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On the Real Tho, What the Deal with Side Project Framboise du Fermier?

Alright we all know the lore behind this shit.  300 bottles.  Midwest hype.  1 per person per mule per grandma per collateral body present for the tickets that were allegedly/surreptitiously handed out to selected attendees. At least that is the way I heard it.  No sooner than buttholes were healing from the anal fissures attendant to the prior two fruited fermiers, this drops and all the sad tickers are carrying around their pink socks lamenting self-inflicted Fedex woes.

Let’s not get it twisted, landing this is going to be an exercise in self-flaggelation and St. Louis fecespeddlers have no empathy or shame in their rapacious requests. It is kinda like in the Ostfront when Germany was retreating, after years of dealing out abuse, the rest of the trade world is about to receive some grim comeuppance from an area that previously held Schlafly as the piece de resistance. “If they do only a fraction of what we have done to them, we will be in complete ruins.”

Alright so, whale pedigree, whale expectations: BUT HOW DOES THIS BERRY BANGER EVEN TASTE? Let me introduce you to my stove, traps queens on deck.

That look is undeniable. God damn.

That look is undeniable. God damn.

Fruited Wild Ale, 8% abv

St. Louis, Missouri

Straight out of the gates, look at this majestic cranberry, roseate, blood of the nonbelievers spilling on the cobblestones.  It is easily one of the most beautiful wild ales this side of Cable Car Kriek and has flawless carb, sheeting and this delightfully filthy dance of residual seeds and flesh dancing in the globe. Stepdad is gonna spank those 9th grader asses stop sign red for opening his pink beer while he is at work at Cici’s Pizza.

I braced for some acetylaldehyde or maybe a touch of some formative Rose De Gambrius vinegar, but the whole affair takes things to the redline zone in every way.  There was no expense spared, no restrain used, no nuances employed, this is a 9 minute long raspberry Dragonforce solo that melts your baby momma’s face when she looks at it directly.  It is liquid fruit by the foot, gushers, red 5, muddled berries, smuckers, intense acidity that burns your eyelashes magenta, and waves of so many hispanic roadside fruitstands.  I imagine this is what it would feel like to get jumped into a gang, in a berry field.  It is just too much of a good thing to the point of being berry incarnate.  It cannot be reasoned with.

Behold, the ruby weapon, awakened after so many millenia of hateful slumber under the desert.

Behold, the ruby weapon, awakened after so many millenia of hateful slumber under the desert.

The taste takes the acidicty, fruit, and completely tactless overkill of the nose and takes it to suborbital heights.  This is not the Platonic form of a framboise, it is some malevolent Mojoverse where science has been harnessed to go beyond the berry into a weaponized raspberry neutron bomb.  It is ambrosial and deriding, like that abusive girl you met on Tinder who only hits you up after 3am. Given the quality of the interaction you tolerate the violence, if under suboptimal circumstances.  This is unlike ANY berry beer you have had, RASPY or otherwise.

Let me underscore something: this is NOT a one dimensional lactic acid bomb like Upland moves through the basic palate raffleranks. This is those end game weapons that are so powerful that they break the game as a result. Alright you know how everyone has a rock hard lambic boner for Framboos despite the fact that 2014 was flat and riddled with exit flaws? Imagine that is something like Old Rip Van Winkle 10. This, by contrast is something completely more insane, outside the penumbra of your training, this is uncut barrel strength WLW that will not be dominated.

clacking those pink bottoms, all these poverty tickers belly up to the bar tryna throw singles at a raindance tick

clacking those pink bottoms, all these poverty tickers belly up to the bar tryna throw singles at a raindance tick

There are waves of tannic skins that spin down your mid palate with delicious black cherry and currant heft but streak like an orbital laser, exothermic destruction on the back palate.  I had to drink my first glass with a water nearby, not unlike WLW.  I promise you guys I was not being a tamponpalate, this is way over the top intense and made for the St. Louis 13 person tastings in which these are invariably only opened. The magnificent drag down the throat is like uncut raspberry blow, the drip is enough to make some tickers cough because it isn’t stepped on.

tfw you at work not embarrassed to read 900 words about a fruit beer but see this and close the tab

tfw you at work not embarrassed to read 900 words about a fruit beer but see this and close the tab

At about the last 8 ounces, I had two chapped labias on my face and had to “proof” the raspberry fury down and I cut it with a Highland Park blended saison All the yeast.  The blend felt like a resignation, like i quit, I Tapped Out like so many stickers on slammer Silverados. Candidly, the blend was incredible and added that grist and cheesiness that the beer needed.

It is not flawless, but god damn if it isn’t some straight up once in a lifetime barrel strength madness that has never been replicated. It is the beer form of the Dodge Challenger Hellcat, no one needs 702 raspberries under the hood, but if you have the cash to get it, by all means go fucking nuts on the backstreets.  This is not a daily driver framboise, the berry burnouts are far too substantial for my weak dentistry.

DDB gets that coveted berry banger and gives criticism, the music of weak bloggers screaming in unison

DDB gets that coveted berry banger and gives criticism, the music of weak bloggers screaming in unison

Thankfully, every Untappd dipshit will be checking in a lukewarm meniscus pour so small it cant even retain surface tension.  This bilateral exchange of misplaced reverence and undeserved pride fuels the current trade scene, with Kafkaesque results.  We can’t blame Cory King for that, but we can blame him for not getting Mother 3 ported to the United States as Mother 3.  THANKS A LOT, CORY. FUCK.

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New Glarus R&D Very Sour Blackberry, V.S.B. PO PPA, no info for the D.E.A.

If you give the midwest a brewery only release, prepare for some hyperventilating from a cadre of ex-bandos. Whenever this happens, neckbeards jump in their Chevy Aveos and drive hours across bleak terrain that looks like it is north of the wall, all to secure some bottles. This happened with Fuzzy, this happened with Cahutlow, this happened with BA Abraxas, this happened with KBBS, and god help us if the bottle count is in that ultra rare 2000 or less range.

Enter VSB, an american wild ale with a story to tell, berries to flex, and a proud lineage rolling deep like an MC Hammer entourage. At a staggering $8 a bottle and 3 per person staggered over 3 days, you would figure this should trade for what, Double Huna? Flora? GUESS AGAIN AND GIVE ME YOUR CCK MOTHERFUCKER. The trade threads for this went to hell in a handbasket real quickly and honestly, if Secretpizza didn’t send this ratchet bitch to me for free, I don’t think I would have bothered throwing my hat in the ring. Whenever you see an Illinois dipshit posting things like “I only have 3 left but, I don’t think I would ever trade it, it is that good, unless something really good came along” you know shit just got real.

So thanks to Secretpizza for keeping my butthole intact and allowing me to get my berries juiced in today’s review.

Pour this bottle and it looks like the inside of a Claire's or a Wet Seal.

Pour this bottle and it looks like the inside of a Claire’s or a Wet Seal.

New Glarus Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States

Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 5.00% ABV

Notes/Commercial Description:
Fourth in our series of spontaneous sour ales. Fermented and aged in oak barrels – on yeast lees – with Oregon blackberries. Refermented in this bottle. Open with care – This is a funky wild sour beer! There is also a bunch of illegible shit on the label I welcome you to try and read.

A: Just look at this fuchsia madness taking place above, it looks like a tween’s bedroom and only needs some chartreuse inflatable furniture to hit full on third grade sleepover status. The carb ranges from hilarious to excessive and doesn’t even burn off as exceedingly quickly as you would anticipate. The hue looks like St. Lam’s viscous cousin, deep thick grape Otterpop, that velvet violet merging with purpiest of purps. It is admittedly a very pretty beer and looks great sprayed on the hood of a Bugatti. Ball the fuck out already.

VSB for 50n? Wait hold on-

VSB for 50n? Wait hold on-

S: This presents more of a jammy countenance that the previous R&D endeavors would have led me to believe. There is a smuckers grape jelly, blackberry tannins, no cloying artifical sweetness and you get the crushed fields and farmer’s market kisses at the outset. Another interesting thing is, for all this VERY SOUR CUP YOUR BALLS talk on the label, it doesn’t smell intensely sour. It exhibits an incredible balance in form an execution, terroir from the berries, but a substantial complexity from the sharp shocktart back end. Can’t even front, it smells phenomenal.

T: This leads with a sharp acidity that immediately is pushed aside to convey a deep berry character, purple gushers, blackberry preserves, razzleberry pie, and this light dryness on the finish. This beer isn’t overly sour, it isn’t overly sweet, it isn’t intensely acidic, and it doesn’t go for an artificial heavy handed approach with adjuncts: IT JUST DOES EVERYTHING RIGHT. This is essentially a deep purple M3, a product that is so well balanced and highly revered that the biggest dipshits in the world covet them and it ruins the experience for you. I am fairly confident that this beer is not yet a staple in Persian bottle service culture, but soon.

If you decide to trade for this, be cautious: this pretty little beer can be a total asshole

If you decide to trade for this, be cautious: this pretty little beer can be a total asshole

M: This is not your daddy’s intensely drying Upland Lambic, it isn’t your momma’s one dimensional lactic Cascade, it lacks the sticky sweetness of the other cloying New Glarus fruit beers: it goes in hard. It provides tartness with a sticky resonance that steps in graceful time in a berry 3/4 scherzo. Usually I would toss my hater hat in the ring and pipe up with some shit like “BUT YOU CAN JUST GET St. LAMVINUS FOR LESS” but I don’t even know if that is accurate. This is distinctively American and seems to supercede the fruited lambic offerings that would be analogous. American Wild Ales are a genre born on derivative inspiration and this is the clearest example, second to Cable Car Kriek, of an AWA that is a genre defining beer. Place this next to batch 1 Persica 750ml and a short list of exceptional American sours. This that shit you need to learn though, that VSB, shit that makes your cellar burn slow.

D: This is intensely drinkable and the impossibility of obtaining one of these makes this entire appraisal laughable. I could drink several of these linked together like a chain wallet on some purple JNCO jeans. You could serve this to anyone, your lady friend who uses “supes” and “gorg” nonironically, or a confused young minor seeking your help. Everyone will get their mouth on this purple throbber. Wipe the juice from your chin and seek this out if you feel like it, but realistically, just drink Almanac Blackberry sour, it is verrrrry close, but not quite as good. Think like 09 BCBS Bomber to Rare levels of comparability. All in all, an otherworldly beer of staggering quality in almost every way.

Midwest coveting, ruining things for the rest of McDonaldland

Midwest coveting, ruining things for the rest of McDonaldland

Narrative: Grimace was misunderstood in Mcdonaldland from his very origin. He first appeared and swung his berry endomorphic frame, gripping the milkshakes of others, being a covetous monster. It was not his blackberry breath or his radiant violet hues, it was his offputting nature and unendingly sweet nature. It wasn’t his fault that he was overweight, he spawned that way in a land that no one wished for. A landlocked zone of purple obesity and hate could hardly beget the nicest of creatures, but Grimace rose above. Grimace had an unnamed mom, an unnamed dad, a grandma named “Winky”, a great-great grandma named Jenny Grimace, and might have had a brother named “King John Bailey”, who was the king of all Grimaces: BUT NO ONE GAVE A SINGLE FUCK. In the muck and mire of mediocrity and imitation, Grimace transcended the monster genre and became something sweet and sour at the same time. He was a gentle creature capable of deep destruction, but checked his privilege at the door and bumbled around lovingly. “YOU KNOCKED OVER MY ARCH DELUXE YOU FAT FUCK-” one patron would exclaim, but deep in this sticky sour heart, Grimace knew that he was worth more than those that surrounded him.

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DOUBLE RUSSIAN RIVER WHALE REVIEW: Toronado 20 and Deviation, At the same damn time

In honor of everyone rubbing their yeastclits on their bedposts over Plineyyy the Yerngerrrr, I figured I would finally knock out reviews for two of the white whale Russian River bangers: T20 and Deviation. One was a one off brewed in 2007 for Toronado, another was a one off brewed in 2009 for Bottleworks. One is still delicious, another one tastes like if you left Consecration in a Toyota Corolla in Tucson for 3 months. WHICH IS WHICH? We find out in today’s whaley review.

Oh shit, if you feel like reading about other SUPER RUSSIEN RIVER RARIEITIES, check out this Russian River Depuration review or if you just joined the beer game in 2012, here is a review of Pliney the Younger for you to stroke it to, since you are probably still in your hophead phase

That is Depuration, I just left it in the cooler next to some silver bullets for a couple months.

That is Depuration, I just left it in the cooler next to some silver bullets for a couple months.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 6.83% ABV (dat hundredths place value hnnnggg)

In celebration of Bottleworks 9th Anniversary, we are proud to present Deviation – a beer unique in every sense. This remarkable blend combines the oak aged diversity of PHI, Orphan Ale, and Sonambic Ale with 100% Brettanomyces Ale (Sanctification) and is bottle conditioned with additional Brettanomyces. Thanks Vinnie. Your beer is a testament to the art of deviation. 6.83%

Your buddy probably opened a T25 at one of your tastings and thought he was hard as fuck, putting up 8 plates, flexing wild ale lats on offshelf zumba tickers.

Your buddy probably opened a T25 at one of your tastings and thought he was hard as fuck, putting up 8 plates, flexing wild ale lats on offshelf zumba tickers.

Toronado 20th anniversary
abv 10.4%

The Toronado blend was 5 different beers blended together disproportionately:

1. Belgian style Quadruple aged in Firestone Walker (used) Double Barrel Ale barrels
2. Belgian style Strong Dark Ale – batch A in red wine barrels
3. Belgian style Strong Dark Ale – batch B in red wine barrels
4. Belgian style Pale Ale aged in wine barrels with Brett
5. Sonambic 100% spontaneously fermented ale – this was used to add acidity to the beer.

A: Let’s just get this out of the way right now, T20 is starting to get those oxy stretch marks on its thighs, looking a bit turbid and muddy in its old age, that wispy carb still holding up, albeit oldman strong. The robey tones are still intact over all these years, but it has seen better days. Deviation still looks fucking beautiful and has a certain grace and coquettish radiance that makes it more lustworthy than even fresh bottles of Temptation. The carb held up beatuifully and there was light lacing at the edges showing its virile life still pumping deep in those acidic veins. These pics suck shit because I didn’t feel like setting up a lightbox for some neckbeard enjoyment. I do this site as a favor to the boring ass beer world and tickers should be thankful I haven’t moved on to POV porn at this point.

Pictured above, the last 21 person tasting T20 was opened at

Pictured above, the last 21 person tasting T20 was opened at

S: The t20 is still intensely acidic with cranberry, currant, red wine tannins, merlot, huge acidic blackberry cab and a oaky musk. The musk is delivered in equal parts with a touch of oxygenation that is mildly cloying, but its too fucking big to be held down, like trying to spot your buddy who presses more than you squat, them tannic shreds throb hard and move weight. Deviation is a fucking intensely bright acid flashbang to the face. Take Zomer and ramp up the acidity, that lemon rind, cantaloupe, pears, musky brett, intense Slush Puppy acidity like a lemon lime detonation to the senses. It smells phenomenal albeit completely overboard, not in an acetic fashion, just aggressive in every aspect, zero hint of oxy or age on this. S.S. Indefatigable just sailing them seas with a proud ph2 stern.

sometimes things from the past return only to fuck your world up

sometimes things from the past return only to fuck your world up

T: T20 is a fucking disappointment top to bottom. That is not to say that it isn’t worth drinking, I mean, it is still a competent and well blended beer. It’s more like seeing that late 30s bartender who is all salty and jaded and you can imagine what a Kelly Kapowski dime piece she used to be. This was probably a complex decadent treat, now the oxy sets in like crows feet making it seem like a dysfunctional Consecration. There is currant and tart cherry but again, it is like a coovie of some old ass bottles of Rodenbach. Deviation is a vast departure from this model and holds up like those 1960’s Ferraris that are still graceful and will land you knee deep in the vaj. The lemon and intense oak, chardonnay, anjou pear, hay, old storage locker, and amped up Goozie notes. One of the best American Wild Ales that I have ever tasted this side of DDG and Cable Car 09.

bragging about drinking rare bottles of sugar water? Alpha detected.

bragging about drinking rare bottles of sugar water? Alpha detected.

M: T20 is still a massive beast, drying with an intense dryness that gushes like that fourth week of Lilith Fair. It is both hefty in mouthfeel and closing, but has a sort of dry depth to it that makes it incredibly drinkable. The ABV slides up behind your palate with a prison shank and puts in work on the bitter zones. Deviation is intensely dry, no reparations are given, antebellum south destruction to your gumline and tart zones. Go watch a Ken Burns documentary and eat an entire bag of Shocktarts and you will know the depths of the cankersores this can cause. Despite the rampant abuse, I come back for more, it’s like when I got all into cock fingering that one summer, all stretched out in self effacing pleasure.

Thinking about landing one of these? Prepare to deal with some shit and shit accessories

Thinking about landing one of these? Prepare to deal with some shit and shit accessories

D: T20 is incredibly drinkable, albeit slightly lackluster. I can’t really condone trading for this other than showing your thick meaty trader labias, dropping meat curtains on your tasting crew, those rare 2007 folds all weathered and undesirable. Tickers gonna tick. Deviation however, holy hell it is intensely delicious, amazing top to bottom, well worth the cost of entry and, most importantly, I cannot think of any readily available analog to this unique beast. Seek this out if you can, rally all those bottles of Backyard and Petit Mutant you can rally and cast them upon the funeral pyre with calm suttee to join your tastebuds in the afterlife. It is dro as fuck, red hairs, no stems no seeds, yayo weighed dry without being stepped on.

Narrative: read the foregoing 1000 words and finger your butthole in the shower with an Axe loofa.

reviewing them nostalgic old whale ticks, high off that juice

reviewing them nostalgic old whale ticks, high off that juice

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@Hillfarmstead Prolegomena, A metaphysical flanders red I KANT BELIEVE IT

Back like 9 months ago when Hill Farmstead let people know about their forthcoming beers, there was a smattering of beer boners that pumped so hard the earth’s orbit was affected for a single rotation. The idea of a full on sour from Hill Farmstead had people log off of their Gawker websites long enough to fill out their Santa wishlist for this beer. So this beer is named after a continental work of philosophy BUT IS NOT EVEN PRUSSIAN IN EXECUTION. So let’s get a sick n0x pump for this flanders and see how many La Folie’s it’s gonna take to land one of these. ERMAGERD SO MANY LER FERLERS.

Haters be all anti-legomena, tossing wd40 on those rusty ass hoverhands

Haters be all anti-legomena, tossing wd40 on those rusty ass hoverhands

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Flanders Red Ale | 8.50% ABV

A: This is a deep muddy crimson that takes some serious illumination to bring those classic RUUUBYYYY tones to bear. The carb is dead on and the lacing is like frilly Mormon lingerie, substantial and excessive. It’s more of a flanders mud or a Flanders mahogany than a flanders red, but if we all tried to be Rodenbachs then we would all be driving Nissan Altimas not getting our dicks sucked. What kind of world would that be?

Beernerds just see that black widow logo and cntrl shift N, delete that web history and bust loads over Vermont gems

Beernerds just see that black widow logo and cntrl shift N, delete that web history and bust loads over Vermont gems

S: In some Flanders there is an astringent aspect not unlike nail polish that is muddled with cherries. Such is not the case here. There is a bold Malbec/Cabernet aspect here that screams a certain degree of dryness but there is also a kind of plum/raspberry farmers’ market that reminds me a lot of Caracterie Rouge, baller as fuck. It seems more gentle in execution than some of the more tart flanders red classics, but if they just brewed a fucking Red Poppy clone I could just sit on my testicles in a cold plastic chair and skip trading altogether.

T: This from out of the gates is creamy pleasant and raspberry cherry oral sex through and through. The tannins don’t dry out the gumline, the fruit isn’t too jammy, the creaminess is strapped onto a fleshlight by the acidity and nothing gets too out of control at this Flanders orgy. Anyone who distinctly picks out the port is probably full or shit and hasn’t had a ton of port, but I would say the port aspect is more like a black cherry over and above the tawny port aspect. Then again, most people are just full of shit. They say they will be there for your adult circumcision and then you just have to drive yourself home, fucking selfish.

A gentle flanders with imperceptible abv, my face be all like

A gentle flanders with imperceptible abv, my face be all like

M: This beer is creamy at the outset but then hits this acidic raspberry dryness akin to Framboise de Amarosa that dries things out. This is like a Ronco food dehydrator that roasts the fuck out of cask oak and leaves you with some cinnamon/fruit dried remains. Think of the most baller Fruit by the Foot with a distinct tartness provided by a perfect vintage of Sour Patch Kids, red 5 variant.

D: This is dry and imparts a certain creaminess that is a bit cloying at room temp, but why are you drinking a Flanders red at 70 degrees you fucking idiot? The finish is clean and washes away with a delicious berry aspect that begs to put your face back down in it and write out the alphabet with your mouth. BECAUSE IF IT TAKES LONGER THAN THAT YOURE DOING IT WRONG.

It is a blend of old, new, and strangely familiar: I LIKE IT.

It is a blend of old, new, and strangely familiar: I LIKE IT.

Narrative: Wesley Jeskerson typed away feverishly on his APPLE II computer while draining artificial fruit drinks into his mouth. The clear plastic twist tops were cast around the room like spent shells from a barret .50 cal as he pounded them in succession while typing out his manifesto. “A Polemic Manifesto: Concerning the Ongoings of Squeezits and the Nature of General Mills Intervention.” The document had almost maxed out the 12 megabyte hard drive with its pages and pages of discourse. Some had failed to see the duality of fruit, others accepted pure juice as an inherent maxim of child lunches. “THOSE FUCKING JUICY JUICE WHORES-” Wesley clenched his jaw and pounded feverishly his final pleas for the fate of his beveage magnum opus. “The palate has an inherently analytic aspect, well beyond the additives, the additives are known only by application of synthetic application, a posteriori concepts. JUDGMENTS OF FRUIT JUICE EXPERIENCE ARE INHERENTLY SYNTHETIC. The pure concept of juice drinks must still be inherently synthetic and not a priori because even Juicy Juice has foundations of sensation based in experience. In expounding upon the limits of cherry profiles, the question is presented: Can Any True Knowledge of Beverages be presented on a Metaphysical Level?” Wesley laughed out loud and drained his glass of 1997 Chateau Margaux. The executives at General Mills were about to get a fucking earful, he had finally identified the Zeitgeist Ecto Cooler and presented the metaphysical inquiry of plastic juice bottle substitutes.

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Russian River Brewing Framboise for a Cure, The Perfect Cure for Those Thursday Blues

Alright before everyone starts bitching and pulling out their cellar penises: YES, this is batch 2. This is the old “Temptation” base not the “Beatification/Sonambic” base that all the fanboys rave about but guess what- IT IS STILL DELICIOUS AND PRETTY rartastic so let’s stomp smashing each other’s raspberries and get on with today’s review. For the cure.

The sales benefit breast cancer, the beer cures my lingering sobriety.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: Holy radioactive hell, call the mayor of Raspberry Town because his test subject from the lab has escaped. The hue is overwhelmingly beautiful and I am sure you could use this to light your way if you every got lost at a dark Filipino rave. It is straight up Mariana Trench bright luminescence with pinks and radiant Lisa Frank binder hues. One of the prettiest beers that I have ever seen.

I was already enjoying Temptation, and then Raspberry Dubstep happened.

S: This has a nice tart berry at the outset and a waft of lingering fruit dryness like a Farmer’s Market gone horribly right. The whole thing beckons like an acidic smoothie. There is a slight earthy note that isn’t funk but isn’t quite the berries themselves, let’s just assume it is ground up stems and seeds and sticks, put it in the air.

T: The taste is incredibly tart with a lactic aspect to it but the fresh berries balance things out and offer a good palate/bad palate routine that works well. I got a hint of Chardonnay but it’s like hearing the organ in a song by the Murder City Devils, you really have to look for it, the whole affair is dominated by fresh, tart raspberry preserves.

This beer is incredibly strong, but gentle at the same time.

M: The mouthfeel is dry and puckering not in the same acid range as those hot lambics or that asshole Sch. Kriek, but still holds its own with a light finish that leaves a lasting acrimonious memory and some signed raspberry headshots in your palate’s studio to remember them by.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and you might even be able to do it without a Mylanta chaser. It is incredibly simple in execution and lacks some of the funk and musk that some of the Eastern gems bring, but the raspberries and fresh acidic finish are too good to pass up. For all the problems that I had with Temptation, both of them, are remedied in this format with an awesome Oops! all berries panache. I will donate plenty of money for cures if this is the recompense. NPR needs to start just kicking out lambics for their members and watch how short those pledge drives would be.

I can see this beer changing over time into something magnificent.

Narrative: Macualay Culkin gritted his frail mandible and threw the copy of US! Weekly into the fireplace of his spacious 1 bedroom Koreatown apartment. “ADDICTED TO HEROIN!?” he thought to himself and looked at his sunken, pale features. “Look at you man! You’re the picture of good health, Mac!” The crimson rifts in his eyes pumped all white aspects a pale pink. “Sure, I might look a little gaunt once in a while, but living in Los Angeles, am I supposed to be in the sun all the time?” A paparazzi flashbulb pierced his flimsy IKEA curtains and he pulled them closed. “I know what to do! I must appear as the paradigm of health to my loyal fans.” He collected a biographical work concerning the expulsion of the Huguenots from the Bourbon Empire and a big bottle of raspberry juice. He headed directly to the Grove and attempted to look non-chalant while grimacing at the taste of real fruits. He could not understand a single word about the Edict of Nantes and looked nauseous the entire time. Next week’s issue of US! Weekly read “Kevin McCallister FALL FROM GRACE! IN DETOX WITH RASPBERRY JUICE AND UNREADABLE LITERATURE!” He lithely held his hands to his cheeks and muttered a faint “erghhhhh-“