Kern Brewing Citra Double IPA, Finally: THE UNASSAILABLE COMETH.

I have danced around this several times, lithely referenced it in almost every DIPA and IPA review, now it is time to cut the shit: TIME TO REVIEW CITRA. I will say this, this beer is in my top 3 favorite Double IPAs of all time, if not my absolute favorite. Enough prestroking, let’s get down to business in today’s review: FUCKING CITRA TIME. FCT. 9:34 a.m.

God damnit. Just looking at these pictures makes me PINE for the next release, HOPFULLY it will be soon.

Oh shit, bonus pic from the newest batch, BONUSES.

Kern River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: God damn this is a beautiful beer, it is mildly turbid at first pour, subsides into a radioactive hue that burns the eyes and nostrils and finally the rage liquifies into a palpable form. The lacing is huge and the frothy head presents cloud strata to rest your pocketwatch upon. Shit gets classy real quick.

“Aiur…the line is Aiur”
“CUT! damnit.”

S: This is the purest, most perfect olfactory assault that a DIPA has ever presented: in order of appearance: kiwi, mango, pineapple, tangelo, orange peel, and finally tangerine. This beer reeks of a Salvadoreno’s hands. It smells like fruit carts in downtown LA and it sticky with hop oils in the brightest way possible.

T: This is a delayed dirty bomb of hop oils and sticky tart oils. In hurt locker a car detonates and this would be lemon rind, oranges, grapefruit, pineapple, and an mild hint of grass clipping that rip through your face. This is best enjoyed fresh but I have drank a total of say, 20 bombers of this, at various ages, and it is always amazing. The beer evolves like a hop sensai and teaches you as your palate evolves. I have waxed off at every single release and the pints of Citra that they sell for $5 at the brewery are downright offensive to the general beer industry if for no other reason that this beer slays indiscriminately like a hop Kratos.

I WANT CITRA ALL YEAR LONG. I will drive the distance. Despite all of my rage, etcetera.

M: The mouthfeel is watery thin and imparts the deep tropical fruit aspect kicks your throat and hides the alcohol without a single hint of the ABV. In renaissance times wine was more pure than still water and, regardless of our advances, I want to drink this at every meal. The vegetal aspect is tame and ratcheted to a very mild dryness that makes this almost completely perfect for the style. I cannot wait for the next release.

D: This is insanely drinkable. I have to drive over 320 miles to the brewery when this is released and each time my bottles last, what, 14 days? It is the bagel bites of the DIPA world, when Citra is in some water you can drink Citra any time. I hate HATE the limited availability of this as I could retire from the beer review game if this was always available, but the sunny days wouldn’t be as bright without the days full of malty east coast DIPAs. True story.

This beer hits the incredible upper atmosphere of beers and still presents a cuddly amiable nature, without being offputting.

Oh and by the way, I did a shootout with Heady Topper and Double Sunshine, all fresh, this beer won. To avoid bias, I wont rank them but this is an amazing beer, hands down.

Narrative: After years of toiling in the remote Sequoias, Kyle had finally accomplished his dream: an advanced cyborg that ran exclusively on tropical fruit juice. At present it was being ran by a conglomerate Starburst fruit battery, but the built in juicer in the fuselage made the companion more powerful with each inundation. “WAKE UP CITRITRON!” Kyle clapped demonstratively and the powerful beast pulled itself to a bipedal position. Its glowing orange eyes evidenced a deep artistry and hateful power, acid and oil running through its veins. “INPUT COMMAND TROPICAL MASTER:/” Citrutron requested. Kyle waved his hands “don’t call me tropical master, I am from Lodi, alright, there have been some Budweiser fans hanging out at the local Pizza pl-” “AFFIRMATIVE I WILL MELT THEIR FACES” Kyle staggered backwards, “NO! God damnit Citrutron, you can’t kill anybody” “WHY” “You just can’t!” “WHY” “You just cant.” Kyle wiped the mango juice from his hands and tossed the rag into a bucket of papaya extract. “Listen Citrutron, I built you to show the inherent power of citrus and refreshment, GO TO THE PIZZA BARN, destroy their adjunct lagers, SHOW THEM THE TRUE POWER OF YOUR HOP BATTERY!” Citrutron entered battle mode and his scorching hot alpha oil cannons raised like a deep carapace from his shoulders “AFFIRMATIVE.” Kyle wiped a juicy tear from his eye as his creation covered the local 16 year olds of Kernville in sticky bitter hop oils. “GODSPEED CITRUTRON!”


Founder’s Devil Dancer Triple IPA, Dance with the Devil in the (TI) Pale (Ale) Moonlight

Triple IPAs. Ah, another controversial class of beers that no one seems to know what to do with. Is it a DIPA that is boozier? Maybe just a misclassified American Barleywine? Who gives a shit. Just pop your hoptops and let’s figure out what kind of demons the people in Michigan are escaping to need this powerful potation.

I couldn’t find the pic that I had of this beer so I drew you a recreation in MS Paint. Enjoy.

Founder’s Devil Dancer, Triple IPA, 12% abv

A: This has incredibly minimal carbonation, no middle body, and very faint lacing. It looks deep amber, almost red. It just sits there and folds its malty arms unimpressed with the Belgian tulip I have lovingly provided. Triple IPAs are like housecats, they don’t need your approval and there will eventually be piss on something in your bedroom.

Triple IPAs are like mashing out on greens so hard.

S: The smell has a malty hop presence with an intense sweetness that almost mows over the grassiness present in the back end. It’s like that kid in Geometry that has a heart of gold but covers it up with a Limp Bizkit t-shirt and a jerky frown; ONLY IN REVERSE. The hops are in an epic struggle with the boozy waft, but ultimately the hops win out.

T: This is wrong on two fronts: it is far too strong on the alpha acids at the outset and tastes like pennies rolled in the Vermont woods, then it turns into this wonky barley wine flavor that is far too sweet and cloying. This just stretches itself in too many directions, like a tortured asian teenager living under the tyranny of a tiger mother. Violin, gymnastics, math team, and academic decathlon is tall order for this poor triple IPA.

I like my IPAs to be hardcore, but not THIS hardcore.

M: This has the carbonation of a Nebraskan plains lands, endlessly flat and disinteresting. It just coats in a viney grassy way that lingers along the gumline and lights up a cigarette in a casual Jaleel-White-as-Stefan sort of manner. I am not saying that a beer this beer needs to be a gusher, but come on, don’t just LIE THERE. Ryan Gosling’s junk is uninspired by the sweet hoppy monster.

D: Not at all, I just sit and stare at the hateful liquid, letting the condensation beads form and dissipate. Even a 12oz serving is too much for me. It isn’t the ABV, I have had much worse. It isn’t the hops, I have had much beer. It is just a guy wheelieing while studying for the GMAT. Too much business in one glass and it turns into a train wreck.

Tripel IAPS? Gooby pls.

Narrative: Chip Thornewood gritted his jaw and pressed his house keys into the surface of the coffee table. “Well Mrs. Thornewood, it is tough to diagnose Chip’s condition, it isn’t exactly Asperger’s syndrome,” the two looked through a two way mirror and watched as Chip tore the pages out of a novel in the waiting room. “You see, he has a rare psychological condition known as Prickinium Disorder. It takes the normal human psyche and inverts all the premises that would make it pleasant, turning the patient into a bitter, well, I will just demonstrate. Dr. Thetic walked into the waiting room and offer Chip a Fig Newton. “Oh hey! Sure, let me go ahead and have some of this fruit and cake, or wait, HOW ABOUT THIS?” Chip violently threw the cookie onto the ground and spun his heel on the crushed remains. “Mmm, wow, very tasty, thanks.” Dr. Thetic shook his head with grave disappointment, “Mrs. Thornewood, I don’t know how to say this so I will be blunt: your child is an asshole. A completely bitter, self-absorbed, off-putting, unnecessarily acerbic and acrimonius asshole whom no one would willingly associate him or herself with unless compelled for a good reason.” Dr. Thetic scribbled out a hasty prescription for Ritalin and outstretched the small scrap to Ms. Thornewood. “It won’t cure him, but it will make him a sedate asshole, similar to those you encounter on a daily basis or at a hipster café. Godspeed.”


Alpine Bad Boy Double Imperial Pale Ale, Bad Boys Go To Their Respective Hop Rooms.

This beer always comes up when the best Double IPAs in the world are discussed. Hell, it is on most top 100 lists and constantly spars with Ephraim and Citra. Let’s stop pussyfooting around and figure this shit out once and for all, how good is the crowning DIPA glory from San Diego’s finest hop masters? We shall see.

This particular 64oz growler, I did not skull to my dome piece, so my judgment was not impaired. Better than Hill Farmstead Ephraim? Sadly no. But still amazing. There, I said it.

Alpine Bad Boy, 9.5% abv, Double IPA

A: This has a radiant golden glow to it with a great clarity like majestic apple juice. The lacing looks like an abandoned haunted house and these a tons of webs all up in this piece. This be looking mad antiquated. The carbonation from the growler is solid and sticky throughout. This looks dangerous and somehow session able.

This beer has an amazing salad meets hop oil converging with pineapple and bunny musk going on.

S: The smell even on opening the growler is relentless. The hop presence detonates like pinecones galvanized all up in your dome piece. There is a grassy pineapple to it with some herbal grapefruit. I would deem this 60/40 herbal to fruit which is a solid balance. Hop Wallop needs to take some notes. This has more balance than a Chinese gymnast with an inner ear infection.

T: This is exactly what Alpine does so. Damn. Well. It just delivers a huge initial sweetness that fades into a freshly cut grassiness that makes you feel all elementary school for a second until, bam, honey sweetness that fades. This is like the more tactful version of Hopslam. A friend you can confide secrets in, a hoppy buddy you can take places and know he wont talk about when someone touched your no no. That kind of friend.

The scope of the undertaking is impressive, wait till you see the taste.

M: The mouthfeel is impossibly light. It is Pale Ale thin, imparts a huge herbal character that swirls a maple cape and fades into a loveable sweet note. It is David Blaine ass hop work. It leaves my mouth all astounded but wanting more. I suppose a growler is both an appropriate and inappropriate serving size, for obvious reasons. This will take a serious prestige amongst Ephraim and Citra. To be clear, this is far superior to Exponential Hoppiness in the way that Nightcrawler is superior to Colossus. It is just someone I would rather hang out with on a regular basis. This is nimble and bad ass, not some lumbering asshole who always asks you to save his sister from a tractor.

D: Holy jeez, this is the Live Oak of DIPA’s which is to say its drink ability is off the charts for the ABV and the complex character of the hop profile. I almost want to run my own tests to ascertain if this has any more than 4% abv but, the old liver test is sufficient. The fact that this is not in bottles has allegedly saved CalTrans millions in roadside clean ups. So there’s always that.

With a growler in tow, you can go on some epic San Diego adventures where you will no doubt lose your shoes and your entryway will be soaked in the morning.

Narrative: “Well? Did you find anything? All OF THE OPENINGS ARE SEALED!” Tarynn cried with the utmost agitation, Mark felt that a reference to ‘that’s what she said’ would be not apropos in the case of a spelunking disaster. “WE ARE GOING TO DIE DOWN HERE!” Tarynn exclaimed while running her fingers through her thinning hair. She fell to her knees in desperation and clutched the halogen lantern desperately. “We can’t be below the water table, so therefore, the sediment should push up some sustainable filtered water and, potentially some veget-” Mark tripped over a thick tuft of underground foliage. “What in the-” he discontinued his sentence in that staccato manner that characters in situation comedies do, despite not being interrupted. “HECK” he finished, but so much later that it didn’t seem canon with his previous sentence. “What is it Mark?” Tarynn called out. There was a fresh pool of water seeping through the floor but it was fully entwined by sticky, vinuous hop plants. The smell was overwhelming. “This-” he did it again, “is our only chance of survival.” The two nodded gravely and began to suck from the pools the sticky water and push raw hop flowers into their gullets. “If only we-” Mark declared before falling asleep. The geological team found them 8 days later, high out of their minds on raw hop flowers. Mark’s sentences have since been correc-


Cigar City Jai Alai, A Game of High Speed Balls and Super Alpha Hops

Here’s something that always seems to poke its hoppy head into beer boxes that I receive as extras. Either this is falling all off of shelves in Florida or someone loves me. I would assume the former. Enough jibber jabber about states with electoral issues, let’s open this hop IED in today’s Hop Locker.

A game of precision, balls, and severe injury, IPA DRINKING.

Cigar City, Jai Alai, IPA, 7.5% abv

A: This beer seemed pretty tame out of the glass, no radiant Marcelous Wallace glow, no Ark of the Covenant face melting hops, just a nice gentle IPA, here to stay a moment and spin some yarns. It is a mild orange with yellowing. Nice carbonation and some haunted house webbing on the glass. Only, no one touches your no no.

Sure, I have seen some amazing IPAs in my day but, my jimmies are in a default state upon seeing and smelling this offering, they arent unrustled, I guess.

S: Strangely, I don’t get a huge acidity, sure there’s some obligatory mild orange zest but mostly it smells sweet and crackery like a warm cornbread. Not par for the course in IPAs at all. Not bad, just like a watered down version of Hop Slam with more honey.

T: This doesn’t have a huge citrus profile to it, it goes a route of middle ground non-offensiveness. It begins with a nice hop bite that retreats like an abused terrier, giving you a bit of pine and grassiness and, that’s about it. The honey notes provide a solid maltiness that washes away quickly.

This beer flexes hard in the club and lets you know that is shit gets cutty, it has your back like Warrior hops.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and light and lends to the session ability of this beer. It isn’t as filling as a Tim Allen stand up special, but unlike that, you aren’t bloated afterwards. No hop resins set up shop and it is like that tame worker who comes in, does his 9-5 and doesn’t ask any questions.

D: This is where this beer shines. Maybe it just isn’t hot enough in LA but, this beer seems like it would be great to drink while putting some sick flame decals from Pep Boys on my 93 Monte Carlo, you know, Florida shit. I’d love to knock a few of these back and then enter a voting booth, maybe build a home in the way of recurrent storms; we’ve all been there. But in all seriousness, this is a solid IPA, not bad in any respect just not that citrus bomb that I love to rub along my gumline.

It is incredibly familiar, maybe a little too familiers.

Narrative: Roger Bellows had a serious dilemma. Did he abandon his lifelong dream of owning an apiary farm and propose to the girl of his dreams? Or follow his dreams and hope that, amongst those bees he would find true love. “ROGER! I said just pick one, come on!” Kaitlynn called to him down the halogen white aisle. He picked the highest grade honey he could find and shuddered at the agave nectar section, “but how will I explain this to her?” he ruminated, glancing furtively to the bee set in amber on his ring. “I JUST….I LOVE FUCKING BEES!” he cried to her in the frozen foods section. “Ex- excuse me?” she stammered. “Well, not fucking bees, I love, I just love them. I need you to know that.” Kaitlynn rocked heel to toe and furled her brow like a worn button box. “Ok? And, I love you HONEY!” her writhing index finger left something to be wanted of a stinger as her pantomime fell flat. “Oh great, puns, my DREAM IS A PUN TO HER!” “Yeah, I’m all buzzed about, it,” he trailed off looking at the many varieties of Cool Whip. “God, you are such a bitter, forgettable drone, WHY CANT YOU STAND UP FOR YOURSELF!?” His amber bee ring dug into his palm when Kaitlynn cried “ROGER! Three things of honey? Come on!”


Avery Maharaja Double IPA, Hoppy Kisses from a Stern Sultan

In the days of hop bombs, this old warhead was a standard in my arms department. Back then, hop oils were a sticky libation and upping the pine was a sign of strength and endurance. Ah the late 2000’s were a crazy time. Anyway, here’s a throwback to hoppier times.

Ah those good old herbal gems from yesterdays before I was boiling Hill Farmstead on a spoon in an alley.

Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 10.30% ABV

A: It has a pale amber look to it, or very dark yellow depending on the hue you see, similar to most imperials, but with a bit less carbonation, perhaps that was due to my pour. The lacing looks nice and has a pillowy lacing to the edge of the glass.

If you drink powerful, ultra hoppy beers, give up on girlfriend dreams and prepare to enjoy life in the friendzone. Skyrim still loves you.

S: I smelled this aroma from over 3 feet away, the hop profile is overwhelming. when you get into the mix of it its a cascade of various elements, sweetness, but with a lemony followup, a bit herbal, but nothing exceptionally bittering that makes you think of juniper or the ilk

T: Wow, where to start, first the warmth of the alcohol is nestled between a cacauphony of cascading tastes, it is present but takes a back seat like a patient master, waiting for his minions to dispatch until the final cleaning swallow. Mixed metaphors aside, the first taste is a sweet candy apple hop finish that quickly sets in to a deep bitter hoppiness, foresty, verdant, and kudzu? viney? it feels like a fresh camping trip is the best way to describe this. There’s almost a zucchini zest, a strange unifying element of herbal tastes on the finish that makes it a bit intimidating, but very satisfying.

If you don’t like hoppy beers, you are failing at the beer game. There’s more to life than lambics and sticky RIS action.

M: The mouthfeel is as expected, not too malty, with a crazy character for the alcohol and hops to duke it out in the thin canvas. The mouthfeel is nothing exceptional, but considering there is a complex battle for sweet and bitter being fought in the foreground, it hardly loses points in this area. I would like several, however, I dont feel that I would comfortably enjoy more than a bomber in a night without moving on to other pursuits, simply due to the overture of minor, major, and mixolydian notes playing in concert at the same time, it is fulfilling yet exhausting.

D: very drinkable. the finish is fast and ends abruptly, you ruminate on it a moment and you are left with a piney citrus taste wondering what happened to the various elements taking place moments before. I enjoy this beer, but it is certainly not a session beer and its abv 10.5% certainly precludes it (well depending on the demons you are escaping) from being so. Enjoyable, but not one to keep in the stable as a hackneyed coach.

I like juicy hops, what the fuck is this pine I don’t even-

Narrative: “Place my equipage on the center rug and take care not to scuff the well adorned mahogany sides” You work busily to comply with his requests but his bitter nature and biting commentary is almost too much. “A little something for your troubles.” he presses a crisp $100 bill into your hand, for what? Bringing some cumbersome trunk to the front foyer? This is treatment you can handle, and somehow welcome. He walks and surveys the split landing of the threadbare banister. “THIS WILL NOT DO.” running a finger lightly over the worn wood, he looks to you for approval, you somehow gain a sense of commoradery in his majesty, knowing the complexity in his thought and manner, here you just a vagrant chimney sweep moments ago, now bitterly at the receiving end of his jansenist nature. “What do you feel this is a vestibule for peregrine mendicants? obtain your composure and tend to the rest of my articles, as resolutely as I am sure you are capable.” That was his way, you saw him cooly surverying the premises in his ivory suit, casuistically wiping the sweat from his brow in a manner that showed poise and decisiveness. The drying extraction of his remarks place you in a humble yet hopeful state, not unlike a teeball coach whom you welcome the reprimand if only for a dose of the gratifying approval. “Also, you…you take care of yourself…” his eyes glint a flash of knowing understanding, as though he too had been one toiling with luggage and taking care not to scratch the italian marble, a harsh but culling master, your maharaja.


Baird / Ishii / Stone Japanese Green Tea IPA, A Pretty Core Foreign Exchange sTEAdent

Maybe I just don’t get it, but why does Stone need to collaborate with so many fucking people on each collaboration brew? Three breweries at once? Four? What did Ishii do for this one? Select the Tea in the online cart? Anyway, so here’s another crazy Stone threesome. Their standard IPA offerings are decent and a gentle hand of reprieve at B.J.’s so let’s see if this ups the ante into an axis of tea meets hops domination.

Time to play that classic game where you point out something in the background of my picture and make a clever quip about the vintage or rarity. Ah, never gets old.

Stone Brewing Co.
California, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.20% ABV

A: Bright orange huges with gold tones at the edges. There is minimal lacing and moderate carbonation. No middle carbonation. The legs aren’t broken, but they hobble along with an antalgic limp. This literally looks almost identical to Ruination, not that it’s a bad thing, but you figure with three entire breweries on deck, shit would get mixed up a little bit.

With several small elements in play, you can accomplish big things.

S: Big hop nose to it with citra and Amarillo, grapefruit rind and lemon zest. Lots of herbal backing but predominately Pliny/Sculpin-esque juiciness. Really great smell to this. It is akin to a refined Ruination, man, really wearing out that analogy here aren’t we? I don’t get much tea and I drank this crazy fresh.

T: There is a slight juiciness but a sharp crispness to it on the herbal note. It isn’t quite pine but it has a distinct grassiness to it. The tea notes are very faint but present. If the taste stuck to the aromatic lines it would have been exceptional, however, it is a bit divergent once you actually taste it. I imagine the board meeting being something like Stone letting them know that they had plans to put tea in a Stone IPA/Ruination cuvee and Baird and Ishii would be allowed to toss some tea in the boil.

Impressive. (C:/run_notracist.exe)

M: The mouthfeel is thin and crisp, on point with the style and very reminiscent of the regular Stone IPA with less maltiness. Hardly any coating is present but that is a good thing given the juicy and herbal notes. If a huge malt backbone were present it would be distracting, but then maybe this would be that hipster darjeeling treat that I was anticipating.

D: This is an exceptionally drinkable beer, with the proviso that you must enjoy the herbal notes going on. If the grassy bite does not turn you away, this could easily become your session beer. The high abv is not noticeable at all and leaves nothing to be desired for back to back drinking. Easily the best part of this beer, but I drank this like 9 months ago or something so it WOULD PRLY BE A SHELL OF ITS FERMER SELF.

OMG. TEA AND HOPS IN A- wait, this is almost just a regular DIPA. Sealion remains unimpressed.

Narrative: The rocking of the vessel in the Atlantic was rhythmic at times, and maddening at others. Cameron Brackish wondered if his profession was a bit out of place in this modern bustling economy, however, that blast of crisp ocean spray in his face won him over more so than any woman ever could. “Sir! The cargo of Darjeeling has come unfastened, I-” Mr. Brackish threw up a single threadbare palm and deftly gripped the thick rope and descended into the galley to inspect the tea shipment. There was the stank odor of sopping wet tea leaves, mixing with the misty air, creating a chokingly herbal intoxicating air. “Calibrate the GPS to embrace all headwinds!” He called to his first mate. Life was hard when you refused to embrace modern technology and embraced antiquated professions. “WE NEED TO GET THIS EARL GREY TO INDIAN PORTS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!” It certainly was no tea party.


Terrapin Hopzilla, White Men Can’t Jump, But HOP PUNS sure can

I always scratch my chin and look with supreme circumspect glances when someone outside of California tells me about their awesome Double IPA. It’s like someone at a bar who hypes up how hot the girls are that are not at the club you currently are at, yet under it all you know deep inside that it might be true, inside (HIGH SCORE MOST PREPOSITIONS IN A SINGLE SENTENCE.) So I heard about this Double IPA from Terrapin, a brewery that I have a special fondness for anyway. From their marketing to their rad product, I am on board with their intents. Some say that they made REM form, I like to believe that, hailing from Athens, Georgia, they made REM break up. EITHER WAY IS AWESOME.

Japanese people hold a special reverence and respect for this beer, despite having never heard of it and having no access to it.

Terrapin Beer Company
Georgia, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 10.80% ABV

Alright so we have a burly, almost 11% abv DIPA on our hands here, look out, complete hard ass coming through. The appearance is awesome, and not just for the style FOR ANYTHING. It has a purely brass radiance that you can see through with a perfectly luminous sheen to it. The carbonation is almost annoying, but bubbly to a fault, like an insecure recent divorcee, but you understand the intent and forgive it. The smell is interesting because at first it hits that tropical o spot (olfactory) but then the heat warms it and it gets onto this honey meets pinecone jam sesh that I am less stoked on. The stoke levels remain noteworthy throughout.

An incredibly hoppy beer from Georgia, no time to explain.

The taste is downright neighborly and it feels like a local kid just raked your leaves and Old Man Clemson just baked one of his famous wheatgrass pies. The block is bustling with honey and springtime and also there is a drug dealer pumping 10.8% abv to the kids RIGHT UNDER YOUR NOSE. Seriously, check your kids room, there’s some ABV snuck in here and Trojan babies will be thrown from the windows when the sacking is complete. I guess you can read that as a larger USC reference, but no one going to that school would have their hands on this, which is a blessing to all.

And now there is a pinecone in your mouth. Wat.

The mouthfeel has this deeply herbal stickiness like clearing super bubonic cashed g13, in common parlance. I have no notes to improve because it is basically doing its own thing, like that crazy dude weaking British Knights and dancing at 7/8ths time in the club, it’s like, he’s original and still good at doing…that…so you just don’t harsh his mellow. I would seek this out again, but more likely cross my fingers and hope for it as an extra in a box.

Ran out of time, i will jazz this post up later, for the haters, so no narrative today.

Here’s an adorable pic to tithe you over:



Port brewing Hop 15, Craft your own “jump” puns inside!

After rounds and rounds of varying Mongo, this amazing gem comes and flips the script on the hop game. I was all reluctant at first but then this amazing hop bomb detonated all over my grill. My face. Not my barbeque.


The character of this beer is a radiant hue of gold and brass. The nose can be compared to a summer’s day, in a manner totally unlike all others. It isn’t hot, it – god damnit this is a Fantastic beer but it is impossible to write this on my phone.

Game over. Insert coin to continue.



Hill Farmstead, Society and Solitude, Ralph Waldeezy Emerseezy would be proud

If you haven’t caught the vibe just yet, I ride Hill Farmstead’s jock like a Sybian. I will seek out anything and everything that they release for the simple reason that every, single, thing that I have had from them has been nothing short of amazing. The only beer that was a B+ to me was Jim and that was still an amazing beer, just not suited to my palate. So here we go, another world class Double Black IPA, inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Some prefer Society, others prefer Solitude, and then some people prefer both and have to issue apologies for Party Rockin.

Hill Farmstead, Society and Solitude, Black Double IPA, 9.5% abv

A: At first glance this looks like someone fucked up and sent me Everett and I am about to spend 25oz in Porterville. Not the central California mountain town. Then you pour a little bit and shit turns arboreal very quickly. The beer cascades from the swingtop growler in a needlessly descriptive stream of jet black with mellow mahogany at the edges and the user ponders where the line between charred malt and hop usage places his palate in this penumbra of capricious tastes. The carbonation is dead on, not too much, not too sparse and the lacing looks like a monochromatic Jackson Pollack work. She is a thing of beauty, fuck Stella.

Just the smell and look of this beer takes you to a magical far away place of verdant fields and floral culture, Didney Worl.

S: This is interesting beyond belief. Most black IPAs I shirk off in a cantankerous manner, upturning my mandible and tightening my lips. This thing is the real deal. I thought double dry hopped Stone Sublimely Self Righteous did not have fuck arounds to spare, but this thing is in the poor house if fuck arounds were currency. It comes right out with a pine that subsides into a chocolate waft, just when you think shit is tame: a MINT NOTE. I am dead serious, then some juniper and finally the citrus grapefruit I was looking for, all in all its like the craft aisle of Michaels went into a blender and then was coated in Godiva chocolate, and it is fucking amazing.

T: The taste just carries out the complexity and the bitter and sweet zones of your mouth are already dividing up the tenancy in common because they can’t agree on shit. It starts with a nice english stout or american porter charred chocolate roastiness that, upon swallow turns into this epic Mars Volta solo of herbal notes and again, fucking MINT and juniper are present. To bookend the experience, the chocolate delivers a nice eulogy to the sip and your tastebuds mourn the loss. But shit is on again real soon, to the tune of 24oz more.

This beer gives me so many feels. Feels like I am in gay Paree, feels like Vermont, feels like Chocolate Factoree.

M: The mouthfeel is similar to a heavy DIPA or a thin imperial porter. God damn, if I wasn’t so lazy I would make a line graph but, just use your imagination, I shouldn’t have to make an App for every aspect of description. The bitterness from the hops lingers far longer than the bakers chocolate aspect and I like it more that way, the coating feels lighter as a result and suddenly a 750ml growler seems pretty insubstantial. It’s like if you’ve ever dated a girl who just gets on your nerves and you bemoan every visit to Chick Fil-A with her, but when she goes away to her Mormon mission, you have a tiny Latter Day Saint Shaped hole in your heart. You know the feeling.

D: This beer is incredibly drinkable for how ambitious the flavor palate is. For all the mint, chocolate, pine, grapefruit madness going on, the glass seems to have a mild leak, directly into my mouth. However, I don’t know if I should rate this relative to the other Hill Farmstead offerings since the 2 Liter growler of Galaxy that I drank, by myself, was gone instantly and all my characters were power leveled when I woke up the next morning. It was like the RPG fairy just changed the game on me. So yeah, super drinkable.

Hill Farmstead beers always strike me as so distinctly American and I am always left with that lingering suspicion and sadness when the growler is empty. Get beers from Vermont they said, pay Fedex bills from California they said.

Narrative: After losing his job at the pencil factory Gunnar Taylorson was at a loss with what to do with himself. His degree in American Studies did not seem to evoke the sense of awe and prestige that he had predicted, despite graduating from the inimitable University of Florida, an institution practically enshrined in American Study. After long hard thought and several days at the EDD and unemployment offices, Gunnar resolved to set forth into the everglades and open a boutique herboreum. His business plan was simple, venture deep into protected government lands, uproot rare plants, grind them down into a consumable paste without FDA approval, and then sell it within interstate commerce: a bulletproof scheme. The first concoctions largely just caused blindness and erections that lasted more than 4 hours, and he felt like a failure. “GOD DAMNIT GUNNAR, the hell were you thinking, a deep south apothecary? You should have just went and worked at the Waffle House fer fucks sake!” he would think to himself. One day, while speeding about on his stolen pontoon boat he came across a rare hibiscus flower in the shape of someone flipping you off. “Well fuck you flower,” he quipped as he pulled the lot of them from the roots. He sold them piecemeal to passers by and it soon became apparent that Gunnar had stumbled upon a tactile halucinogen. The south never seemed so interesting or so racist as when you viewed the scope of nature with your fingertips in a Baton Rouge AMPM.


Odell Myrcenary Double IPA, Some say hops aren’t for wintertime, well they can hop their asses on out of here.

This was one of those famed Double IPAs from Colorado that I always wanted to try but never wanted to set out to trade just for this beer. I waited and waited and it never appeared as an extra, UNTIL NOW. The stars aligned and a generous trader hooked me up with this old chestnut. THE RESULTS MAY HOP YOU.

I am not sure what this mycenary would accomplish aside from getting other soldiers really drunk. COVERT HOPS SHIT.

Odell Myrcenary Double IPA, 9.3% abv

A: The appearance is a bit strange for a double ipa and gives nice deep honey dark yellow glow. The brass and bronze let me know that this a regal affair and that tails are called for accordingly. The wispy head fogs up my monocle, but I ain’t even mad tho.

Good day Rocky Mountain residents, I do believe I may have shat myself near Breckingridge, have ye any hops?

S: The nose is amazing, sweet honey, lemongrass, biscuit malt, corn bread, and light pineapple. You get a slightly cinnamon finish which is relevant to my interests. I am adding this beer to my Friendster account.

T: The taste doesn’t blow me away like the nose but it is still very good. It is almost approaching that old American Barleywine standby in the respect that is had a huge malty base with a gentle sweetness like baked goods, but then hammers home some pine like a Bolivian housekeeper. THIS BEER DOESN’T DO WINDOWS.

The finish to this beer makes it seem like there was something missing, something amazing that could have been.

M: It is light enough to keep things interesting and doesn’t slow down for the credits, this short film just rocks your tastebud genitals all night long. The drying and herbal finish gives it a distinct lip smacking quality that is like Pina Colada chapstick that the officers will find on your person and that’s when the cuffs will feel too tight.

D: This is like a three strike combo that sets you up perfectly and then Urkels its so hard and messed up the finisher. You get the sweetness, nice hop bite and then, FUCKING GRASS TIME. Not like intercourse with grass, like tastes like gr- you know what, nevermind. I want this to be more drinkable but every swallow finishes with that bitterness, if you think I am going to pander with an oral sex joke here, you are only partly correct. The abv is masked quite well and I could see this beer making it outside, plays well with others, could get the uninformed pretty lit. It’s like the Bud light Platinum for the craft community I guess. WHICH ISN’T THAT BAD AT ALL.

This reminds me of other enjoyable things, but is good in its own right.

Narrative: Margaret and Ross Ignacio were concerned about their Nana’s new caretaker. Every time that they would visit her there would be a fragrant new citrus tree or hibiscus blossom in the front yard, it was beautiful, yet something was irksome. Nana was using technology and there were sure signs that Manuel was the one goading these pleasures. “Follow me on the twatter, I can retwat you” she would say obliviously. One day Manuel spied inspectingly through the stained glass window. “Nana, you never wanted to go on Adultfriendfinder.com before, what, how did you even hear about this?” Nana sipped her chamomile tea reflectively and began a tediously long story about war bonds. “Ok you know what, I dont want Manuel showing you the computer anymore” Nana sighed “oh well you should get on Myface, er put your space in my space.” Nana worked the computerbox assiduously and Manuel watched knowingly, the silent Hispanic mercenary that got old Nana into twisted internet porn.