Category Archives: black ale

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Midnight Sun Brewing Berserker, For Those Times When You Go Berkskerk

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Midnight Sun beers are so damn good, so damn far away, so expensive, and not the easiest beers to lock down. Let’s be honest. We haven’t harassed our Alaskan neighbors since that barfly review. Well this is an analog to that beer in many ways, while not as .rar, I actually enjoy this coffee beast more. This is bourbon, coffee, maple, red wine and everything fine all rolled into one. Let’s start drilling for imperial oil in today’s review.

So many words up on that label, so many flavors all up in my face.

Midnight Sun Brewing Co.
Alaska, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 12.70% ABV

The label rages on:

“Vicious and viscous, this menacing brew pours opaque black with a creamy maduro-colored head. Its aroma offers seductive whiskey, chewy red wine, dark fruit and lavish tobacco. Berserker Imperial Stout invades your taste buds with in-your-face flavor. Weighing in at almost 13% alcohol by volume, Berserker is completely out-of-control. Give it a good fight. Berserker Imperial Stout was aged in both red wine and whiskey barrels.”

A: This is to the numbers an imperial stout through and though. Just look at that, it looks like press pot coffee mixed with triple brownie batter ice cream. The mocha head lets you know that the malts went through some serious dark ended shit in that 120 minute boil. The lacing is tremendous and the carbonation rises to the top despite thick sticky adversaries holding it back like a bunch of bubble haters.

This comes across like a progressive spin on something that you feel like you’ve experienced before. The result is a refreshing new experience.

S: This imparts a deep coffee, merlot, leather, oak, sweet milk chocolate, there is some char and roastiness but at least this beer has the decency to hide it and doesn’t just wave it around like Barfly sees it fit to do. The whole affair is welcoming but incredibly complex. This is an amazing beer and all I am doing it snorting rails of carbonation.

T: This goes overboard in every area like on Diddy Kong Racing when you unlock Drumstick. You get deep caramel and vanilla from the bourbon, then milk chocolate starts slapping titties, tobacco puts a cigar out in your vodka soda and red wine strides in looking like Prince in mink coat. The whole entourage is menacing but welcome, like those Thing 1 and 2’s that break all your shit, but rhyme the entire time.

uniting bourbon, red wine, and coffee is like discovering the triforce of imperial stouts.

M: This is incredibly viscous and shoulders the ranks of Abyss and Huna with that deep oily murkiness that only the most hardened BP workers can be cajoled into talking about. You take a sip of this, might as well just call in sick to work, you will look like a boozy asshole. Why are you drinking this in the morning anyway? After a full bomber of this, you can just listen to Purity Ring and stare at some shitty Z Gallerie artwork because nothing else is going to seem relevant after what your mind and palate just went through.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, without qualifier. I know it is huge, boozy, chocolatey, chewy, and almost 13%. You can finger your own dick hole if you disagree, this stout just goes HAM and doesn’t care who knows it. I would advise seeking out a ton of this, but the trading curve has already taken off sky high, so good luck with that one.

This beer is huge, brash, but endlessly entertaining.

Narrative: The bubbles danced menacingly in front of your face as you watched the others propel themselves effortlessly through the water. Your cephalopoda eyes glow red with rage at the sight of their white, thin streamlined bodies. you were born this way, to harbor the maddening palour of a quadruple sized ink pouch. It is your scarlet, jet black A in your inner bladder. The most irksome, blackest squid in the sea, reviled by your contemporaries you lazily chug through the molasses emitting from your pores. Your beak grits haughtily in their wake, knowing their fortune, a grim death in indonesian nets. Alaskan squid are the most relentless indeed. Your wring your tentacles, obsidian in pigment, thinking of their light flesh reflecting the rays of angled sunlight from above. You could follow them in their trivial, fleeting existence, but you weren’t suited for that life. you were suited for the depths, the cold darkness, colder than your metabolic slowdown, colder than the oppressive atmospheric pressure. In a blast of thick enveloping ink you become one with the darkness and embrace your pure nature, a creature of the depths, all 8 legs propelling towards your destiny.

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Midnight Sun Oak Aged TREAT, Take You to the Oak Aged Shop, Let you Lick the Pumpkin Pop

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For the uninformed, this might look like a rather pedestrian gem for this site, that is until you see those magic words on that bottle OAK AGED. That’s right, we skipped right over the old traditional version and went directly for the .rar jugular. I have heard that they release 400 bottles of this each year, but maybe a Midnight Sun rep can clear that up for me. Either way, this is one of those 400+ wants < 15 gots sort of beers that brings all the boys to the yard. Let's get our pumpkins smashed in today's review:

Midnight Sun Brewing Co.
Alaska, United States
American Porter | 7.80% ABV

A: This has a slick blackness to it that doesn’t come across as a hefty boy, it is nimble and imparts some light sheeting on the walls but the mocha skeeting is kept to a refined minimum. The carbonation runs freely and serves up tiny effervescence like a hungover barista.

Out of the pumpkin mire, the oak aged chocolate monster cometh.

S: This has a much more robust nose than the regular version and deals out pumpkin, nutmeg, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, smashed M&Ms, light lactose aspects, and some pepper. There is a strange bit of clove and sweetness from a Djarum Black, the whole affair is classy but sticky at the same time, like 5th grade Halloween sleepovers in an opulent den of rich mahogany.

T: This carries the chocolate and pumpkin to the maximum, 7th gear engaged to the fullest. The spices are present throughout but are not overpowering, they are more like a tasty garnish to the main event. The chocolate and pumpkin don’t have that horrible synthetic feel that some other holiday offerings posit, I am looking at you Shipyard brewing and all of your Smashed Imperial offerings. It’s the kind of chocolatey boss that doesn’t give you your tens, but lets you leave early. Pretty solid.

Try this pumpkin beer that said. Only 7% abv they said.

M: This has a nice slick porter wateriness to it that imparts the flavor and gets out of there as though a new episode of Breaking Bad is on or something. You could put this back all day long, or you could open it with some people that will never have the chance to try it, either way beer curmudgeon. Spread the love around.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and hides the abv well. The pumpkin and complexity of the chocolate aspects balance each other out and everyone is left with beige ass teeth smiling happily. The oak is not too pronounced but it is still empowers the other elements to do their thang, impart some vanilla and spice notes and then the bottle is gone.

This beer hits your flavor zones hard and leaves you stable, like a pumpkin BAWS.

Narrative: Bill Nye, the guy of science looked through the fusion reactor blast shield and scrawled some obtuse findings into a yellow notebook. The particle accelerator had successfully extracted carbon chains from both chocolate strains and disassembled complex amino acid chains from a gourd. Now the faint hue of the orange light spun rapidly as the proto-pumpkin quarks attempted to integrate themselves into the chocomatrix. “Those years of admonishing the reasoning faculties of children have postured me, BILL NYE, to usurp the throne of the king of Halloween.” The flow charts on the wall demonstrated the complex plan to become the figurehead of pagan rituals and how to rekindle the love of his followers through the use of science. “OH MY GO-” a flash of Ferrero Rocher gold erupted and Bill stared into the wispy whirring chocolate cloud. “MR. NYE! YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE, IT IS NOT FINISHED!” The Science Guy would see the instability of the product breaking down. He grabbed his oak clip board and entered the reactor and was imbued with chocolateyoakypumpkin free radicals, infusing him with the deep painful essence of Halloween. BUT WOULD HE USE THESE NEW FOUND HALLOPOWERS FOR GOOD OR EVIL?

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Ballast Point Sea Monster Imperial Stout, Drowning you in Chocolate and Dark Malts

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Call me Ishmael, constantly seeking stoutwales but coming across langoliers.

Sea monster
Ballast Point Brewing Company
California, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 10.00% ABV

A: Sleek, ink black, with a little transparency. Not an exceptional amount of carbonation, just a menacing lacing sitting on top of the rim, warning the latent power lurking below. Nice lacing, sticky and antagonistic.

When a stout this big hits you, you feel it.

S: There is a toffee/sour finish with an incredible amount of coffee and wood notes. There is a whiskey and bourbon note that wafts above the thick head like an ice cube sitting upon a glass of gin. As a side note, the version of this aged on whiskey chips is amazing, seek it out immediately. Call Ballast Point and demand it.

T: There is a noteworthy chocolate and anise/licorice profile. This beer is as black as Satan’s magic, a thick chocolate milk head imparts its flavor, then oak jumps into the fray with its drying effects. Nice coffee notes resound and add drying effects. Its effect remains throughout the proceedings.

For the uninitiated, a stout this big might not fit their palate amiably. Get used to it.

M: The mouthfeel coats in a huge way. There is a oily thick particulate effect to the stout. The coffee and burnt raisins just coat and linger, making up a remarkable base camp with occasional visits from smokiness and chocolate. Strangely the body isn’t exceptionally thick but it has sticky coating. Which is unusual given the strange balance.

D: Despite the crazy nature of this beer, it remains exceptionally drinkable for the style. While it coats in a huge way and certainly wouldn’t feel at home in a 6 pack, it has a great disposition that makes you want to take another sip. Most people would shy away due to an unfamiliarity with style or an aversion to the menacing black character, however, for those tried and true, this is certainly worth the outing, maybe even 2 bombers.

This isn’t a milk stout, but it still delivers extreme satisfaction. Not a shelf wale, a shelf Monster.

Narrative: Skip was born jet black, without a white belly. His inky black eyes showed permeable anger, the other Emperor Penguins mocking him. His beak clenched watching the others feed upon cephalopods. “Look at them, their proud plumage, mocking me like sneetches without stars upon thars, I will show them.” Skip was advanced for his age and, despite his lack of opposable thumbs, has fashioned an ice shiv from the shearing of an errant glacier. “I will show them the true darkness of their ways.” No one would mate with Skip and rumored his jet black eggs that would result. He had a sweet core and a lighthearted personality, but no one would give him the benefit of the doubt. Skip burned with the rage of a Patagonia summer. We will see whose cold is imparted this winter, that of my black coat, or that of black death. He gripped his shiv knowingly, awaiting the grip of the winter.

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3 Floyd’s Dark Lord, Yes Regular Old Darklord, No Vanilla, No Bourbon, No Brandy Just The Lord Himself.

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Well I already did Vanilla Bourbon Dark Lord so we might as well backtrack and hunt down the more accessible offerings so that we know where these whales come from. Some people love this big monster. It sits on the top 100 with two variants of itself and smiles knowingly at the uninitiated. If you do not have extensive experience with 1) imperial stouts and 2) insulin administration, then you need not apply. Let’s burn a somber offering to the Darkest of Lords in today’s review.

I have had multiple vintages of this but I can’t find pics of them, so here’s a pic of the bottle I drew in MS paint for you. Enjoy.

Three Floyds Brewing Co. / Brewery & Pub
Indiana, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 15.00% ABV

A: thick but not black finish, more like a warm melted brown sugar deep brown, light passes through in a deep mahogany at the edges. This isn’t the most viscous beer that I have ever seen but you can tell it is up to something, the way it swallows the carbonation whole and envelops all signs of lacing.

The dark lord be peepin like a sweet sugar daddy.

S: There is a huge, high heat, sweet coffee and tart toffee notes, with wafty boozy notes. To say that it is sweet smelling would be akin to saying that Sasha Gray is mildly attractive. This has dark fruits, soy sauce aspects, and a strange maltball smell to it like melted whoppers. I got my epipens ready.

T: Wow, several layers to this beast. At the outset it feels like Chocolate Rain Jr. It has a huge malty sweetness, some dark fruits, molasses and sugar, brown nuts, melted cane sugar, 85% chocolate, light dryness, sticky brown sugar, and just incredibly sweet. Imagine if you took all the balance out of Chocolate Rain and then left all the residual sugars without any malts to support this track racer. This beer reminds me of my friend who once put dual engines in a MKII VW Golf, it was insane, loud, overpowered and completely unbalanced. You can’t take it anywhere, no one knows what to do with it, but some people like it like that.

This seems hardcore at first, then you realize it is just a misunderstood sweetheart.

M: there is nice coating that is not overly filling. Ultimately the sweetness is overriding and almost too much, but I enjoy the extremes. This seems like it would clearly be more enjoyable if aged, it is tough to knock it for my own lack of patience. I feel that it lives up to the hype for sheer ambition and amazing execution. However, my experience has been that this beer needs at least 3 years to relax, otherwise those residual sugars take you to the candy shop. It seriously reminds me of thin coffee with too much Sugar In The Raw added to it.

D: This suffers the most simply because I am a jumpy bastard and didn’t let it age. Well guess what, boo hoo, don’t put beer out that isn’t ready to be dranken. But seriously, I have to mark down the 2011 simply because it is, a 2011. The 2012 was even more insane. I bet something like the 2008 would be chocolate sex, but I don’t have the time or patience for that nonsense. It is awesome now, but sublime later, like those hateful smart girls you neglected so fully in geometry.

Everytime Darklord slays a soul, your hypoglycemic index goes up.

Narrative: Among the most challenging items on a daily basis that faced J.P. Cacoaworth was how to close the daily deal. Each day when he walked into his spacious corner office he took a hot snifter of bourbon and ruminated over the idea of closing the deal. Sometimes J.P. was as sweet as a candyman, providing settlement documents with a sticky panache. Sometimes he put the heat on and pressured the other party in by hectoring their better sense. He was a calm master of his trade, patient and full of sweet heat. Some would say that aluminum siding can sell itself, but they likely have not met the petulant master of faux wood coverings. “WELL IF THEY THINK THAT THEY CAN GET MOUNTING BRACKETS FROM ME FOR FREE, THEY HAVE NOT MET THE HATEFUL GOD OF WINDOW COVERINGS AND I WILL FLY DOWN ON MY BLACKENED CHARIOT OF RAGE AND IMPART FIREY SWEETNESS ONTO THEIR CUL DE SAC.” Today was a sweet day.

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Oscar Blues Ten Fidy, I Gave That Loch Ness Monster About Ten Fidy

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This is the best stout that comes in a can, that is until Peg’s G.O.O.D. Rare D.O.S. gets its canning line up and running this fall [fn1 – citation not found.] But having the best canned beer is kinda like being the hottest camp counselor at D.A.R.E. camp, you really didn’t accomplish much. Let’s look beyond that cold metallic exterior at the heart of this dark beast in today’s review

God. Damn. Loch Ness MONSTAHHHHH

Ted Fidy, Imperial Stout
Oscar Blues, 10.5% ABV

A: This has a pretty viscous appearance to it with nice coating and sticky mahogany carbonation. However, contrary to what most people think, this is not the most viscous used motor oilesque beer that I have ever seen. Rare, Parabola, Abyss, and particularly Hunapuhs are all thicker and exhibit better coating. That is not to say this beer isn’t as black as Satan’s magic, it is. It has tiny bubbles and isolated dots of lacing.

Canned beer: changing the face of the United States, can by can.

S: There is a bit of coffee and some black licorice. You can smell the roasted malts and a sort of burnt turbinado sugar. The bouquet is a bit flat and unremarkable, pretty standard for the genre and style.

T: It has a huge bitter chocolate sweetness at the outset that subsides into deep chocolate malts and finishes with a drying effect. This is a very solid offering especially for the non-barrel aged crowd that can be seen as so pedestrian. Everyone just shaking their heads, “tisking” to their heart’s desire, knowing that a baller version exists out there.

An amazing stout from a can? Well then-

M: The mouth feel has a great stickiness that lingers for about 25 seconds after you swallow it. The mouthfeel is thick but not oppressively so. For the huge gravity and alcohol of this beer, it doesn’t come off as overly filling. I enjoy the interplay of sweet and very bitter elements.

D: Strangely, this is a very delicious and drinkable stout, despite its shortcomings in the aroma and taste aspects. This is not a session beer, but the cans make it very versatile and I can finally take a huge thick stout to the beach. All of my dreams finally come true, my tossing a Frisbee around care free, swishing in the tide with stained khaki teeth.

Beer in a can, works every time.

Narrative: “Don’t do it Sarah, don’t send that tweet,” the former Vice President nominee told herself with waning confidence. “Just stay out of it, people don’t need to know your opinion of Chick-Fil-A, just put the phone down.” Suddenly, the opulent den of her Alaskan parlor was filled with a deep gaseous spirit, murky and black, flowing like crushed linen. “Yesshhhh Miss Palinnn, tell themmm, let them knowww you schiinkkkk that CHICK FILLL EHHH isss a good businessss” this petulant black demon had been her ill advising counsel on more than one occasion. Five years ago she was trekking through the Alaskan tundra and found a small Inuit artifact with warning inscriptions on it, and the rest is pretty heavily implied. “Annnddd thennn once they know how you feeeelllll, you should thennn startttt talking about GUNNN CONNTROLLL and vvviiiiideeeoooo game VIOLLLEEENNNCEEE, tie it in to REECEENT EVENNNTSS.” She nodded with stern contemplation and sent a series of tweets the pundits could only call “completely par for the course.”

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Hill Farmstead Fear and Trembling Cabernet/Bourbon Blend, Infinite Resignation is the Last Stage of Fatih

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Believe it or not, I have actually been trying to ratchet back my reviews of all these HF gems lately. No, it is not due to the confusion surrounding the Ephraim release, and no it is not due to my latent bitterness being unable to land an Ann (her?) I simply cannot forego reviewing some of these old school (relative to Hill Farmstead lifespan) treats.

This porter is suspending my universal beliefs for my individual understanding of what a porter can be.

Hill Farmstead Brewery visit their website
Vermont, United States
Baltic Porter | 9.30% ABV

A: Just like all well-done porters, this has that signature thin bodied nature to it that splashes into the glass without heft or massive sheeting. The carbonation is generous and looks like a Coffee Bean drink with khaki foam and microbubbles smaller than 3J’s role in Family Matters.

At a certain point you should at least try to mask your affection for something.

S: This is a bit smokier than I would have liked but imparts a nice char, super Charizard if you will. Then again I am not a fan of char in the first place so I guess take that with a grain of char limits. There’s chocolate, a slight red grape aspect that is more of a tannic dryness, and a bitter coffee aspect. I could have used a bit more of the refreshing porter aspects to this instead of toeing the imperial stout line but, you mess with the Baltic, you get the horns.

T: Thankfully this campfire session eschews the roasted wood and goes a ‘smore route with a deep chocolate, cocoa, vanilla and a touch of mallow foam. The dryness from the oak is present but doesn’t put both hands in your malt bowl, just enough to be noticed. There’s some plum and stone fruit aspects and a smoky finish at the verrrrry end that sneaks in like the littlest roast puppy in the litter. There’s a great complexity and it’s tough to knock any of the three variants of this beer.

If you don’t enjoy dark beer I could always serve you a baby sloth in a chalice, your decision.

M: The mouthfeel is slick and light, dead on to porter, but not quite going into an overweight stout territory. The carbonation is fine and feels like 700 thread count sheets, a sateen duvet in your mouth. But you drink beer so you probably have that Walmart all-in-one bedsheet that single moms love to tolerate. I liked this better as it warmed and the barrel characteristics became more pronounced. You want that deep dark fruit, go get it.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and masks its ABV very well. The light body and huge flavor profile is a haymaker that clears your glass pretty effortlessly. I would say the imperial porters from Hill Farmstead are improving steadily as I would rank them as follows:

Birth of Tragedy > BA Everett > Fear and Trembling

For anyone who gives a shit about bottles that are nearly impossible to obtain. Me recommending a 300 bottle run of something limited beyond belief is kinda like polishing an apple on my shirt and talking about which of my Ornithopters is my favorite.

Some people think imperial porters are just stouts in disguise, haters gonna hate.

Narrative: “And go, take your last bottle, first born in your cellar and cast it into the Fedex truck, for a return blessing shall be forthcoming.” The anonymous message seemed suspicious, yet highly credible to Mark Wallerstein. He had been trading beer online for years, but never before had he received such a divine command. “Is this some kind of LIF or someth-” he thought and suddenly a message appeared “NO, this is not a lottery it forward, only when you sacrifice your most precious bottle can you obtain that which is truly worthwhile.” This was a bit creepy but Mark began solemly wrapping his 2007 Cable Car in bubble tape, aware of the intense burden laid at his doorstep. He was to suspend all belief in bartering and give up his most precious to become elevated to a state of fear and trembling. He would exchange rationalism for hope in the ultimate gesture of beer bonhomie. Just as Mark was about to ship his final and only Cable Car, a UPS worker stopped him. “You see Mark, only by knowing that you could give up this sick wale, could you demonstrate your right to receive this:” and on that very site, his bottle was spared and he was given a bottle of Dirty Horse, unblended, 1983. A divine blessing indeed.

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Avery Uncle Jacob’s Stout, A Stout that Socks You 215 years Beyond the Grave

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Avery beers have been divisive for me, sometimes it is a tart delight, other times it is a dramatic wine substitute. This is a nice foray into the world of their hellish huge beers in the same lineage as Mephistopheles, The Beast, Grand Cru, etc. I enjoyed one of those three, so we shall see how this 17.42% abv giant socks me in the face in today’s review.

The Left Hand glass is appropriate because this beer straight slapped me across the face.

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 17.42% ABV

Let’s let the label speak for itself:

In the quest to create a collection of barrel-aged beers to be reproduced annually, Avery Brewing Company is releasing Uncle Jacob’s Stout, the second member of its Annual Barrel Series. The collection began with Rumpkin rum barrel-aged pumpkin ale in the fall of 2011, and now continues with this 17.4% ABV stout that was aged in first-use Bourbon barrels for 6 months. While the Avery Barrel-Aged Series features one-time-only batches, such as the recent Muscat d’Amour and Récolte Sauvage, the Annual Barrel Series features a selection of cellarable barrel-aged beers that fans can return to and get to know every year.

In other words, get ready to get socked in the liver.

A: This is jet black, Joan Jett black and this beer loves rock and/or roll. The lacing is minimal largely due to the huge slick sheeting imparted by the massive ABV. It settles to an inky blackness almost instantly but I wouldn’t expect my tank class to be nimble.

This beer will beat you ass, but you won’t feel embarrassed about it at all, well maybe a little.

S: The smell of this beer isn’t too menacing and almost comes across as something at half the alcohol content. There’s some gentle chocolate and brownie batter smell that subsides into some nice light char similar to a sweet Cohiba cigar. The bourbon has that oaky vanilla aspect similar to single barrel Buffalo Trace, but at 684 cases you know they used Rebel Yell or some shit that Eclipse nerds go apeshit for. Smells good, but this is the eye of the storm.

T: The sweetness of the bourbon rolls onto the sweet zones like tight sickles prickling the entire way back in a crackly chocolate pop rocks sensation. The light char can barely hold back the massive kraken that is the bourbon and sweet malts profile. Even the baker’s chocolate looks pissed, furiously rolling out baked macaroon shurikens and tossing them down the back of my throat.

Maybe it is the 17.4% abv, or maybe I am just too immature for this shit. Or both.

M: This is as hot as a New Mexico meth lab and scorches the insides just the same. The chocolate and coffee notes haunt like specters of mouths past, letting me know that this 12oz bottle should have been shared but, oh well, too late for those prodigious moments, off to 17.42% assaults. The chocolate octagon takes it out on your liver and Uncle Jacob stares on knowingly from a bourbon barrel altar, thumbing through the maltronomicon.

D: This is a tough call, at the outset I want to pull the simple “too hot, too big” red flag like all the haters but, I don’t think deserves that treatment. Sure it is a behemoth to wrangle and puts you back in 6th grade pretty quickly, the 16 bit RPGs are busted out after a single bottle. Sure you CAN drink a single bottle, but you certainly SHOULDN’T. I mean, sure I did, but do you want to be like me? Buying clothes at the LA Morgue and running a website that talks shit on beer nerds and hipsters? Well, I guess it isn’t so bad.

I guess this is similar to being put at peace, it is tantamount to self administered anesthesia.

Narrative: “This is a cop out but, I can’t formulate a reasonable response to this beer. My chest feels like E.T. punched my sternum and my mouth is like a 5th grade sleepover chocolate binge. I was gonna write this dystopian steampunk novella about a chocolate harbinger that steals bourbon souls, or some shit, but after a couple beers and then this haymaker, the creative juices are frozen in my head. I homebrewed something of a similar strength that was aged on Willet oak and it gave me this same heat in my chest and light residual headaches. Maybe I am just a cooze, maybe I could have just framed it as a first person narrative from some dialogue mouthpiece but oh well, here we are-” Thomas Jacobs thought to himself in his 8th grade algebra class, thinking of the 6’er of Coronas he had hidden under his bed.

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2008 Narke Stormaktsporter, The Calm Before the Stormaktsporter

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Let’s just address this right away: these little 8oz Swedes are a pain in the ass to lock down. It’s a weird feeling to ship away a huge box of beer and receive…this tiny dwarf in return. Sure, this isn’t a Kaggen! But beergers can’t be choosales. Let’s take a look at this tiny bottle complex in today’s review.

It was a narke and stormy night. Wakka wakka wakka.

Närke Kulturbryggeri AB
Sweden
Russian Imperial Stout | 9.00% ABV

A: This beer is incredibly thin and splashes playfully into the glass with capricious glee. The carbonation has held up well over the years, the incredible journey considered. The lacing is pretty minimal but still makes a solid effort, like the Miami Dolphins, deep down you know they are trying.

This beer reminds me of plenty of other beers, but that doesn’t mean it is any less good.

S: This seems pretty par for the course with some light char, nice roasty smoked almond and coffee notes, a light chocolate on the backend. Again, this isn’t something you would lose your shit over if you didn’t know what it was, it could hide comfortably amongst the ranks of several non-barrel aged stouts and no one WOULD BE THE WISER. The Swedes ran the Baltic like a steady handed pimp in the post-renaissance/reformation years so they should know how to keep it cutty on the stout front.

T: This is thin on the palate with chocolate notes at the outset that subside into a subtle coffee acidity. The alcohol is non-existent and you could serve this to Swedish orphans for breakfast without a single complaint at the Ice Farm. There’s an interesting sweetness that is similar to fudge batter and bruised figs. NOT REGULAR: BRUISED. The entire experience is gentle and makes you forget the forced labor in the fields of halogen white snow.

When you give up 4 bottles for a 8oz gem, you can expect some residual anger notes in the taste.

M: This seemed pretty light and tame to me, however, everyone else had different impressions with regard to the coating. I drank this on new years alongside Black Tuesday so maybe I had bottleshock at how MASSIVE THE BLACK TUESDAY WAS. The sheer girth, etc. fill in oblique penis entendres. But seriously, it was an incredibly refreshing stout, which is a strange coupling of traits. It reminded me quite a bit of Czar Jack in a favorable way. Nothing else quite unites that old chocolate meets waterpark feeling like this lil guy.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I would highly recommend this to anyone who doesn’t have to give up the farm to land it. Maybe Sweden needs to step up its distribution game, make more of this, tame its draconian beer legislation and start getting Americans chocolate wasted. How about that foreign policy plan?

Sure, it is small, but incredibly refined and, ultimately, pretty uplifting.

Narrative: The Wilkins family did not personally investigate their new Akron, Ohio home prior to moving in. James Wilkins was transferred from Nestle Co. to the new operations facility and he had little time to adjust to his thrilling new environment. One night while surveying the basement, he found a tiny lamp with Scandinavian writing on it. As he examined the tiny lamp, the spout shot out a tiny impish figure dripping with oily discharge. “Hur mår du?” he exclaimed with childish glee. The basement reeked of sticky chocolate and cocoa beans. “Något nytt på gång?” he inquired lovingly and gripped the leg of James’s Dockers, staining his khakis with black sludge. Mr. Wilkins neither spoke Swedish nor was familiar with Norse gods of chocolate. The impetuous being was placed in the lamp for being too puckish, now all of Ohio would feel his tiny wrath. For a state still reeling from Lebron James separation anxiety, a sweet chocolate demon was just what the people needed.

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3 Floyd’s Bourbon Barrel Aged Alpha Klaus with Plums, Adjective Stacking FTW

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I know what you are thinking “another rare Barrel Aged 3 Floyd’s beer? Give that shit a rest.” Alright, fair enough, but BA Behemoth was beyond amazing so I can’t stay away, the game needs me. This is another one of those 391 bottle, generic barrel aged bottle releases and so far, all the prior releases were amazing. Let’s see if this follows suit or IF IT DOESN’T HAVE THE PLUMS TO DO SO

Keeping it Alpha as fuck with Victorian literature.

Three Floyds Brewing Co. / Brewery & Pub
Indiana, United States
American Porter | 10.00% ABV

Oh shit, bottle number 221/391, .rar bonus.

A: This has that inky squid discharge look with the nimble porter wateriness that you’ve come to expect from those charming offerings. The splishy splashy cola notes give it a flat soda look with some moderate carbonation. It looks pretty legit, through and through, although some middle carbonation wouldn’t be a total turn off. But this isn’t a Hustler spread, so let’s leave these fictional dreams well enough alone.

Whenever I open a barrel aged 3 Floyd’s Beer: I HAVE THE POWER.

S: While it is plum, I get a deep grape and black cherry from the nose, mixed in like a Cordial with some chocolate and a marshmallow froth. There’s some booze holding this kraken back, but the whole thing seems sweeter and purple Flintstones vitamin more than chocolate rampage.

T: The plum kicks into a deep sweet grapitey grape rampage. Statutory grape, if you will. The plum comes across in more of a light tannin fairy dust sprinkled throughout the fracas like feathers in a sorority girl pillow fight and the chocolate and roast look inside through the malt window with visible erections. It reminds me of a purple fanta meets yoohoo outing that is neither suitable for hikes nor sitting by the hearth, discussing Roosevelt’s re-election. Like a plum bachelorette, neither classy, nor explicitly trashy.

This beer pulls of some strange stunts, which you appreciate but are not sure how to apply in a larger medium.

M: The mouthfeel is dead on and cartwheels into a nimble posture, tossing black cherry shurikens pell mell. It washes away clean but the booze hangs out on the way out, looking for trim on the way down. I would not suggest this to novice beer drinkers unless you want to hear a bunch of irritating adjectives that will denature your experience, “OH MAN IT IS LIKE A TAFFY BURNT TIRE BRO” see I can’t even make them shitty enough to impart realism.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, but I am torn as to whether I like it more cold or warmer. Cold it is more chocolate with tame fruits, around 60 degrees this shit starts getting into Fruit Stripe Gum territory real quick, which is tasty and original, but maybe not as drinkable. If you focus on the lingering chocolate and cocoa phosphate aspect, it is fulfilling through and through.

Porterrr….plumssses…..bourbon….now….build me a dam sweet Indiana muses…

Narrative: William Goyette gripped his temples and popped another prune into his mouth. His status consistently garnered no showering of likes, thumbs, approval or otherwise. “GOD DAMNIT THIS GUY AGAIN!” he exclaimed and looked at his minifeed cluttered with “THE DOCTOR SAYD YOUR HAVENG A GIRL!” with 56 likes. Another status from a marginally attractive Mormon girl said “each day is a gift wrapped in a sunrise” that received 34 comments. “THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE,” he thought to himself and took a bite from a juicy plum. William lives strictly off of Farmer’s Market food, did crossfit, read H.P. Lovecraft and thought that he was edgy as fuck. He still could not understand why the goldpan of life passed his pithy statuses by. “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what LPs Real Estate are going to release next fall” he could not understand how that gem of relevance and ultra ironic but self deprecating tone of metacritical commentary rolled in auspicious knowledge, somehow failed to elicit “likes.” Likes are the lifeblood and currency of the insecure. They feed the Williams of the world with a sweet succor of post-collegiate relevance. It is the sweet nectar for his race, the rare and relevant, the cloistered tiers of esoteric civilization. He popped a dried plum into his mouth from the Ronco food dehydrator and he began his 43rd screenplay, this time a SciFi re-imagining of Howard’s End. He was edgy as fuck.

1

Southern Tier Mokah, Why Brew Coffee When You Can Brew Beer? Oh, DUIs.

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Southern Tier rolled out a whole line of these imperial stout monsters that tasted like other things, creme brulee, mokah, jahva, all kinds of things. You don’t see that in other formats, I have never seen a baker making cupcakes that taste like an imperial stout, I guess it’s a one way street for people with things to take care of. Anyway, let’s get coffee wasted and start cupping in today’s review.

I can’t be bothered to sort all these damn imperial stout pictures, but this one tasted like coffee. Big shocker.

Guess what, this tasted exactly like creme brulee and the girls lost their shit over it. I thought it was sweeter than the end of a Nicholas Sparks movie, but then again I have that XY chromosomal order.

Spoiler alert, this beer, called Choklat, tasted like a sweet kiss from Johnny Depp, psyche, it tasted like fucking chocolate. Duh, next beer.

I completely forgot what the fuck we were talking about. Oh yeah, this beer, which is TOTALLY DIFFERENT THAN ALL THAT OTHER SHIT. Just kidding, they are all awesome, haters gonna hate.

Southern Tier, Mokah 11.2% abv, Imperial Stout

A: Deep dark oily hues, not so black as Satan’s magic or straight up Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, but, still pretty black. Mild tiny bubbles, tiny carbonation, tiny everything. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Most people can’t afford to take down a series of Southern Tier dank ass stouts, pic related.

S: Very sweet milk notes, not unlike their crème brulee, with a solid coffee waft as the backbone. I am very intrigued by this penumbra between the two elements. “Oh wait, he is intrigued?” not a single fuck was given today, I know. But seriously, the dichotomy is amazing.

T: The taste is a spot on rendition between a sweet stout and a deep coffee stout. It is just amazing on both polar ends. At the outset you get an amazing caramel milky sweetness that subsides into a drying coffee dryness. It feels like a cuvee between a milk stout and a coffee stout. Again, just amazing on all fronts.

I love you forever Southern Tier, even though you put my nice things in the toilet.

M: This imperial stout is not overbearing but is incredible in the mouth feel. It coats and imparts some great sweet and bitter notes and fades quickly, not overstaying its welcome. The whole endeavor just smacks of value. This beer has a great breakfast stout character to it without any barrel aging, very impressive.

D: Very drinkable, incredibly silky in its body with a great mouthfeel and coating to it. I cannot believe that this is a simple off shelf beer and again, when it comes to stouts, the east coast is spoiled beyond belief. I feel like I just spoil this category but I seriously could drink this stout for days on end, it has an incredible balance. For reals.

Unlike facebook, I never rage at Southern Tier stouts, because they are sweet and amazing.

Narrative: Do you ever feel like someone is just controlling your every movement? Like Truman show? No like literally hedging every single one of your clips and turns. In what way? Ok, I don’t want to invoke the old deontological chestnut where we discuss pre-destination relative to a divine plan, I mean, in this earthly world, some people are destined to encounter some conflict and resolution, purely on the basis of man’s plight and have it resolved by the same anomalous factors. Well sometimes, like a flat tire and a serendipitous tow truck? That sort of thing? Exactly and now what those conflicting elements interplay so succinctly? Well usually something bad happens and then something pretty cool happens. The bitter and the sweet. Well, yeah. So who determines this balance, if it is determined, the interplay should be fairly evenly divided but who is the wholesale recipient of a load of bitter while others receive nothing but sweet. Well, to that I cannot say? It feels arbitrary and totally unfocused but at the same time, it is uplifting knowing that at any given moment a blast of splenda or carmelized sugar could come my way, sure it could be in the form of strippers or Magic: the Gathering cards, but the treats are nonetheless sweet. Well, I guess I feel you, but I can’t help feeling that this entire discussion was a paper thin pretense for both deontology and simple aromatics in food. Well, basically. Those two are pretty aligned.