Category Archives: bourbon aged

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Central Waters Bourbon Barrel Barleywine, OH WAIT, STOP THE PRESSES ANOTHER AMAZING BARLEYWINE-

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But in all seriousness, I have wanted to tap that Wisconsin mana pool so hard. I am assuming they play Red/White deck for plains and mountains, but, hell maybe there are Islands and Swamps there, the fuck would I know. I love English barleywines, especially when aged in American Bourbon. However, this is that disagreeable hoppy variant, the old AMERICAN BARLEYWINE. Which I don’t dislike but, you just want the toffee and not the grapefruit, myeh, let’s begrudgingly review an amazing beer. So here we go, two of my vices coupled together in sweet harmony. Kisses all around. Also, thanks to Tmoney for this bottle, real talk.

Usually when I am looking for BB BW, I go to craigslist, not Wisconsin, but, same difference.

Central Waters Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States

American Barleywine | 11.50% ABV

A: This has a beautiful ruby hue to it and minimal lacing, it’s like a Fast and Furious prop car that you know will tear your shit up but looks awesome at the same time. The wispy head leaves and attends to other business, but you don’t miss it after staring into that gemstone center that has a cut not unlike a 14 year old living in Wisconsin. Self mutilation jokes, we’re going there now.

Even this dude would feel like Ryan Gosling after drinking a couple of these BBW's.

S: God. Damnit. Well I guess, that needs a glaring asterix. This is, in fact, a dead on BB AMERICAN barleywine, but I am a fan of the more pale varietal with horrible dentistry. Notwithstanding, there’s a nice juniper and herbal aspect to this beer that sits on top of the bourbon waft like a platelet on top of a CELL THAT ACTUALLY CONTAINS DNA. I don’t get pissed about the hops but it’s more like, YOUR MOM SERIOUSLY HAS TO VISIT RIGHT NOW? SERIOUSLY?

T: Despite my bitchy impressions, the taste is awesome in the way that 3J is way more awesome than Richie. It is tart initially with a raisin front, nice pitted dates going on, almost a quad aspect, and you know how cutty quads get. The hops ease their way in like a barbershop quartet, but as Murder by Death opines, it is sweet Kentucky Bourbon for me. I ride out the foregoing until the bourbon shows up, wasted like Haymitch and the games are not at all hungry. I love the resonant interplay between the hops and the sticky barleywine prisoner left hostage to the hoppy abuse.

M: This has a significant amount of coating and drying at the same time that I would be a hater and knock it for but, wait a second, the mediator, delicious bourbon and butterscotch showed up as the mortar to this strange relationship. The bourbon acts as a MFT to this rocky relationship and smoothes out the jetty currents. It washes away clean and you wonder what all the fuss was about, then you realize, oh shit 11.5% and wait what, who left a Pizza Pocket in the microwave and why is the hallway all wet?

D: Alright you have a tug of war going on here between the drying hoppy aspects and the delivish bourbon that tells you to do bad things. I don’t know what ethical theory that you embrace, notwithstanding, you end up 1) drinking more than you should and 2) the small format makes you feel not even bad at all for selling your child’s Legos to obtain more Central Waters products. I am not saying an escort would accept this beer as payment but, with some artful presentation, bartering could be accomplished. It is that good and god damnit if you don’t convert some of the masses.

After a few of these bad boys, even the most outspoken Communication majors will be all up in Pan's Labyrinth.

Narrative:

I am leaving this narrative up for grabs if someone has 1) tried this beer and 2) is funnier than Kevin James. If you feel like writing a 250 word piece, go for it, see if I care, you can’t get less zero bitches, you cant owe people bitches. Spin the black circle.

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Dark Horse Brewing Company, Bourbon Barrel Plead the 5th, I CHOOSE NOT TO EXERCISE THAT RIGHT IN LIGHT OF TASTING THIS BEER

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Ok so a quick backstory to my tawdry affair with this (spoiler alert) completely amazing stout. I originally traded and tried to land one of the 50 some bottles from the initial release and failed horribly. Later, I traded and landed an entire 4 pack of these bottles and kept swearing to myself that I needed to review this top 100 stout. The problem was, each time after I drank this 15% abv bottle, I just became a sleep jeep and couldn’t be bothered to record my flawed impressions. This bottle is from my buddy, Bear, so here’s a final bite at the apple, let’s see if I can actually complete this one.

The difference between regular Plead the 5th and BBpt5 is like Urkel vs Stefan.

Dark Horse Brewing Company, Plead the 5th Bourbon Barrel Aged, 15% abv

THIS IS ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE STOUTS SO TODAY IS A DOUBLE MEME DAY

Pop this open before a sexy date, your teeth will look like this.

A: Well all is quiet on this eastern front. Theres a fantastic cosmos of bubbles that forms on the surface and lets you know that you are dealing with a complex, vengeful beer that operates under its own moral code. Just look up there, the chocolate and bourbon practically spontaneously combust and set the surface on fire with rage. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The existence of this beer is akin to the "Divine Watchmaker" argument. Mere mortals could not assemble something this amazing without supernatural intervention.

S: Holy hell this beer smells amazing. There’s a deep chocolate frosting aspect, with a faint milkiness on the backend like 85% cacao mixed with creme, some butterscotch and molasses toffee, finally a hot bourbon note closed the gates and declares the war a victory. A victory indeed. Every time that I open a bottle of this I remember anew how amazing it is. It is thoroughly fantastic on the nose, guess what (spoiler alert) the taste is amazing too-

The first time I tried this stout and then read the abv, my face was all like-

T: Initially there’s a nice coffee dryness like hopping into the dry leather saddle with Juan Valdez and his trusty burro. He hands you some cacao nibs to chew on and your ruminate over the New Mexico landscape and wonder how you had strayed so far from South America, he took another swig of Elijah Craig bourbon and you realize that he is less a coffee horticulurist and more a nomadic vagrant. The chocolate and coffee give this finish similar to a mocha that has been spiked with some Pappy Van Winkle. I always toss around the “top 5” and “lifetime achievement” awards with capricious infidelity, but seriously, this beer is amazing.

Protip: you are not the bird in this scenario after drinking this beer

M: The mouthfeel doesn’t take up more space than is needed in the overhead compartment, just pure ass beatings delivered with alarming efficiency. This imparts a huge dirty bomb of swift chocolate and bourbon and then is gone before you even know what organization imparted this efficient terrorism. All you know is that, from the destruction comes order, and the San Francisco earthquake may have ruined everyone’s shit, but it was rebuilt stronger and more solid in constitution as a result. TL;DR drink this beer to be stronger, funnier, and more impressive with the ladies [FN1 citation needed]

After I finished my first 12oz bottle and realized that I was likely 2x the legal DUI limit, I was like-

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, that is all there is to it, and god damn is it scary as a result. At least they had the sense to ratchet it back to a 12oz serving. It is strange, like how in Trainspotting you see everyone getting destroyed by heroin but they just want more, that’s this beer. You just want more of it and it puts your ass to bed like a swift choke hold. Great now I have to try and put together a coherent, clever narrative to sum up the joie de vivre of this beer after punishing myself with that crazy abv.

How to deal with the butthurt that comes with drinking your final bottle of BBpt5, film at 11.

Narrative: Licorice Miter was an ebony beauty, a beauty full of a murderous rage. Generations of powerful equine lineage had developed the fastest, yet the most rage filled horse that man had ever seen. To enrage the pituitary gland, its owner would get chocolate wasted and come taunt the horse with re-runs of Step by Step. The mere smell of a Mint Julep was sufficient to send the horse into a rage. It was deep, dark, and powerfully aware of the torque that it imparted into the loose soil. Miter never lost a single race and never allowed a single penance for the transgressions suffered at the hands of others. Through its own rueful disposition, it learned to harness the rage of the horse condition into an awareness of the future and the futility of the present. The taunting and whipping of the tiny pilot amused Licorice in a manner that seemed fitting for such a self-aware horse, the darkest horse, harboring the deepest rage, accomplishing the greatest feats.

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Three Floyds/Struise/Mikkeller/Surly Baller Stout, This Stout is Blended too Hard to be Ballin on a Budget

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Oh shit, the Voltron of baller ass beers,l a blend of: Black Albert, Darkness, Dark Lord, and Beer Geek Brunch. I will let you ruminate on the potential for a moment. Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.

This beer -BALs so hard, but first barrels gotta find me.

Three Floyds Baller Stout, Russian Imperial Stout, 13.8% abv

A: It has a bit of a wateriness to the pour that doesn’t really blow me away given the all start lineup of dark potations blended. The Darklord alone should be enough to consume the world, but it isn’t necessarily bad as a result. For the composition of those 4 beasts to create something with the coating of gentle Czar Jack, the result is anomalous. The carbonation is fantastic and clings to the glass with Ellis Island desperation. The color of the foam is dead on Dockers’ khakis, my favorite Mervyn’s foam selection.

WAIT. Darkness. Dark Lord, Black Albert. Beer Geek Brunch? I see what you did thar.

S: The smell has a nice coffee roast with a bit of an oakiness popping in here and there, however, the wheelies are popped by the chocolate and sweetness. I can only assume that Darklord and Darkness teamed up to whip the other two rapscallions into shape. The brownie batter smell lingers until a nice espresso element sutures the wound and the smell is done. Pretty impressive really, don’t know what haters hate.

T: The sweetness has a great interplay with the coffee element and the result is a bitter upfront port character that is not altogether chocolate, but not just roasted malts either. It is funny how each beer contributed a different element to the final product, there’s the obvious sweetness from the Darklord that is faint, a nice coffee from Beer Geek Brunch, some roasted malts from Darkness, and a nice charred oakiness from Black Albert. No falacy by composition here, just a solid stout, BALLER EVEN.

Combining these beers has showed me something that I knew about myself all along. Just like Uncel Dolan.

M: The mouthfeel is surprisingly light given the composition of the 4 knuckleheads involved. Notwithstanding, I feel that it is a more original product as a result. I don’t enjoy this more than any one of the parts involved, but it’s kinda like a janky ass Voltron. It might even be Go-Bot status. But even the sorriest Transformer like Nightscream or Cosmos is still a Transformer, that’s pretty bad ass.

D: The individual beers involved, Black Albert excepted, aren’t exceptionally drinkable, but strangely, this beer is splishy splashy and drinkable. The coating isn’t intense and as a result the synthetic oil burns cooler. I don’t know who was submarining the efforts to make this thinner and easier to drink but, I would say that this is the greatest aspect of the synergy between the elements. I don’t know that I will put this in my water bottle before I get into some sick ass MMA, but it’s pretty breezy and enjoyable for a gigantic stout. This beer has me feeling all like a Newport Slims advertisement up in this mix.

RISE MY BARREL AGED ARMY.

Narrative: Metroplex was a shitty Transformer and he knew it. Sure, Transformed he was a bad ass robot that would make Gundam quiver. But he “disguised” himself as an entire city block. The rest of the Decepticons just kinda sighed robot sighs and shrugged their massive robotic shoulders when Metroplex would dissassemble himself into a Jiffylube, Chick-Fil-A, Planned Parenthood, and Ju Jitsu Studio. “Starscream, please can you just, tell him it is painfully obvious, no one is fooled, literally not even the blind Transformer Brailzor is fooled by his transformation.” Deep down Metroplex had feelings too. He knew that the disguise was shitty and inoperable. The Planned Parenthood was always closed and the Ju Jitsu studio just had a guy who watched a ton of Affliction tapes but, deep down he had spirit. The elements that composted his false city were bad ass in their own right, even if assembled it was an underwhelming display of power. “So then Megatron was all like Metroplex? More like METROSEX! Oh, oh, didn’t see you standing there Metro, uh, we were just-” Metroplex ran to the lower chambers of the elaborate robot facility and buried his face in his iridium pillow. “THEY DON’T GET YOU! NO ONE GETS YOU!” he cried his autotuned sobs into his comforter while his My Chemical Robomance poster looked on ruefully.

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Hangar 24 Hammerhead, Bourbon and Whiskey Barrel Aged Barleywine, aged with real Hammerhead shark

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I love Hangar 24 Barrel Roll releases. Pugachev’s Cobra was awesome, Humpty Bump was interesting, and this beer looks pretty damn good on paper: whiskey barrel, check; bourbon barrel, check; named after a bad ass shark (or aerial maneuver, equally bad ass), check. Let’s see if this bad boy can enter the ranks with the likes of Arctic Devil, Great and King Henry, or if it should just post up in obscurity.

Finally a beer that unites my two passions: sharks and blacksmithing.

Hammerhead Barleywine, Hangar 24, Barleywine Aged in Whiskey and Bourbon Barrels, 13.5% abv

A: This is much darker and deeper than I prefer my barleywines, but I am not hating, just tipping my bowler to a bully gambit. The carbonation pushes past all the hairmetal bouncers and delivers some quality head. Hammerhead even. The lacing is of particular note, but it might be a collaborative effort between this novelty glass. Redlands is pumping a lot of merch into my house these days.

At first I was worried about the whiskey aspect, but then it got all gentle and chill, things worked out nicely.

S: This is exceptional, you get a cinnamon, a nice oaky whiskey barrel note, a type of rum molasses note, with some vanilla and toffee rounding out the nose. I was expecting some heat from this, particularly after everyone’s complaints from Pugachev’s. I should note that I didn’t think the old Cobra was particularly hot, so maybe I just have a leniency for abrasive scorching alcohol notes. I also enjoy Darklord fresh so, take what I think with a grain of Everclear.

T: Confirmed, not overly hot. You heard it first. In fact, compared to Arctic Devil, this beer is downright amiable. There’s pats on the back administered and delicious oak handshakes being doled out left and right. The whiskey shows up first and imparts a very original note that is distinct from most bourbon barleywines that I am accustomed to. My initial impressions are that it has a limited scope of almost rye characteristics that shifts into a caramel and light dryness on the backend. This isn’t as robust as say, Sucaba or Arctic Devil, but it is easier to drink, despite the whiskey barrel stirring up the tastebud children with promises of Yu Gi Oh decks and Jack Daniels.

Riddle me this brewman, what is sweet yet mild and not the sequel to Tower Heist?

M: This is noteworthy for this style, for a BA barleywine this is not overly sweet and the malt profile impresses me at its Calista Flockhart thin, nimble finish. With most of these BA BW offerings, you get the sticky icky, but not the OOH WEEE. This is the latter, OOH WEE, while lacking in things to place in the air. It finishes crisp and clean, much in the way Pugachev’s Cobra finished much lighter than I expected. I talked with Mr. Savage, the head brewer at Hangar 24 and I was amazed at how effectively they treated their yeast. The efficiency is something that warrants a vicious applause and this beer is a perfect example thereto. I bet this started somewhere around 1.10 and finished in the low 1.020. BEER NERD ALERT: TL;DR thin mouthfeel, but well done.

D: If the above is to be believed, this is incredibly drinkable. The only speedbumps are the cantankerous whiskey notes and the oak slowing things down, but the slippery light finish and lack of real flamethrower alcohol finish makes this an incredible drink. In fact, this is just the beer to pound before you hop on your BMX and go to work, since this is essentially a DUI machine if you decide to merk these solo. Big yellow bottles, big ice buckets, the ABV too hard to be drinkin on a budget.

When I read the bottle and found out that this was over 13% abv, I was like-

Narrative: I was going to slap together something about a shark blacksmith but, well you try drinking an entire bottle of this and try writing something clever. THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT. Fine, I can’t disappoint, here you go:

Irongill Forgetooth was unlike the rest of his Sphyrnidae clan. Sure, he shared the same animal instincts and interesting cranium, however, his deep penchant for tool fabrication made him stick out like a deviant dorsal fin amongst his peers. First, the problem of finding a sufficient kiln for embering his precious metallurgy attempts was not insbustantial. It wasn’t the heat from the underwater lava floes that bothered him, it was the loneliness of the depths. He was ill suited for deep ocean armor fabrication and his contemporaries strongly questioned the utility of underwater chain mail. One eye at a time he spied the surface and dreamed of all of the Phalanx that he could outfit, alas, the clanging of his coral mallet reminded him of the depths that he was relegated to inhabit. He knew that his skeleton would never fossilize and his teeth held a slim chance of carrying on his legacy. Instead he littered his underwater cover with powerful, yet elegant cuirasses and greaves. This alone would be his Spencerian legacy, not a mere set of teeth. It is not the bite that carries the legacy of time, but the subtle craftwork.

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Brouwerij De Molen, Tsarina Esra, This Beer Is Better Than Esra (groan)

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Here’s a strange, rare gem that I initially sought out to see what Molen has up their sleeve and ended up getting it for free. I guess that’s the cars you’re dealt in the beer world. So a whopping 180ml bottle, I really should have shared this beast with a bunch of friends right? PSYCHE.

Is it a tiny bottle or a HUGE GLASS? Optical ALEUSIONS.

Brouwrij De Molen, Tsarina Esra, 11% abv imperial porter

A: This looks as one would expect an imperial stout to look like, EXCEPT IT IS AN IMPERIAL PORTER. This has nice mocha foamy bubbles with mild carbonation. The shine is a deep blackness with a watery character that reminds me of Narke offerings. Maybe it’s just the small bottle, maybe I just have large bottle envy. That’s probably it.

Whenever a beer smells incredible, I always prepare myself for a let down on the old tastebuds. I deal with it.

S: This is easily my favorite part of this beer. There is a deep vanilla scone, cinnamon, nice peat backend and some barrel notes that have a Werther’s original sort of finish to them. I am guessing that is the whiskey aspect that is working so well with the light body on this one. This little bottle packs a huge aroma, particularly for the gentle carbonation. It reminds me of that sub that initially seems all bad ass because he sits in a chair BACKWARDS and addresses students with clever nicknames, but then you realize that he is just a liberal arts douche that has read A Separate Peace a billion times.

T: The taste is a bit of a let down given how much of a malt chub was worked up in the aroma. The taste has a ton of coffee ground flavor, tons of roasted malt, a big dryness, espresso notes and an intense bitterness that is coming from the challenger and saaz hops. A bit too hoppy and herbal in the finish for my sweet tooth. I am trying to get diabetes here and work on my mantits, not open a greenhouse.

The smell was so good, but then the actual taste of the beer just continued to trick the shit out of me.

M: The mouthfeel is slick and doesn’t present a huge coating initially but then the hops come through slapping people in the junk, making misogynistic comments and drying the place out. You go to a club and it’s a fun sweet time and then Italian hops show up, all oily, making the entire place bitter. The carbonation just starts breaking up greens and chills out without really getting up in the mix, which if maybe it decided to strap up, the coffee and hops wouldn’t be mashing on your bottle so hard when you explicitly told carbonation, ONLY CHICKS AT THE TABLE NO HOPS.

D: This is a moderately drinkable imperial porter and the tiny bottle was just right to hit my honey spot. I didn’t really need much more of this so I guess the limited run and the huge coffee dryness make this a level 2 alcoholics drink, not the crazy dangerous drinkability of stouts like Class V, or the huge firepower of Birth of Tragedy, but just enough you broaden your horizons like a stout/porter with its nipples pierced.

What a cruel sentence to deal with, awesome smells then hoppy, peaty whiskeyville. After 8oz they let me out for good behavior.

Narrative: Eudoxia Lopukhina walked the chilling streets of Kiev. Despite the government controlled media reporting a balmy spring, the oppressed masses knew better. This was 2065 and the citizens had seen too many years of rule by Svedka cyborg overlords to place hope or credence in a future that holds any shred of wistful optimism for better days. The streets that once thrived with culture now were overrun by terse, irascible robots that cared little for approval poll ratings. One babushka was seen eating a chocolate bar in the streets when a cold irridum grip snatched the rare treat and ground it into the cobblestones of Polonium Square. There were brighter days of bourbon, chocolate, and coffeehouses where the locals would slap one another on the backs and discuss proto-Pushkin, the 2.0 andronoscribe that seamlessly assembled prose in Cyrillic script. Ever since the discovery of the seemingly limitless power source, hoponium oil, the drones could oversee the people and work them mercilessly into the earth. Classic neo-revisionist Russian comic, Vladimir Nyetchtokov commented “yes, it was traditional Russian joke for to make parallel structuring and then reference the homeland but, the robots found this to be too wordy. Now Russian jokes are just terse declarative statements. Here, I show you newest Russian zinger: the stones are hard due to composition. That is it. Is best Russian joke in circulation.” The coffee days were long gone, and the days of hateful whiskeybots ruled the Asian continent with relentless tenacity.

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Fish Tale Leviathan Barleywine, Leviathan enters the battlefield tapped and doesn’t untap during your untap step

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Oh SHIT, Magic the Gathering jokes at the outset? Where do we even go from there? So I was in a local liquor store and I saw this dusty janky bottle with an unreadable label in the cooler and I couldn’t believe that they 1) had distribution of this beer and 2) they had the tiny penis format of it which meant it is a 2009 or earlier. The guy had no idea what it was and said it was here since “[he] started in 2009” and the price tag was illegible. He sold it to me for $4.25. Shit was so cache.

You would expect me to get all Biblical to balance out the Behemoth review and, well, you'll see-

Fish Tale Brewing Leviathan, 10% american Barleywine

I guess this shit is appropriate

A: The appearances goes to an English place really quickly and doesn’t mess around with a whole hoppy beautiful amber hue, fuck that, this beer just reaches straight for the shotgun and starts offing malt zombies. For the age, the beer has a mild amount of carbonation, but I am not trying to be a hater, some beers are born flatter than others, just as God intended. Flashes of light penetrate and show deep ruby hues but for the most part it is so amber that you wonder how your life got to this point, drinking old ass barleywine and typing on a laptop instead of doing something constructive like learning Armenian.

When I walked into the liquor store and saw an old ass bottle of barleywine with no price tag, I was all like-

S: I think that age has strangely helped the bouquet and enhanced the overall sweetness. The hops are long gone, those days have passed and all the hop families have moved out, leaving only the malty discarded remains. But sticky otter malt tagging is beautiful and the toffee, tobacco, butterscotch and gooey marshmallow are welcome here, despite gentrification.

T: The taste is timid, like a beagle that took one too many pisses inside and has been kenneled savagely. This beer has been kenneled for over 3 years so, give it some time. It imparts an initial malty watery paw that has a bit of hops and slowly emerges with a raisin and plum character but gets shy and lets water dominate again, until it finally emerges from the Petco crate and you see that this barleywine is house trained with a beautiful integration present. God damn I wish they had more bottles of this gem. They said there were 3 on premises but it was an archived inventory so god knows where the rest of these beasts are hiding, I would check the crawlspace.

Wait, so a world class barleywine, aged for me, for less than the price of a Coors Light at Applebees. What am I reading?

M: The mouthfeel is thin and the barley is a beaten, abused character that as a result makes sweet love to your mouth. That wasn’t an inmate joke but if you’re going to go there, I wont stop you. The beer is just so damn gentle and pleasant. I usually and the guy who wants to take a beer heads up and get socked up, but this one takes you by the hand and shows you the lanyard and hemp bracelet that it made for you and you can forgive the muted candy notes, the light dates and splishy splashy malt character. It is a shy child but entirely domesticated.

D: This is a such a gentle kitten, so domesticated from the years in the bottle that it makes sweet palate love to anyone who will give it a minute of time. The 10% abv might as well be Coors light platinum given how indetectible it hides within the water profile and just chills out, prison bitch #1. As it warms, those abused ass hops start to speak up in therapy and impart some high alpha acid residue that isn’t off putting, but it is good to see them coming out at all. Applause resounds for their breakthrough. Bottle prison is some serious shit. According to the commercial ddescription: “Leviathan rises out of Pale, Carastan, and Chocolate malts with monstrous additions of Chinook hops for bitterness and Cascade hops for flavor and aroma. This vintage ale finishes quite dry after a long maturation period. As it comes of age in the keg, subtle flavors of sherry, pear, and roasted nuts will develop.” They aren’t fucking kidding.

Even with age and time to ruminate upon the intricacies, this shit is still too complex for me.

Narrative: Levi Nathan’s eHarmony profile was getting no fucking love. Sure he was the heaviest bro on the water polo team but he deserved a hot Charlotte Rousse type of chick because his personality was so clutch. His dad was all like “Hey LEVI! GET A FUCKING JOB!” but Levi wasn’t hearing that shit, while shooting no looker goals he was like “Can you pull in the leviathan with a fishhook or tie down his tongue with a rope?” It was pretty evident you couldn’t wrangle this bad ass. Sure Levi had a matted series of bleached blonde locks and scaly tan, chemically destroyed skin, but fuck that, he was asking Madison Jergens to winter formal. He lumbered up to her all clumpy and collected and gurgled to her, ” Who has a claim against me that I must pay? Everything under heaven belongs to me.” But then that hater ass broad was super not DTF, winter formal or otherwise. Other dudes were clowning the shit out of him from the Trireme that they constructed and Levi told those haters, “Who dares open the doors of his mouth, ringed about with his fearsome teeth?” Then they knew he was super serial, and stopped fucking with Levi. When he got upset, people’s lives were ruined in an almost allegorical manner.

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Smuttynose Julio’s Ry(e)an Ale, For All The Ryans In The Place With Style And Grace Allow Me To Lace-

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Imagine my unending surprise when, upon opening a box from the Northeast, already my favorite type of box to open, I GET THIS THROWN IN AS AN EXTRA. I remembered seeing people scampering to and fro attempting to lock these down previously and what divine providence brought this to California for my sampling pleasure.

If your boyfriend's name is "Ryan" and he drinks 3 bottles of this, he has a 47% increased chance of cheating on you.

Here’s the deal behind this gem:

Rye ale aged in Sazarec rye whiskey, Buffalo Trace bourbon, and Four Roses bourbon barrels, brewed exclusively for Julio’s Liquors in Westboro. This beer was on sale on Sunday, May 23, 2010, at their 8th Annual Spring Beer Fest.

Smuttynose Julio’s Ry(e)an Ale, 8% abv, bourbon barrel aged Rye Ale

A: This has a ruddy amber character that fades to a bright maroon in the center. It’s a cheerful sprite for having spent so much time in bourbon lockup. The lacing is impressive and doesn’t leave one wanting. It looks like a genial iced with with a mildly murky luster.

This beer is menacing, yet gentle.

S: The smell is a bit heavy handed, particularly for the age, with generous wafts of booze, bourbon, babes, and brewskis. The oak and scorched caramel notes are present as well, but in a pleasing way. It comes across like tulle, adding accents to an aggressive endeavor. The bourbon cleavage is present in a big way within this beer. It reminded me of a more aggressive barleywine in the nose, but less stable on the malt backing.

T: The taste initially gives this crackly rye bramble whip and the interlocutor makes it clear that heat and speed will be the malty weapon of choice. The beer opens up into a caramel, butterscotch (not in an infected manner), toffee, and finally a scratchy thistle heat to the finish. If the foregoing sounds harsh, it is, however, it is harsh in the way a day of drinking on the beach of Cabo leave you with a light sun burn. The entry costs are far outweighed by the benefits.

The key to this beer is not overthinking it, just exhale, embrace the moment and you'll level up shortly.

M: The bourbon barrels just creep up from behind with that “tell me what your palate interests are, who they be with?” It gives a nice caramel stickiness that is melted away with a heat and oakiness and ruminated in a woody barrely manner for a minute after I swallowed. I can finish an entire bottle of this, but I kinda feel like the kid who hogs the controller and doesn’t let anyone else play.

D: This is a seriously delicious beer, but it is a bit like Bowser in Mario Kart, a bit to unbalanced for long sessions, unless you know how to use BA Rye Ales, then you will completely tear shit up, figuratively and literally. I want to keep drinking more, but the complex finish makes me slow down and ruminate on Rilke poetry and existence and I JUST FINNA TRY TO BE DRINK ON. Its faults redouble like the walls of a mitochondria and impair the drinkability. FUCKING RIBOSOMES.

Despite what my friends say, this is my lifestyle and I think that this is perfectly acceptable to drink beers aged in 4 different barrels. You should see my Christmas cards.

Narrative: The trash pile had gotten out of control. Burlinger, North Carolina had encountered a problem that seemed to have no solution. The trash workers were on strike because they didn’t get health benefits, but if the health union had to treat the trash workers, they would go on strike, thereby cutting all the funding for the municipal waste workers. Yessir it was quite the Catch 22 and this sleepy southern town hadn’t seen the likes of this conflict since the antebellum south. “I cannot and will not stand to look at those looming piles of refuse any further, I say I say, I just simply cannot!” chimed in one Christian Southern Belle wearing sweatpants with the words “JUICY” across where her petticoat should have lain. A man in a salmon suit strode into the unventilated court room wiping his brow furiously, “now I say I aint no big city lahh yuhhh, but what if, I say what if we make all this into quality wares for all the Yanks to enjoy!” The crowd responded with resounding applause and all the townsfolk set out to turn those Waffle House wrappers and Bubba Gump refuse into nice baubles for others to enjoy. A video of these poor miscreants was posted on youtube and hipsters bought the town out of house and home overnight. Suddenly, the trash repurposing union was losing their jobs and refused to work with the health workers union and HERE WE GO AGAIN AM I RIGHT?