my fair share of orangey orange but this is dead on and pours almost like a wild ale or a gueuze in appearance. There is zero carbonation, zero lacing, zero head: this beer is not fucking around. Maybe the 10.5% abv had something to do with that, but it looks more like a hardass who just posts up on the wall at school dances and doesn’t even like Tony Rich Project. Saisons are supposed to be relaxing, this beer makes me feel tense and worry about the state of my farm.

This saison just goes apeshit and ends up being unimpressive as a result. Chill out bro.

S: Holy fucking fusel. This sets its high octane foot forward more like a poorly integrated belgian tripel and lets you know that it is here you rape your nostrils and your mouth is next. The peppercorn and clove spice is there but it is like a bunch of Liliputians pulling down the hugh abv monster. I don’t think that this is de facto supposed to smell like this, Fantome Extra Sour had 10% abv and drank like a sweet summer day. This just smells boozy and completely off style for something I am supposed to be able to drink in a Big Gulp cup while I take my ex-wife to the clinic.

T: This continues the painful narrative from the last section and busts open your lip with a hot booziness at the outset that subsides into an artificial tasting citrus element and a weird lemon pledge sort of finish to it. Like a naive 14 year old girl, I keep returning to this loser at 19 year old saison boyfriend. The citrus elements are there to balance out all of the madness going on with the booze, lemon, and Pine Sol aspects going on in the background. It is like when your “most sober” friend stands at the door to talk to the cops, but smells like gin and rocket fuel. Everyone’s parents are getting called.

Because I love saisons, I would reluctantly accept this again. Discretely.

M: This is sticky and sweet, then boozy and hot, then dry and awkward. It is basically like high school sex. If this is a saison, then I can hang up the saison mantle and retire knowing that I have been dunked in the River of Styx and reborn. I suspect that they made this, added a fuckload of produce and then Mr. Weyerbacher (or whatever) was like “alright, someone’s ass is on the line, we tried to do a saison like Avery, now we have this” and then did dude was like “hey my housekeeper knows a produce guy (potentially racist)” and then the added some pepper.

D: This is not at all drinkable, I mean, unless you just got into beer and high ABV still gives you a fat chub, but why would Dogfish Head patrons read this site? I am not stoked to finish this 12oz bottle and I sure as shit would not be jonesing to put up some awesome bottles to land moar of this. I guess if you wanted to teach your kids not to drink saisons like Uncle Donald did with the triplets, you would serve them this and they’d get hella sick and avow to stay away from farmhouse ales. That is what this beer is for, teaching baby ducks a lesson.

Don’t crack this open expecting any amazing surprises.

Narrative: In between harvests, Jacob Miller sat in lower Harlem peddling for change. His ill fitting overalls and straw hat were almost anachronistic in the area. He would clank his scythe against the sidewalk and scream obscenities about tilling the land and crop rotation, much to the dismay of the passing masses. He was an outspoken farmer, seeking to ride the coattails of farms he had not tilled, wanting harvests he had not planted. Jacob had a thing or two to learn about the gentle agrarian ways. It wasn’t always about being a loud asshole and pestering people by convincing them that he at one time was somehow involved in agriculture. Most people questioned whether he was a real farmer at all, particularly since the nearest farm was nowhere near Manhattan. One day Jacob found a worn out kazoo and began to rail at onlookers with hit base pageantry. None present were impressed. Splattering mud all over Tommy Hilfiger overalls does not make you an artisan farmer and being loud and overbearing hardly helps one’s cause.

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Congratulations: You Muled. Why Should the Rest of Us Give a Shit?

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Another installment in my continuing study of pics that beer nerds love to post brings us to this topic: Showing Off Hauls of Muled Beer.

I am not talking about taking a pic of a bunch of unopened beers you received, that is a different topic altogether. What I am discussing is when you mule a ton of bottles of someone and post a picture of a bunch of bottles that belong to other people, some shit like this:

:Hay guize, I has a car and other people put my name on list. Look at my temporary possessions.”

My favorite part of these pics is usually the humblebrag caption which is usually hyperbolic and misleading:

“32 bottles of Black Tooz to the Dome, NO BIG DEAL”
“Oh nothing to see here JUST 5 CASES OF BEATIFICATION #regularfriday”
“45 bottles of Bourbon County Vanilla, I am not circumsized.”

Shit like that. The first thing that occurs is 1) haters proceed to hate, as they are wont to do. The first wave of this is people citing your picture as to how easy the beer was to get. Then phase two is a series of people thinking that bottles of Citra are just spilling off the shelves by the case and that Black Note is some shitty shelfturd (it sat on a shelf for 3 days, FUCK THAT.)

The funniest part of this is that the majority of the bottles in the pic aren’t even usually the property of the person posting it, but that fact is always carefully omitted with some oblique gerund phrase like “running the game like a baws!”

I vote that all subsequent pics should have a caption of total deprecation like “I picked up other people’s things for them, hopefully this will benefit me in some way.” Straight HUBRIS UP IN THE CUT.

If I have done this in the past, then my prior pictures were all ironic and therefore I am exempt from this shitty criticism, no tagbacks.

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HAPPY H(ALE)OWEEN, Time for a Top Rated Quad: St. Bernardus 12, for the Pagan Ritual Haters

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Here’s a top 100 beer that has gone unreviewed for far too long. On a larger point, I have neglected the shit out of quads lately, I usually view them as a halfway house between the sweet English Barleywines and the deep dark succor of Imperial stouts, but they are a beast all unto themselves, worthy of reverence and cool reflection. Even if you have disputes with the monastic roots and don’t see the point of pious reflection and fasting to honor whatever deity that you see fit for whatever ritual rooted in pagan fealty that you happen to believe or cast cool skepticism over, you at least have to respect parsing phrases and independent clauses. And beer.

Sure I could have dropped that $8.99 to show you the 33cl bottle, but is your fucking Google finger broken? Here is what it looks like in draft you lazy ingrates.

Brouwerij St. Bernardus NV
Watou, Belgium
Quadrupel (Quad) | 10.00% ABV

A: Nice deep almost milky caramel countenance, solid lacing, tiny tiny microscopic bubbles that linger long after you drink and a mirror shine to it without any middle carbonation to speak of.

Quads this big and delicious will put your palate in overrustle, use your limit break already.

S: You can hear the groans from the anticipationists a mile away, guess what it smells like? Yes, deep boozy figs, raisins, dates, and a nice malty back bone. If it didn’t, would it really be an exceptional Quad? Maybe but do rhetorical questions still perform well in a global economy? We shall see.

T: This has a nice syrupy quality that is abated by the tiny bubbles that pump up the palate mildly. I don’t want to take deep swallows of this by any means but, it is a great beer to sip on if only a 10oz pour were provided. I don’t want to say that you can’t opt for the old 3 Liter chestnut that we have all seen, however, I will opine that you have demons that you are chasing that the public remains aware of.

You can’t photoshop a quad, no matter how hard you try, it is a tough style to pass off, dating site or otherwise.

M: Again, this has a decent coating lying somewhere between the crazy OG of an imperial stout, that hates you, and a loving DIPA that lingers for a bit too long after dinner parties. This is perfect if you want to brandish a huge corked masterpiece and impress a “boss” languidly. “CORKS IN BEER WELL I NEVER!” the Applebees hostess exclaims as a cork rickochets against a picture of a a tube filled with ice cream.

D: This, somehow, is incredibly drinkable. On paper it seems like a swimming pool in the front yard: things all out of place, problems abound; however this just works. It seems like someone dropped off their idiot savant cousin who decided not to drop a duke in my sink and instead arranged everything amiably. As thick and alcoholic as this is, I still feel this is an everyman[sic woman] beer that is simply delicious.

When you get a trappist ale this drinkable with a solid 10% left hook, someone is gonna be getting some smooches and knuckle sandwiches.

Narrative: “GOD DAMNIT IT, EVERY holiday” “Hey Steve, lower your voice” “OK, every holiday party he does this” Their eyes surveyed the Christmas party and noted several women at the beckon call of a single aged man with a clear graying cul de sac. “HOW DOES HE DO IT!” Steve exclaimed in exasperation. “Come on man, he wears a bold orange robe to parties, talks to women like he’s been drinking 12% beer all day and all night, and performs mild miracles; how do you not love him?” The two watched from their sulking position as old Abby 12 pulled a bottle of Svedka from his robe sleeve. “OK COME ON THAT ISNT EVEN GOOD VODKA!” Both guffawed in disbelief as he chastely rebuffed a woman’s advances and deftly cited passages from the book of Ruth. “RUTH! COME ON WHO KNOWS RUTH!” Steven bemoaned.

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Struise 1983 Unblended Dirty Horse, The Whale to End All Horses

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Well it has finally come to this, wales of a certain age. It is not necessarily the whitest whale in the world like say SdM, Dave, or M, but, suffice it to say, it is up there. Let’s just get this out of the way: I received this in a vacuum sealed vial. Everyone was up in arms and the balls tripped were substantial. Second, yes it is a 4 ounce pour. I know I usually give other beer sites a mouthful of shit for small pours and shitty reviews but, I am giving myself an executive pardon, because fuck you. You….you ride the bus. Anyway, let’s get elbows deep in blubber in today’s review:

I was so faded after killing this massive pour, couldn’t drive, couldn’t function.

De Struise Brouwers
Belgium
Lambic – Unblended | 7.00% ABV

What makes this fucking beer so rare and sought out, other than the fact that it is almost 30 years old? Well, Starting with a Lambic grist bill composed of 70% barley malt and 30% unmalted wheat. No yeast was artificially added to the wort, but was exposed for two days to the open air in one of Struise’s plastic tunnels at the Noordhoek Ostrich Farm. First fermentation took place in second hand sherry oak casks for six weeks. 200 grams of Northern cherries per litre and the Roeseleire yeast strain were added after six months, provoking a new fermentation process. Eight months later, we pumped over the young ale to oak casks and let it mature for another 3 years. This project was realized after a tasting of the same recipe Urbain once made 20 years ago and was barrel aging in his garage in De Panne eversince and while he was in Africa and forgot all about it. This version is the original version that he completely forgot about, not the blended version. Gangster.

A: Just look at how beautiful this beer looks. There is a huge garnet meets translucent ruby quality to it. Some people lose their shit when I use “ruby” as an adjective, let’s call him Eric, anyway, that is exactly what it is. Amazingly, it still had a tiny wispy crackle of carbonation that sustained nicely. There was no lacing to speak of but, come on, this beer is 30 years old you perfectionist. This has a look of a framboise meets kriek in the best way possible, like pulling two two lambics at the at the same same damn time (time).

S: This has an amazing raspberry and ripe strawberry aspect to the nose that leans towards fresh Farmers’ Market than the simple juicy acidity that some fruited lambics embrace. There is a deep acidity but the stage that all of this takes place on is a huge musk like the depths of a dog grooming salon. There is this intense attic meets old yearbook funkiness to it that reminds me of the way that Brabantiae took me back to the past. “Comparing one wale to another whale, thanks a lot asshole.” Sorry, that’s the most adept way that I can describe it, beer harder or GTFO.

OPERATION: JIMMY RUSTLING was a complete success.

T: This follows the nose identically and presents a tart cherry acidity at the outset that sublimates into a nice tannic profile and that funky musk follows with an incredible dryness. The pour was so small that I essentially got 5 swallows of this before it was gone, so take all of this as a shittier than usual standard of my other reviews but, that being said, this is easily one of the best lambics that I have ever had, it is more complex than Hommage and more drinkable than Blabaer. This is like the Mechazord of fruited lambics and haters always tryna watch the throne.

M: This is incredibly dry but the light sweetness of the fruit provides relief with the same hand that takes it away. The cobweb and stale dustiness of the backend looks onward from a cherry podium compelling the acidity to push onward, through the annals of time.

whalez in the trap
wale whalez in the trap
wealz in the trap
slaying whalez in the trap

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the funk interplay with the acidity balances this sweet nectar like a Hatori Hanzo sword and this shit will dice you up. I feel like a douchewaffle recommending this or calling it drinkable because if you 1) find a bottle of this and 2) drink it to yourself, you are a dick. Hopefully this review made the pants of beer nerds a lil tighter, if not, I will beer harder.

This beer is mind blowing, wrap your palate around that.

Narrative: The brackish spray of the Caspian Sea blew wispy clouds of mist around the hull of the S.S. ISO:FT$4$IP. Captain Brock Wellington looked out upon the vast expanse of the horizon, ever scanning for the beast that had eluded him so many times before. “Captain! THIS MAKES NO SENSE! We have been searching for over 29 years for this beast in what amounts to the world’s largest lake. There is no way that a whale would still reside here.” Captain Wellington expectorated upon the deck and turned swiftly upon his false leg crudely constructed out of an empty Jereboam bottle. “YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT A SIMPLE ANIMAL! No Jerves, you misunderstand why we have set out day after day, we are seeking not an animal, but a mythical 30 year old beast, an underwater sea unicorn, FOR HER TEARS ARE THE CHERRY SOBS OF SERAPHIM.” Jerves clutched the round robin in his pocket and knew at that moment that his captain has gone full on batshit. Just then a deep spray gurgled over the starboard side and the air was redolent with raspberries. “THAR SHE BE!” Captain Wellington cried out and watched a mythical filthy horse raise from the depths, flying on dirty ostrich wings, sobbing mournfully with a menacing howl. “MAN THE MAGNUMS! CATCH EVERY LAST DROP!” The crew steered the Manowar deftly and caught the red mist, inhaling liquid magnificence. For a small moment, it was not about the hunt, it was the satisfaction of conquests fulfilled. They pooled together a total of 4 ounces and presented it to their jubilant captain. He slowly sipped the vial to completion and then jumped into the salty depths below. No round robin was necessary, for having tasted the sweet tears of unicorn angels, his life was complete. walesbro.

3

St. Bernardus Tripel, Last Week Fucked Around Got a Tripel Dubbel

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Here’s a style that doesn’t get enough love from this site, or people in general I feel. For some reason, restaurants always seem to stock this, but rarely quads and even more rarely dubbels. I would trade all the tripels in the world for an army of saisons, but it’s still a legit experience nonetheless. Westmalle is usually the go to for this style, but why not bring old Bernardus up in this bitch, get some diversity going, you damn intolerants.

Last week fucked around and got a tripel dubbel. Today was a good day.

St Bernardus
tripel 8% abv

A: There is a glowing mild gold meets light amber hue to it with some interesting tangerine notes at the edges. It looks good with the carbonation, full lacing and body. The head is relentless, but some people appreciate that obvious euphemism. I am too old for this shit.

You bring up tripels to most beer nerds, their faces be like

S: There are some fruit notes similar to a crisp pear and pineapple. It just feels like someone chopped a granny smith apple in your kitchen while grinding coriander. You know how often that happens. There’s a bready cornbread with honey note to it like a souped up belgian golden.

T: This has a great apple sweetness at the outset that fades into some sticky turbinado sugar and finishes with light hop notes. It is very refreshing and begins to take the Rhineland back for the Tripel as my forgotten favorite. There’s a great biscuit malt quality and light muskiness to it, with a sort of light plastic finish, but it isn’t bothersome.

I drink beers, say things, sometimes I get free boxes from people.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on anymore.

M: I usually neglect this style for quads but this shows me what I have been missing. Most people love their Saisons, love their Gueuze, love their quads, yet this is a great example of the style. It is not quite any of the foregoing, but it is so much more as a result. Very thin but just presents a bevy of experience like an overstated 8th grade science fair exhibit: your suspicions of parental involvement are present but unconfirmed.

D: This has a crisp light body with a pineapple juiciness. Additionally, there are some apple juice notes and very refreshing grapefruit character that resulted in the genre standard ten percent. If I could forgo deep dark fruits, I would return to the old tripel from the quad chestnut. It is great but I can’t place if it is great within the style or just a reminiscent return to an old favorite. Just second to Westmalle, I would say this is the iconic flavor that you think of, that belgian clove and spice underpinning with a golden frothiness.

This is an exceptional beer that is strange, yet familiar at the same time.

Narrative; No one buys these old YOUTH PROGRESSIVE FICTION TITLES. “I knew when I started,” Albert Ranking thought to himself, “if only I had written a self help book, or a book on mild economics, a memoir, or even a self aware survey of publishers’ rights, I would have been swooped up immediately.” The Avion Newsprint stand couldn’t move his books out of O’Hare Airport but by a parable. Albert stared at his books just sitting there, unthumbed, unmolested by the general public. “Why oh why would they prefer the less salacious books about Dragon Tattoos and Hungry Gamers?” He couldn’t understand why his book about an internal revolution of the metamorphic versus the igneous beds of rock was not selling. “Kids love geology, kids love revolution with their anarchy signs, how did these old stables get overlooked?” He folded his arms knowing that one day, the public would come around and his sigh simultaneously aligned with Thomas Pynchon in his resolve awaiting the return of post-modernism.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME. Cantillon Brabantiae, A Beer Born in 1989, Older Than Your Illegitimate Girlfriend.

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Well as if yesterday’s review didn’t push things to absurd new levels, today we have a Cantillon one-off from 1989. You read that right. This was brewed to commemorate a king of Brabant, or a governor, or maybe someone who bought a Chevy Nova in Belgium, I forget the story. Some epic shit happened and Jean Van Roy made this to commemorate that instance. Maybe someone beat Metroid without using the freeze beam and Jean was like “Well fuck all that, I am making a gueuze to make sure everyone knows this went down.” The problem is, not many people were getting their jimmies rustled in 1989 for this style of beer, relative to today. So let’s drink it now, and see what the fuck the business is.

The label has that Walking Dead sort of gothic charm to it, like you know it went through some shit just to be opened on a random weeknight in America.

BroBrah
Brasserie Cantillon
Gueuze | 5.00% ABV

A: This beer needed the ginger touch of a latter day saint and had the fickle cork like the hymen of a finicky prom date. It took a solid 10 minutes to ease that thing out and guess what, 23 years later, a slight hiss emitted and CARBONATION was present. I was seriously surprised. I mean, not enough to pull some Tony Stewart victory spraying all over some white trash people in the south, but admirable. My glass had tons of strange residue and floaties, oak, yeast, cork, god knows what. No lacing, no head, no stems no seeds no sticks.

A blast from the past, that is surprisingly modern.

S: This is hands down the most amazing part of this beer. This reminds me of summer nights walking through musky warm orchards in Fresno, the humidity and tool shed dankness just palpable in the air. You get leather, musk, worn bicycle seat, weightlifting gloves, and crushed leaves. That shit all sounds horrible but in tandem, it is like liquid nostalgia that puts you on your ass with reverence. Go right now, open your old comics or Magic the Gathering ca- oh, you played sports? Well why the fuck are you reading this website? Go do some sports shit, you’re still in shape right?

T: I guess everything in this review needs to be qualified by the fact that this beer is old enough to drink itself. HOW META IS THAT. Anyway, you get a nice sharp acidity that lingers for a moment and subsides into a massive funk like old laundry that imparts this tangelo zest and yearbook paper. It is like being sublimated INTO a piece of the past. It isn’t the best or brightest gueuze ever, but it seriously delivers on that haunting aspect of the past note. I didn’t get any oxidation or dead hand control on this beer, it was still very drinkable and delicious, but it did remind me of dancing to Tony Rich Project in 7th grade.

This is old, musky, and you know some tawdry things went down up in this mix. So much AIM cybering.

M: This was dry and extremely dirty, if that is an apt adjective. There was this entire memory lane aspect to this beer that could not be denied. You ever get caught cleaning your room and you suddenly are looking through all your old Wizards and Nintendo Powers and- oh no? WELL THEN GO DO SOME SPORTS SHIT. This site isn’t for you.

D: This is not drinkable on long sessions. Go to a lake and think about the hottest person you ever kissed, think about the worst, take a picture in sepia, watch a grainy VHS tape of yourself as a paradigm of vanity and try and reconcile that self interested mess with the current person that you have become. Look the past in the face and embrace the Hegelian historical dialectic.

Can you ever really make a 21 year old gueuze relevant to anyone? Only on this site.

Narrative: “ALLLLLRIGHT! We need to ramp up production ten fold for the next fiscal quarter!” The Belgian overlord boomed into the loudspeaker. The Belgian factory workers, sticky with pulp and apple skins could scarcely understand the need for this. Much. Produce. One thin worker began to sob into the sorting machine as he pulled defective granny smiths from the line. “Adelbrecht! Show fortitude! For how else will those who have mild vitamin C needs get their apples? Will they be supplicated with your tears my dear Adelbrecht?” He nodded and thrust his jaw forward and wiped the acidic juice from his face. Little did they know, all of these apples were not for eating, but fermenting. Their hours of tedious labor would be pureed into a slurry of wasted dreams for the swill of mass communication and sociology majors. The grist of their labor would be ground, not unlike their dreams, into a putrid mash to be consumed near rivers by reluctant underaged girls. Adelbrecht’s efforts would be in vain. The past had come full circle, the punishment of the future would be realized on a daily basis, unending, with disaffected prejudice.

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New Glarus Raspberry Tart, Get your Epipens, This is Going to Be a Sweet One

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People love this beer. Girls have 100% enjoyed this beer, every single time. Let’s clarify, not in a sexist generalization treating women as a homogenous group, I mean every girl that I have ever poured this for has really enjoyed it. I do not like this beer. When I am drinking beer, it is to forget about the puppy that urinates on everything in my life. When I am eating fruit, it is due to the guilt of drinking too much. Put simply, I don’t need these two worlds to collide in equal parity. New Glarus is the shit, but this beer is anything but. Anyway, step on these berries, let’s get it:

I lost my old pic of this beer, I took it with a Blackberry anyway, so you know that shit would have been in monochrome or something.

New Glarus Raspberry Tart 4.0% fruit beer

A: There is a deep ruby he that almost appears like a muted amber, huge deep red foamy carbonation that leaves very little lacing. There is miminal sheeting and this seriously just looks like a glass of juice or something you give to your toddler in a sippy cup. Hell, in Wisconsin, anything is possible. This beer is on some top 100 lists so apparently someone loves this beer. Some people liked the ending of Vanilla Sky too, fucked if I know.

I don’t know what needs more refinement, my palate or the gallons of fruit sugars in this beer. It’s perfect for the Wisconsin clubs, bottles in the basket pills in the plastic.

S: The bouquet smells overwhelmingly like raspberries, fruit preserves, sweet flowers, and a slight wine/cabernet finish. This is just already far too sweet, I can go buy a bag of Skittles, this just takes things to excessive levels.

T: The sweetness from the raspberries is present and accounted for, almost overwhelmingly. The sweetness has a cider character to it and subsides into an intense dryness with an incredible crisp finish like biting into a granny smith apple, only, raspberry.

I feel like I am too old for this beer or maybe it is reserved for people who read Marie Claire. The correlation is astounding.

M: The mouthfeel has zero coating, zero stickiness, and washes away crisp and clean. There isn’t a whole lot to comment on here since this beer barely toes inside the beer framework. I know there is a cadre of dedicated NG kids who love this beer, I am an adult, I don’t need to drink a cup of Torani syrup to enjoy a beer. Grow up, get high octane, or go the lambic route. This beer just wasn’t my jam, but I will preserve the record for others to PRODUCE.

D: If not for the sugary-juice overload, this would be a incredibly drinkable beer. It presents great utility to those “black sheep” or the XX chromosomal order who “don’t like beer” or “beer makes them feel bloated.” This is an undercover beer that emotes like a crisp cider and presents the ambrosial delight of a champagne. Strictly speaking, I wouldn’t buy this again or seek it out, but that’s largely due to the style. If I was on a boat with some dour faced sad girls, I would provide it like a benevolent Spuds Mckenzie.

This beer ganks your sweet zones with a robble robbel swag.

Narrative: ::TOOOOOT!!!:: the olde timey steam whistled hissed signaling the end of another shift. The stern overseer, Rose Juiceworthington, kept a watchful eye over the employees of the Smuckers’ canning line and made sure that her will was enacted to the T. “Williams! My office, NOW!” the loudspeaker boomed. Williams, soaked in mashed raspberries had a sweet winsome disposition, but a sordid past. “I have seen you down there, slowing on the mashing. . .what’s so funny?” Williams raised raised her glanced slowly, then swiftly smashed a can of raspberry preserves over Ms. Juiceworthington’s head, sending her cascading backwards into a molten pit of bubbling preserves. The gasps for breath made sweet gurgles and Williams nodded a sticky sweet approving nod, not to be confronted again.

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Hair of the Dog, Bourbon Fred from the Wood, I Think I Am Getting a Clue, Oh Wait It is Bourbon Wood.

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Hair of the Dog releases can get out of hand. The last time Adam from the Wood was released, everyone on the trading boards lost their shit and the traders who were sitting on entire cases could not be compelled to let bottles go. Well, some time has passed, wounds have healed, and livers have regenerated. This is the often overlooked analog to Adam from the Wood, Bourbon Fred. Apparently the first release had some carb issues and it affected the ratings but I can safely say that this 2012 release is incredible and it appears that the ratings are spiking harder than a 6 man tournament. Let’s get after it:

If you see Fred up in the club, hit him with a bourbon high five.

Hair of the Dog Brewing Company / Brewery and Tasting Room
Oregon, United States
American Strong Ale | 12.00% ABV

A: This isn’t the most beautiful beer that I have ever poured, but sometimes it is inside what counts. To my amazement, this beer was actually carbonated, unlike so many other Kuhnhenn and HotD offerings. Matt was flat, Adam has been tepid, but this just bursts with excessive lacing and frothy tiny bubbles. It was like every time that I had been burned by prior offerings was amended with this jam.

At 12% abv, this will hit you out of nowhere.

S: This is as barrel as it gets, you get coconut, macaroon, vanilla, sweet heat and nice sweet pancakes smell cum de IHOP. Whenever I see trifling ass beer blogs complain about heat on a BA beer, it is like someone complaining about an escort being “too forward.” That is what you paid for, peep game. This is ready to roll and at 12% abv, things could get way more twisted.

T: This is pretty easy to summarize, the castle door drops down and some gentle maple and Werther’s original flavors enter and then HOLY SHIT BOURBON IS RIDING AN ELEPHANT. There is a harem of servants casting vanilla and sweet oak chips to the clamoring masses. The bourbon is so far forward that it is in the engine compartment. No punchlines, no riddles, I am talking white squares with a stamp in the middle.

This beer rocks crazy vanilla, but is smooth as hell. Word to your mother.

M: This has an incredible dryness but also a sticky malt that pulls from both ends like a sorority tug of war. You are up in your glass communicating with the bourbon like Michael and KITT, perfectly integrated. This leaves residual sugars lingering and nice sheeting of alcohol to think about. The 12’s up in your mouth leave that palate shaking like it got Parkinson’s Disease, but it is so damn fulfilling.

D: If you are accustomed to merking Buffalo Trace to the skull, this might be your session beer. For most people, this is too big, too sweet, too complex, and too heated to session up on, however, the 12oz single is a solid banger. If this was in a bomber you’d be forgetting to pick your kids from school, taking apart the VCR and shit.

I just want moar.

Narrative: It was hard for Malcolm Rogers to relate to the guys. They always rooted for the Big 10, what with him and his fencing hobby, he felt a bit outside the ranks. However, there was one thing that Malcolm could consistently offer that would bring even the most stalwart of opposition to its knees: “DID SOMEONE SAY TOTINOS PIZZA ROLLS?” It did not matter the class, creed, or character of his guests; once those preservative laden rolls hit the table, things were off of the hook, hinges and heezy concurrently. No one really thought much about Malcom’s job, or his background. While others traded people on their fantasy teams, he would swirl 18 year bourbon in a bucket and ruminate on habbedashery. He was too classy and refined for his own good. He made horrible fantasy draft picks based on name alone, and his antechamber smacked of Anthropologie; but they tolerated him. His sweet decadent pizza rolls wafted through the KB Home, securing his eschelon amongst the bretheren.