Take that wine world.
Before this review rerevs the shitengine, let’s get one thing clear: MOONLIGHT IS AMAZING. This isn’t a CYA or some back pedaling. Reality Czech is mindblowing and Death and Taxes got me through undergrad. That being said, I don’t like going down on the plant monsters from Troll 2, so let’s get this shit underway:
Moonlight legal tender, style? abv?
A: The ultimate quandry, you are immediately made aware that no hops went into this abomination but yet you see it’s taunting Porter-esque appearance, who is this rogue character? Well the shiny disposition leaves only variables. Do I befriend it? Use a pokeball? This is a rough road to hoe. Herbal assault imminent.
S: It feels like a shoryuken of grassy, pine, herbal and medicinal notes. Understand, I do not mean this in the fulfilling Majaraja malty way, I mean it in a “you will shortly be drinking a rhododendron” sort of way. This is like you just moved to Portland and started dating a vegan chick. It is ultra earth day to your face.
T: Murder, on every front. It is just a fleeting dryness that transforms into a watered down fernet branca and water, with a crazy character that feels like inhaling campfire smoke and drinking soda water. Not smoky in that ballsy rauschbeer way, just a “mom can I stay home from school” sort of manner. Go work for 6 months in Northern California as a lumber harvester and tell me how it works out, then drink this crazy innovative beer.
M: This had a calm, very pleasing disposition. I didn’t dislike the mouthfeel and it seemed almost like a watered down jagermeister drink with disgetife particulars. I guess this was its best quality in the way that the engine was the best quality of the Dodge Neon Espresso. This reminded me of a super vegetal potion from an RPG that cures all ailments, but also inflicts MUTE. Something to that effect.
D: I guess this comes down to how off the beaten path you are. Do you go to burning man? Do you love non-corporate media? Well this isnt even for you, this is just bizarre. I have trouble rating it low due to innovation but it is just menacing, it attracted conversation but resoundingly everyone who tried this beer was inexplicably concerned that I enjoyed drinking this.
Narrative: No one ever said that life as a level sixteen vegan paladin would be easy. Sure you are unable to expend excess calories due to co2 expirations, and sure you cant waste any biofuel….ANY BIOFUEL. But one treat is your old redwood ale, chipped consentially with the earth from chips and bark. Delicious. It just feels so good to know that you are violating the earth with your enjoyment with its consent. Sure it seems like a gladiola bed right in your mouth, but the offset is much more intangible. People always look askance at you in the produce aisle when you place your own for sale but…who are they to judge? The grassy nature is what you live for and…once you figure out a way for plants to pay for your Vassar degree…you will be all set.
Ah time for an ale throwback to revisit the old gateway drugs that get beer nerds hooked. It is usual the local pushers like Stone, Dogfish Head, Sam Adams or these guys. It would be a classic beer nerd form to look down on readily accessible beers and be a complete hater, however, that’s NOT HOW I ROLL. It can’t be walez all the time, gotta look back on solid nuts to know where you came from. Er, you know what I mean.
Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, 6.x%, Brown Ale
A: Nice wood bark tones with lots of transparency and deep cedar hues. The carbonation is aggressive but calms down after it finds its car keys deep in the depths of the glass. There is fantastic lacing that creates little archipelagos to live on, I just want to point out that I spelled that without Microsoft word’s help, it’s the little victories people. You know what word.
S: I get a huge waft of walnuts, smoked peanuts, and Amonds. They call them amonds because they shake the L out of them at harvest ti- alright fine. Moving on.
T: The taste is pretty light and imparts the same nutty, woody notes that are on the nose. No bait and switch taking place here, just solid old Rogue products. I enjoy the simplicity of it and assertive nature of the malt backbone. It feels like Newcastle’s over achieving little brother, who secretly pines for greatness. In terms of brown ales, a category that I don’t usually care to notice, this is about as good as it gets. It reminds me of how I remembered that the Toyota FJ Cruiser was a pretty cool SUV in a lineup of items that I usually reserve for total shitheads.
M: It is a bit watery on the front but it is an alluring methodology that this beer employs. The woody notes strike swiftly from the bushes with a great drying effect, leaving the consume helpless to aid his situation but by calling in more watery mouth front, which, at that point a full on Catch 22 is on and Joseph Heller can rest content at a shitty mixed metaphor having been executed horribly.
D: This is very drinkable and reminds me of Chimay Blue in many respects. I know the hardcore beer intelligensia will spit imperial stout all over their respective monocles, but, this realm is not well traveled and if you absolutely must go this route, this is a fantastic Sherpa.
Narrative: “Hazel nut, cobb nut, yeah, call me whatever you damn well feel like” Shellers gruffly responded while fashioning a shiv out of what appeared to be the husk of a deceased walnut. “I seen every damn nut in this place, aint a single one cracked old Shellers yet, and I dare them to try.” He meant this, without trepidation. Shellers ran the nuthouse with precision and deft brutality. He would push his fellow nuts to the top of the pile for wanting consumers to smash and grind into paste with joy. “YOU THINK I AM A NEW VARIETAL!?” he called out from the bottom of the bin, not a single nut moved a shell. “THAT’S RIGHT WHO SAID ANYTHING WHEN WE GOT INFECTED WITH XANTHOMONAS?” no one could respond, that crippling blight was both Sheller’s own device and saving grace. “THAT’S RIGHT ME! SO IF YOU WANNA END UP A CONFECTIONARY GOOD FOR AN ELDERLY PERSON. Go right ahead, I will personally see to it your soft shelled ass makes it right to the top.” Sheller’s use of bitter irony and entendre was too much sometimes, so soft and sweet in his interior, but hard coated in exterior.
The baby borther of big bad Westy 12, the #1 (or 2?) ranked beer in the world, this lil guy still pulls his weight. AND IT IS ALSO A TOP 100 BEER.
Westy 8, 8% abv, dubbel
A: Murky muddy brown with hazy golden notes at the edges, epic, epic carbonation, the head is relentless and lingers all the way down. It reminds me of those plants in Ursulas cave that taunt Arie- what? Nothing. I didn’t just reference the Little Mermaid, what were you talking about? God damnit, this is the second time that I have used that reference, highly dishonorable.
S: There’s very clean crisp esters that open up the nasal passage and impart this dryness with some sugars similar to a deep saison. It’s like the febreeze for an apothecary. Nice bit of herbal notes but a clarifying agent scours throughout.
T: It is overridingly gentle. The initial flavor doesn’t present itself overtly, it dapperly slides in and announces its presence with a mild plum note and then lovingly escorts your palate to the raisin notes. As a parting gift, your mouth is delivered a superb hop performance by the hop equivalent of Sidney Portier. The entire experience feels like I have been taught a soft lesson in Dubbels.
M: It is incredibly light, at least I think so. It feels like I learned a lesson that I can’t quite place. The mouthfeel is so silky and smoothe it feels like I just bought a timeshare in Juarez and cant remember even listening to a sales pitch. The glass just empties itself hand over sip. That was a pun there, see how I did that? Ultimately, thin, somehow refreshing and not the candy overload that I was expecting.
D: I don’t understand how they did this. Seriously. I want to blame the water recipe or monks or. . .something. . .but my glass has emptied itself incredibly fast. It doesn’t make any sense. When it warms up, it is even more deadly. Thank god they don’t sell this in America. If the USA ever got this recipe it would be like if old slug worth got a hold of the plans for fizzy lifting drinks. Then we would all be regimented to cleaning the ceilings. Respectively.
Narrative: Tuesday was pruning day, that afternoon, preserves and jams, later that evening, hypnotherapy for the residents. It was not an ideal job at the outset, running a bed and breakfast and all. However, after Father Methulsela gained his footing, he was the most gentle and skilled B&B operator in the Pacific Northwest. “The sheets? They smelled of lavender. We never saw him but there were fresh pastries almost every time we left the home. I swear he made that fig marmalade himself.” “Yeah honey, now that you mention it, I don’t remember ever seeing that crafty caretaker, God was he subtle.” The couple looked right and their cups were bussed, replaced with confectionaries and doilies. “See? Look at that, totally unnecessary and polite. It’s pleasant to the point of being, strange.” As he finished that sentence, his Honda CRV has just completed a transmission flush and radiator core recharge, free of charge. “SEE! SEE!”