Category Archives: cherry beer

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2008 Cantillon Lou Pepe Kriek, Cherry Poppin Daddy

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

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

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

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

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

CANTILLON PSYCHE OUT: MOAR SHARED LOONZ.

Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 5.00% ABV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually opening a Cantillon feels good man, try it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poured a radioactive cherry beer, my face was like-

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

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

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

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

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

Feed lambics to 95 lbs girls, observe results.

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

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Tired Hands Brewing Trois Enfants Lazy Feet, Strawberry Andre Meets Fantome Ragers

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This brewery is another upstart that has hit the ground running by cranking out noteworthy hop bombs and funky saisons, not unlike another certain Vermont mixmaster. This beer is only available on draft, in a reasonable 2 liter growler so today’s review is going to be very thorough, something to drown your sorrows in since you learned the Jef won the Bachelorette. Sticky sweet berry banger, Keisha smokin on Keisha.

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.30% ABV

A: This beer has a nice gemstone ruby red color that isn’t exactly my go-to Sherwin Williams color when I think of saisons. It reminds me of that shelf turd Fantome Noel that celebrates Christmas all year round. The spotty lacing looks promising and the growler served Fedex well by guarding this CO2 with its life. As usual, just look above, you know what this looks like. We run a pretty tight ship around here, it’s a game ship.

“Why you always gotta review rare beers I nevar has?” Pic related.

S: There a hint of ripe strawberry, some brett b funk, red Runts candy, a tart vinous profile, and yeasty wood, not the kind you need to get checked out at Planned Parenthood.

T: The taste has a light sweetness that is similar to a strawberry wine, dry oaky malty profile, a light yet heavy paradoxical malt profile that imparts some fleeting funk and wood notes and then peaces out with your Laserdisc player. This is not “on style” I guess and it could be some kind of crossover hybrid between saison, funky english mild, and a strawberry berliner, but then again I ate a shitload of Warheads as a kid, what do I know. I will leave this one up to the pre-diabetics in the audience.

This beer was quite the adventure.

M: This is exceptionally watery and punches home the strawberry and oak notes with no lingering standing in the doorway or effusive goodbyes. You get the fruit, then some oak, and this hobo saison packs up its bindle and rides the rails to another saison shantytown.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, Sean Thompson is wrong. There I said it. If you know him, tell him his opinion is bad and he should feel bad. I am coasting through this growler, mashing on the low (for this site) abv, and just enjoying my strawberry vitamins. The carbonation is good but doesn’t give a big crackly foaminess that fills me up, this allows some serious saison domestic abuse. This is the perfect beer to drink if you plan on throwing some Xbox controllers anyway, this gets it done a bit earlier. Downloading Marvel vs. Capcom doesn’t hurt either. This isn’t world class, but it shows a glimmer and foreshadowing of what this little upstart is capable of. If any of you hater PA readers have some Tired Hands to send my way, holler.

When you open a 2 Liter Growler, a truce is never an option. That is a battle to the death.

Narrative: “The raccoon came out of nowhere, Dad, I swear!” Jessica Harmssen pleaded with her fuming patriarch. He had loved and cherished his 1994 Neon Espresso since the day he drove it off the lot of the now defunct dealership. “Jess, I mean, I really don’t know what is worse, I can no longer make it to the farmers market, but, without my muscle car, I have lost my fruit sculpting passion.” Jessica lowered her head with a deep solemnity. She knew that her father had been studying to pass the Edible Arrangements proficiency exam and now he had next to zero chance of passing that daunting trial. “I am not mad at you sweetie,” Mr. Harmssen began, “but, I just don’t see how I can learn how to carve a strawberry lotus with…this. I will be the laughing stock of the communal farmers, a smashed in Espresso, the bumper is hugging my 14″ rims.” Jessica knew that she had disappointed her father, but, she was secretly glad that he would go back to his Daihatsu Charade, the weekend car, because that piece of automotive refinement was a real head turner.

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Lost Abbey Box Set Track 7 – The Devil Inside, Devil on the Inside, Clean on the Outside

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Ok, let’s give some context to this box set series since most people have more productive things to do with their time than monitor rare ass beer releases. Lost Abbey is releasing one of these beers each month, available for consumption onsite only, in limited numbers. You cannot take bottles away, don’t ask or you’ll get socked. You can enter a lottery to win a box set of all 12 tracks, to be sold at the end of the year. So, basically massive whale box is what we are looking at here. Here is July’s track: The Devil Inside.

If you have ever drank too many lambic/sours, you have felt the devil inside.

The Lost Abbey
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 8.12% ABV

Here’s what the brewery has to say:

“We went back to the well for this one. It is a remix of our classic Veritas 006 aka sangria. We have raspberry and cherry providing the bulk of the fruit texture over a sour yellow base beer. To this we also added some orange peel and freshly zested mandarin orange zest as well. The beer finishes with a nice tannic finish and is truly a refreshing riff on a Lost Abbey classic. ”

A: This is a deep crimson meets magenta look that is inviting like a Lisa Frank binder but menacing like the velvet curtains of that touchy camp counselor you remember too well. The lacing is minimal and the bubbles are light but crackly with acidic rancor. The whole thing looks and feels like a Prince concert, and the elegance is maintained.

When the server dropped off the bottle and radiant glass, I was all like-

S: This has a huge acidic and berry profile with notes of blackberry, raspberry, cherry, currant, tart plum, and a nice citrus finish. It is evident that you will need to switch to PPO dental insurance for drinks like this, because the acidity is nothing to fuck with.

T: This crackles with a juicy acrimonious burn along the gumline that brings some awesome fruits to the bouquet. There’s cherry tannins, that raspberry dryness that you remember from Framboise de Amarosa, then slinking in sheepishly is that fruit profile from V007 that we previously visited. This doesn’t feel devilish, necessarily, but it has a deeeeep burn like those cross-fit box jumps you are so sick of hearing about.

Take fruits and make amazing beer with them: FUCK YOU SCIENCE.

M: This is incredibly dry and tannic like a red wine that has been juicing and using n0x for a sick deep pump. There’s a juiciness at the outset that brings a nice sweetness to accompany the acidic profile. You might get some ulcers from this, but it’s a way cooler story than the old “oh I worked at a failing car dealership” song and dance that burns most people out.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable if you are one of those kinds of people that can play Lifeforce or Rock Band on Expert for hours on end. It is relentlessly punishing but incredibly satisfying. I recommend winning the box set and then taking this one to Jamba Juice and then just sip on this while looking at the other suckers getting fruits in their boring, traditional way.

When you have enough hardcore sours, you start to understand the nature of the universe.

Narrative: Mikayla “Raven” Collier was not adjusting well to 8th grade. Her parents had moved 4 times in the past 5 years and it had taken a toll on her frail psychological profile. As a result, she turned to the all too common practice of adolescent necromancy. The PDF Necronomicon file that she downloaded was substantial and she printed it onto parchment paper from Staples, to give it a genuine luster. She assembled her other awkward friends, the girl with the inexplicable orthopedic back brace, the large girl with a massive lisp to match, and the Samoan girl from her P.E. class. The children had no materials from which to summon the dark fugues of the past. It was almost impossible to find solid alchemy materials in a track home in Charlotte, North Carolina so they made do with what was around the house. Raven found a box of produce from the monthly fruit colelctive that her “lame ass” parents subscribed to and produced the most evil fruit of them all: the unholy durian. After crushing copious amounts of blood pulp from raspberries and cherries, Samoan girl lit the incense. She brandished a Cutco knife, uttered the scrawling script in papyrus font, and cut the foul blackness open, releasing the odious soul of the durian, crusher of mankind. The eyes of the pubescent girls watered and they nodded, this was still much less shitty than Sadie Hawkins.

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Odell Saboteur, Someone Straight Sabotaged My Wild Ale

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Odell makes some great gems. Colorado beers at large are on the come up like a Tibetan dice game. Sometimes however, wild ales get a little unruly and you gotta bring in the sour stick to get them back under control. Let’s see what exactly is Sabotaged in today’s review.

This pic be ode. No pour photos, fire up that imagination.

Odell Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 10.00% ABV

A: The appearnce comes off as a brown muddiness with light lacing and some ruby tones at the edges. This is a strange base for a wild ale but it looks good, all things considered. I am always wary of dark sours because sometimes the complexity makes it trip over its own bacterial shoelaces, but this one looks pretty legit so far.

It’s like Consecration, but not. Like Rodenbach, but er…something is a bit amiss here.

S: There is a weird hybrid smell to this beer. You get two different worlds colliding at once. The first smell wafts of cherry, dark fruits similar to a quad, and some acidity. The second part is similar to almond with hazelnut and toffee. The smell is simply too busy to figure out what is going on for my feeble mind and nose. It’s like when someone puts on Godspeed You Black Emperor and nods approvingly, expecting you to love it at first blush.

T: There is a mild sourness at the outset that isn’t overly puckering. There is some smokiness but overall it doesn’t overpower or assert itself. It feels like it got pushed into a locker a Sour High School. It is mild mannered and enjoyable, if not forgetable. Again, the whole litany of things going on here makes it tough to pin down for either deficiency or innovation. You remember that dude in Mary Poppins who played all the instruments at once in the park? This beer is kinda like that, his music might suck, but what an undertaking.

This beer is interesting, but not exactly a Nightmare.

M: This isn’t overly drying but it isn’t exactly savory either. It is silky smooth but it also has some spikes and brambles to it as well. It reminds me of Rodenbach Grand Cru, but with a goatee and an eye patch. Just slightly different. It is the nuances that makes all the difference between Friends with Benefits and No Strings Attached.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and I wish that I had more of it, however, the availability and types of things I would have to give up to land this beer again make it less desirable. I could drink this beer all day, and not simply because it is my favorite style. Its complete failure to assert itself is a winning trait that makes it more likeable. Everyone needs a whipping sour you can beat up from time to time. It seems to have only Sabotaged its own chances to making it a truly memorable beer, and those Thundercat episodes aren’t gonna watch themselves.

I am not recommending death, but I would certainly say a solid 25 to life would benefit this wayward wild ale.

Narrative: The flashlight clanked and banged down 34 stories of the central air duct, setting off several alarms. Agent 301x wasn’t the best Saboteur that the Covenant had, but he was the only one currently available. 301x forgot his gloves at home and instead fashioned crude plastic mittens from discarded grocery bags. “I THROW MY HANDS UP IN THE AIR SOME TIMES SINGING AYYY OHHH” his cell phone began to clamor and resound echoing through the halls. He was memorable in his faults and impressive in his victories. The soles of his nonstick shoes squeaked loudly through the halls alerting everyone nearby of his presence. “ACHOOO!” he sneezed and accented the final noise so loudly that a janitor looked at his conspicuous face. “You again? God damnit, agent 301x, you forgot your keys again?” the janitor let him back into his own office; and the grand heist was complete.

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Avery Brewing Oud Floris, For those times When Yung Floris Just Will Not Do

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What can I say about Avery that hasn’t been said before by myself and then retweeted and reposted, to myself and then forwarded as a PDF to Avery marketing? For those who care and are keeping score, from Avery’s sour program we have received 4 amazing sours and a single misfire. I will let you examine the wicks to determine which one that was, but let’s look at this geriatric flower in today’s review.

I knew a Floris once, she worked at a diner and, in the words of the inimitable Soulja Boi, she “ode.”

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States

Style | ABV
Flanders Oud Bruin | 9.39% ABV

Alright enough of that “oud” joke, here’s the stats on this 237 case release (.rar.)

67% aged in Cab Sauv Barrels
17% aged in Bourbon Barrels
8% aged in Rum Barrels
8% aged in Chardonnay Barrels

You got that mathematicians? Alright, let’s get down to business.

A: This is dark, for a brown sour and even in the realm of the Oud Bruin, this has a deep murky pallor that hates me from the get go, the glass can barely attend to the billowing carbonation and sour genie that I just released. My first wish with ironic consequences is for a strong olfactory profile.

This beer is bad ass in a manner beyond my palate’s comprehension. Unleash the barrel Kraken.

S: Well wish fucking granted. This is granny smith apple tart with acidity that leaps up to your corneas and starts drying with tiny ph1 ice picks. There’s a tart caramel note, red grapes, sour molasses, and strange sweet tobacco smell to it. This is like if Consecration was mutated in a lab with Supplication and we got this Tyrant hybrid, a boss you totally did not level your character enough to face.

T: Wow, this is com-plex unlike a certain magazine by the same monicre. You get a strangely sweet nuttiness at the inception with a deep cranberry infused with merlot grapes. Don’t worry, this is not wine, I won’t flame Avery a second time for treading that ground. This is unmistakeably beer, and very good beer at that. If you have ever wanted your Rodenbach with more balls but Abbey St. Bon Chien is a bit weird to you, then this hybrid addresses your concerns amiably. I must say, as this warms, the astringency becomes more and more apparent, but unlike that complete failure Allagash Vagabond, this beer nails it without going to a fusel nail polish remover route.

brown ale, wine, rum, red grapes…I…I dont know what’s going on guize.

M: The mouthfeel almost hurts. The tartness is like eating a ton of movie candy, but you cannot stop popping in Skittles. The mouthfeel dries like the first time I tasted Temptation but in retrospect, this thing socks plenty of other wild ales in the face and sets to excoriating the first layer of the inside of my mouth like I just got a vintage can of Surge.

D: This is a great beer, complex, but seriously fuck you if you think you can power through several of these in a night. As usual, I drank the entire bottle to myself and that was plenty. It wasn’t that it was necessarily bad, but I felt like small birds could house themselves in the deep holes in my teeth after having this. Cankersores aren’t what most people set out to obtain but it’s certainly a possibility with something this acidity and complex at the same time. How about I use the throwaway word “complex” again. Shadow “complex” is an excellent Xbox Live game. There you go.

“Hey guys I got this little 12oz bottle from Colorado, I think it is sou-“

Narrative: The six heads of the synthetic beast fell to the lab floor with complete exhaustion. Test C734052 had been completed and it was apparent that this entity was capable of learning patterns. “Psshhifffsss” one tail that appeared to be a ream of grapes hissed at the lab monitor, busrting acidic juice on the walls. “Sir, do you feel we have tested the limits of what Napa barrels are capable of? I mean, this just feels like an abuse of our science grant,” Walmsly pleaded pointing at sciencey things on an oversized notepad. “GOD DAMNIT WALMSLY, I will tell you when our barrel experiments have gone too far, WHEN THE UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO BOULDER TELLS US SO-” Professor Vinos exclaimed with terse anger. It was his pet project, technically he was hired to teach viticulturist majors the ropes, but this flailing anomalous being was his chef-d’oeuvre. Who would suspect while the Buffalos were losing game after game in the Pac 12, his lab was pumping deep underground with new acidic life.

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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.

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Cascade Apricot Ale 2009, If You Don’t Have Dental Insurance, Don’t Even Bother With This Facemelter.

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Oh Cascade, you have been the boon of my orthodontist since 2008. Bottles of pure delight and gumline destruction, you couple that with my love of sweet stouts and rampant caffeine and my teeth look like a frag grenade went off in my bitter zones. Not tripping on my grill though, got sick platinum veneers coming so got my sours on lock. Let’s see what apricots taste like, I don’t eat fruit.

Keep drinking beers like this, enjoy drinking beer out of a hole in your neck. Don’t be like me.

Cascade 2009 Apricot Ale, 9% abv

A: This has deep gold hues with huge abundant carbonation. The head is light and has huge co2 bubbles that provides middle carbonation throughout. There is no lacing but this is still as pretty as a sunrise in an orphanage. The best kind, you know right before they begin that forced labor making your iphone and they still have the dew of night in their eyes.

mmm I see you made a sour there, yeah, that’s nice, sours are nice, I will just smack my lips over here, sours are tart, I KNOWWWWWWW

S: I don’t get a lot of apricot or even much citrus, it comes off like a Brettanomyces bomb with wafty notes of playgrounds, crushed leaves, and hay musk. My eyes also pick up some dryness in the “danger, that is acid, keep away from your face” sort of way. Instincts you learn in biochem.

T: The apricot must be lost on me because I taste a huge tart sourness that truly, could be anything I suppose. It tastes like crushed up sweet tarts and a type of extreme B vitamin heavy energy drink. It has a distinct chardonnay and white wine character to it that is disturbing and acerbic. It’s like a UFC hold when it grips my jaw and presses it forward in a deeply tart character that “stings…the nostrils.”

RIddle me this Cascade! What’s sour and, oh fuck, I am Joker? I dunno, make the bottles explode or, god damnit why didn’t I even shave my moustache for this role?

M: The mouthfeel is dry and I can imagine the citric acid molecules looking all like those Mucinex guys just tearing apart my gumline. This is the type of acidic drink that canker sores and cavities are made of. Sugar and spice and everything nice. They each have a pickaxe and work the bicsupids hard but, work hard play hard. Some people do lines of blow and have janky ass chompers, mine looks weathered from a hatred for my gastrointestinal system. This shit is monster sour and if you see a homeless person on the street smelling like fruit tannins, don’t contribute to his high class ass habits.

D: For the aforementioned faults, it is very drinkable. It comes off to me like Temptation’s fuck up brother. The one who is really good at math but “just doesn’t apply himself.” It is crisp, tart, and refreshing; no problems there. The problems kick in when there’s just a lack of direction and clarity to the experience. There are no real apricots, no real fruits either. It is as though they were like “we used fruits, it’s sour, what do you want from us? We’re clocking out.”

Cascade knows how I feel about them. They can just search my order history, they just shut up and take all my feels. So many feels.

Narrative: “Red wire to the, orange, this one attaches to the acidic base.” Cornelius Mitchley wasn’t the best chemist, and for terms of clarity, he wasn’t the best bank robber either. “Ok, got it, the apricot battery charge is complete, now time to blow the safe!” he flipped an analog detonator and a slight hum generated from the pitted fruit. “A complete dud? I don’t get it, I presented the apricot, the explosive catalyst, all elements are present!!!” The whir and blaring announcement from the police sirens made him drop his mushy produce in his lap. “Oh sure, mistreat the Wawona workers Cornelius, make them sort peaches in double time, and now this! THIS!”The door burst open and three uniformed officers stood in the foyer, marveling at his intricate apricot battery. “Officers, don’t be rash” he opened his lab coat to reveal a dummy trigger connected to a heart rate monitor. “Look on the screen!” he cried and slid a monitoring device over the to the police officers across the slick bank floor. “What is this? Are these bombs strapped to unsorted produce?” “APRICOTS TO BE EXACT MY GOOD OFFICER! And if you don’t let me walk out of here alive, I will blow them all UP! Every last yield from the Wawona farm destroyed, NO FRESH LOCAL APRICOTS FOR A TRISTATE AREA!” The officers looked at one another and drew their firearms. “Wait. . .what?”

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Funky Buddha No Crusts, Pack This in Your Child’s Lunch, Crazy Trading Power At Recess

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Do you like peanut butter? How about sticky jelly? You like being drunk? Well here is the solution for you, drunken PB and J explosion. I had this beer on two occassions, last June it was amazing, last January, it was like peanut butter Consecration and half the bottle erupted. In the interests of fairness, I will review the amazing first foray. Drink those Funky Buddha bottles early, guize, srsly.

Who knows, maybe your shining face will appear on this very illustrious beer website as an alecreeper. One can only dream.

The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery
Florida, United States
American Brown Ale | 6.00% ABV

A: This beer had a nice fluffy appearance and great transparency to it with lucid brown hues throughout with amber at the edges. There’s a tame stickiness to it like a turbid glass of sticky chocolate milk.

PB and J beer? Next level ale maneuver. Fucking smart.

S: This is bizarre through and through. It has a deep peanut smell to it. Seriously. It smells like a burnt peanut/walnut with some oiliness to it. There is a grape skin element to it as well. It smells like an uncrustable.

T: This will be incredible easy: this is a pureed peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That is all that needs to be said. A grape juiciness is imparted in the middle with a huge dry peanut finish. I cant believe that I just typed that but yes, it is a peanut and grape beer.

This beer reaches for new heights and scores hard in the paint. Peanut butter alegasm dunking on fools.

M: It is light and lingers gently with a peanut oils finish. There is a huge amount of sediment in the bottom of the glass. It washes away clean and tastes incredible. I have no style guidelines to base this on but its is just simply amazing.

D: I have no idea how that they did this but it is incredibly offbeat and amazing. This is my introduction to this bizarre brewery and I am incredibly impressed. I feel like I could drink a ton of this, in the same way that I weighed 120 lbs in 5th grade. I love PBnJ sammies. Hands down.

I am content, but I want this many more of these.

Narrative: The Ukraine Gulag was oppressive and cold. The winters were harsh and provided little reprieve to its prisoners. Fyodor broke granite slabs in the dry cold winds day in and day out. The prisoners would have no hope were it not for one thing: the smackerels. Sergeyevich, the local lifer had developed an incredible knack for taking the hard tack, provisions and crafting delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from them. The prisoners bit delightfully into the sticky messes with careless abandon. “To the devil with the proletariat masses who keep us within these walls brother Sergey, for a single bit of your smackerels, I would brave the plains of the Gobi desert TWICE OVER!” An overseeing magistrate rapped his cane hatefully on the metal railing twice and the prisoners meekly demurred. “for your jelly…I will live on.” The prisoners nodded in concurrence. Sergey raised a single palm and sagely advised: “I don’t think you are ready for this jelly. No Alexey, you are not ready for this jelly.” He exhaled with indolence and continued to smash granite slabs, looking out upon the icy plains.