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

September 8, 2015 | dontdrinkbeer

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

May 15, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

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.

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-

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

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

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.

OWA Brewery, Ume Lambic, Just When you Thought I was PLUM OUT of Lambic Reviews

April 2, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

On this one episode of Tailspin, Kid Cloudkicker jumps out of a plane with a bag of table salt and pours it into the clouds. The result is that it starts raining due to a chemical reaction with the salt and the cumulus clouds.

I don’t know how to science but, in today’s review I am going to make it rain on these tickers with a 100 bottle lambic release from the Pajizzzotenland.

YMCMB MAYBACH MUSIC MUSTARDONTHEBEAT.

Gotta have some srs plums to go after obscure Japanese lambic.

OWA Brewery SPRL
Brewed at Brouwerij De Troch
Style: Lambic Style – Fruit
Bruxelles, Belgium
5.5% Abv

100 bottle release

A: This beer presents with a bit darker hue than I anticipated but also doesn’t really have any fuschia or magenta from the ume tannins- OH WAIT, that’s probably because ume looks like this you ignorant fuck:

peach pears plums I am inches

so the carb comes out in soapy bubbles you could count individually and rises up to an eggshell collar that subsides pretty quickly but, nothing too apeshit, all things considered. There is insubstantial lacing and the legs are watery with minimal cling. The center of this beer is very inviting, got that amber meets wulfenite sort of glow to it. Google wulfenite and leave me the fuck alone.

Time for a trip to Japan or…Belgium. wait fuk

S: This is a tasty treat for the old face holes. At the outset you get a light sweetness like lemon meringue that subsides into a citrus acidity akin to a tangelo, there is a touch of musk and cheesiness that is almost like topsoil/silt, it closes with a zesty Sierra mist lime that is ultra inviting. It’s like when the woman is all on them satin sheets running her hand in a small circle and YOU WAKE UP ON THE METRO WITH A VISIBLE ERECTION OH GOD DAMN IT.

T: This takes the foregoing Sprite and tangerine aspects and ratchets them up to levels that can only be described as “mid to extremely trill.” The first swallow is a 160 bpm trap beat that cascades sweet, brackish, then tart in those waves. You get this opener kinda similar to lime lucas, if you grew up in a Hispanic neighborhood. It subsides into a sweet honeysuckle and grapefruit pith bitterness. Finally the closer comes out and it tightens up the game with a sort of “aged Printemps” sort of lemon-lime feel to it. It is never exceedingly sweet, and remains drinkably tart, yet has this bitterness like citrus rind to keep everyone in check. It could use a touch more from the attic fairy, but I imagine that will come with time, as will I.

The malts are restrained and take on a new, equally amazing form

M: This has a bit more heft than I would want out of a fruited lambic, but never drags deep into that honey coating too aggressively. It is dry but balanced by a light sweetness along the gumline that combos into the next sip like Glacius. Alright people complain my references are too obscure, you want to know who the fuck Glacius is?

There you go. That’s Glacius, do you even Killer Instinct?

He is excellent at ground-air combos. Alright can we get back to the fucking review? Ok so take that lemon lime and add a bit of acidity, not much, but say in the realm of a young 3F Kriek, just enough to keep the blue vein pumping. It is fully satisfying.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable with the caveat that you keep it under 55 degrees. The honey and sweet aspects closer to room temp make the sweetness a bit heavy handed when it gets warm but, what the fuck is wrong with you, letting 100 bottle Japanese lambics get all hot you insensitive asshole? All in all, a very good lambic likely unlike any other offerings you have tried. I guess you could mix 2006 Doesjel with 2006 Printemps and get a similar, less bright execution. In fact, go do that, report back to me. I posted a pic of this in a Facebook beer group all warming up my rotator cuff thinking I was about to serve up a backdoor breaking ball on some tickers. People had zero fucks to spare, too bust doling out Likes for KBS pictures. But that is part of the reason why you are here, and not fingering your dickhole talking to some anti-In Bev noob. We have the same issues. The type of beer drinkers who seek out this type of shit are not the ones who review Hopslam by reading the label in present progressive tense “”getting hoppy, getting malts, getting yeast, getting water, getting Bell’s, getting Michigan. getting…a guy with a hop cone on him…getting barcode…”

You expect some naughty funk but get some citrus loving instead.

Narrative: Tetsuo Otomo was the most esteemed botanist in all of Kyoto and his scientific renown brought inquiries from across the globe. Upon the behest of the European Union, Mr. Otomo traveled to the Senne Valley to analyze the ground-water table and its effects on the local fauna. “Hmm…ish a nooo good,” he noted in a borderline offensive accent “glound tabre has too much a sart! Need nitrogen frixation, lower minelal crontent.” The group of Belgian geologists nodded and took copious notes. Mr. Otomo returned to Brussels shortly thereafter and engineered a super strain of Japanese Plum that would convert the atmospheric nitrogen into ammonia at an alarming rate. The process drastically boosted the presence of the diazotrophs, creating a super flora in the classic valley. Soon even the mildest glass of kolsch exposed to the air became an acidic wild ale, almost instantly. German tourists brought kegs and kegs of tepid wit biers over in droves to contaminate and vastly improve their pedestrian ales. Tetsuo had solved a problem with plums, but created a larger one by way of ignorant assholes from abroad.

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

February 25, 2014 | dontdrinkbeer

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

@thebruery Wineification, the First Full Legit Review on the Internet, Stompin on your grapes.

December 31, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright, if you are one of the 215 members in the Hoarder’s Society, there was already prejam on your tip for this malty banger. When you went to go pick up your bottles of Sour in the Rye Peaches and saw that “SYRAH BARREL BLACK TUESDAY” you know that pounding in your loins, it was real. This is a 2 per memebership release from the Bruery, no extra bottles sold, no stems no seeds no sticks. 2 fucking bottles. To be honest, I thought this was going to be a bucket of menopausal jizz. Imperial Tart of Darkness meets Lindley Park and some residual Kendall Jackson tannins.

I was dead fucking wrong. This might be the best beer that they made all year and it put me right in my fucking place when I opened it, at the Bruery itself no less. After I posted a brief write up on Friday, 17 ISOs went up overnight. Business as usual in the beer game, monkey see/monkey fucking offers Proprietors. Let’s stomp hard and elaborate on why this isn’t just Black Tuesday with Smuckers poured into it, prepare to be jelly tho.

Store this bottle away from your middle aged stepmom, she will drink this while watching Scandal. Such a waste.

The Bruery, Placentia
15.7% or some shit (markedly lower than BT)
California, Syrah Barrel Aged Black Tuesday

Commerical Hype:
The “wineification” of beer has been a constant topic of discussion these days, so why not just take a step further and blend the two? We took our Black Tuesday Imperial Stout and fermented it along with late harvest Syrah grapes from the vineyards of Los Olivos, from our good friends at both Fess Parker and Saarloos & Sons. We then aged this wine/beer hybrid in French Oak barrels, waiting for the perfect time to bottle it up. The flavor profile is remarkable. Notes of black cherry, vanilla, cinnamon, oak, aged balsamic, port wine and a sherry-like oxidation from the barrels. This beer is like nothing that you have ever tried before.

A: This beer looks nothing short of awe-inspiring. I hate delving into the old Lisa Frank handbook to describe swatches of magenta and deep purples, but this is robey as fuck. There is a plum and dark violet at the edges with light purple foam mixed with a dark roasty center as black as Jude Law’s soul. It clearly picked up an assload of tannins from the barrel and looks like a Cab/Stout hybrid, fucking beautiful ebony queen.

Maroney is 18 now, and this beer is mature enough for her palate.

S: The waft on this beer is more wine than stout and presents a unique tannic, jammy dryness with a touch of milk chocolate and tootsie roll smashed together. The wine and cocoa cascade over one another like dudes wrestling in a Castro bathhouse. There is a complete dryness to this and oak presence that keeps sticky old BT in check and dials back the sugars in a huge way. If you were one of the complete pussy naysayers who likes to trammel out that old “DIABETTTUSSS” joke you heard in 2012 that is still relevant to you, no beetus to be found. Srs.

Alright, before this shit blows up go toss up your tired ass FT: King Henry offer. Schemes and dreams.

T: There are dry cab forward notes of currant and blackberry at the outset, middle oak tannic presence like a Seasmoke pinot, light jamminess, thin execution with very little residual sugar presence, the underpinning black tuesday presents a nuanced profile with roast, char, chocolate cherry cordial and a sort of cacao clean finish to the palate. Was not expecting this, very exceptional. I can’t really think of any jokes to pepper this bitch up, it’s just fucking good and I was expecting far less. Shame on me for being an acorn penis.

M: As noted several times above, this is fucking dry but closes with a chocolate and wine stickiness. It is almost more wine than beer in many aspects, and again, it’s not like anything you have ever tried, I shared my only bottle so allow me to step off the hype train. ttot It’s like open mouth kissing a high school freshman and shes all into Nutella sandwiches and you are a creepy early 40s asshole drinking a dry cab, that interplay of lewd activity marries the two in an imperfect union of borderline felonius activity.

D: If you thought old curmudgeonus DDB was uncaring, I shared my only bottle of this with a person I had never met before, from Chicago no less. Old Pow87 loved it and you will too. I guess I shouldn’t be too fucking surprised that one of the four exclusive bottles is amazing when you pay $700 to join a beer club, I just didn’t think it would be this good. If AgentZero were still alive he would give this a resounding 4.1, which is essentially a perfect score. It’s a really good beer, and you probably can stop drinking those same fucking BCBS variants for once and try something new. My 2014 prediction is 19 dipshits in an Ohio backyard will drink this in 31 degree temperature and all agree that DDB was wrong and that no wine or chocolate came through from their meniscus pours. And the world keeps on turning. Happy 2014, suck on your own tits.

This beer is strange, but you secretly get off on it.

Narrative: Marcel Jevouire was a chocolatier with a tawdry, dark fetish. By day he was dipping strawberries and making chocolate ganauche, but when evening set he would pull out his box of spent wine cork and inhale deeply. That sticky grape, his cruel mistress of the night got his dick so hard even kittens claws couldn’t scratch it. The chocolate world was fine for children and pedestrian interests, but it was the wine world at night that got his barrels pumping hard. It was an adult pairing and an interplay of two worlds that only the most decadent Parisian could comprehend. Sometimes he would see a patron looking over chocolate truffles with a corked vintage peeking from their parcel, the tip gleaning that purple through the green glass would make his nipples erect through his mixing apron. Some would disapprove, but it was his own dark world of dry grapes and wet dreams.

Founder’s Mango Magnifico: The Grossest Misuse of the Word “Magnifico” Ever.

October 11, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

There’s a bounty of japery over here at DDB. We make jokes, call people out for having stretch marks, ridicule orphans, and listen to Crystal Gale records non-ironically. Today is not a fun day. Today is one of those overcast days like when you made the mistake of buying Final Fantasy XIV and sat through a 8 gig update only to experience the biggest pile of dog dicks ever. Such is today’s beer. Some times you have to go face first and lick a Lucas taint to appreciate the fun times, those afternoons of whales need to be offset with super shitty beers otherwise you lose perspective.

Sometimes I go to bottle stores and buy things like, off a shelf, shake my head and lulz thinking when I will ever find time to drink them. Today is one such day of shittiness. Godspeed DDBitches.

If you have ever wanted to tongue kiss that Bolivian fruit vendor, now is your chance.

Founders Brewing Company
Michigan, United States
Fruit / Vegetable Beer | 10.00% ABV

A: Things start off normal enough, but like the movie BRAZIL, you are in for some serious twists and mind bending shit soon enough. There is a nice golden and amber appearance that looks like an imperial/triple IPA if I didn’t know better. The carb is billowy and crackles invitingly. The look of this beer is easily the best part. You could pull mad pranks on friends by sliding them this innocuous-looking trojan horse of face raping. Like most things, I would rather have something that looks like shit but is consistent and delicious. But hey, some people date girls from Arizona State who are constantly stumbling down a staircase of cocks, so who knows.

I would be shocked if these sell

S: This is like if someone cast Mango Ultima inside of a vagina soaked in cayenne pepper. There is a sticky sweet mango that is like that horrible GOYA juice that they serve you at AA meetings. It also reminds me of those red pepper chile pops that they slang out of Ice Cream trucks in the barrio. Take all that, then add a lingering alcoholic heat that somehow sticks its head about this mango/pepper orgy and looks at you menacingly. Sometimes when I sneeze hard my butthole puckers, this beer evokes the same reaction and rape faces are engaged while the mango starts fashioning a shiv for your gut. This doesn’t seem pleasant by any stretch of my rectum.

T: Things go from bad to worse when you actually drink this beer. If you have ever had Jamba Juice from concentrate and then decided that it needed ancho peppers with habanero, then you are just the type of person with horrible judgment that this could be marketed to. Thankfully the ABV is completely masked in the pandemonium, but that’s like saying “In the midst of the prison riot, I didn’t notice that the Strokes were playing on the
intercom system.” I guess be thankful for small favors. It is mango concentrate with a mouth deadening pepper, Novocaine along the bitter zones, a vegetal chive lingering aftertaste like a Skrillex smashup of mango sweet meets Peruvian raver sweat.

Target demographic detected

M: This is hot, like butch taint at Lillith Fair hot. There is this sort of air freshener waft that lingers in your mouth but mostly its this annoying salsa chile tapatio deadness that isn’t scorching like Ghost Face Killah, but it doesn’t belong in beer. You can make a beer with eggs, you can add durian, do whatever, but make it taste good. I don’t recreationally go down on clowns, and that’s what this feels like, mango and white face paint rubbed all over my jawline. I am left with feelings of smash peppers and shame. I tried to share this with my “normal” friends and they looked at me like I put on a Hentai dvd for mutual enjoyment.

sometimes you feel like brewers are just trying too hard

D: Well, take the foregoing and imagine drinkable that would be. I would probably rather engage in urethra gauging over taking another run at this. The large format makes this all the more hilarious. It is like marketing was like “well my mouth feels like I have been huffing GSXR exhuast after eating a bag of SKittles, BUT WHY STOP AT 12oz with this 10% session beer!” and high fives were dispersed pell mell. I cannot recommend this for anything beyond 1) cooking 2) masochism or 3) one of those Uncle Donald exercises where you give it to a 12 year old to scare him away from beer. Actually, if you want to lose weight, stock your fridge with only this and youll be super paleo by the week’s end. This is easily one of the worst beers that I have had this year and before you pipe up with some shit like “OH YOU NEED TO DRINK IT WARMER/COLDER/HIGH ALTITUDE/AFTER SEX/UNDERWATER” or any other litany of suggestions: no. This Bath and Body Works trainwreck needs to go sit in the corner.

Narrative: no narrative. This was already saying too much. Mango afterbirth covered in chile picante corn nuts dust.

1996 Rodenbach Alexander, Keeping Teenagers in the Cellar and Exploiting them Years Later

August 24, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Let’s just get this out of the way: this is the best Flanders Red that I have ever had. There I said it. Rodenbach Caracterie Rouge was fucking amazing. And Teeeeechnically Oude Tart with Cherries isn’t a Reeealll flanders, right? Even with qualifiers, this is the fucking best flanders out there. Even with close to two decades on this bad bitch it still wilds out, hair in corn rows, shopping at Charlotte Russe not giving a fuck.

This used to be on the white whale list but SpeedwaleJim in his infinite wisdom decide that T25 was more sought than this fucking incredible blast from the past. Go figure.

This teenager is dope because he doesn’t listen to One Direction bullshit.

Brouwerij Rodenbach N.V. visit their website
Belgium
Flanders Red Ale | 5.00% ABV

A: This is class flanders, flandiddidly for sheeze. Popping those ::sigh”” robey tones are like that magical moment when the bills cascade above the laquered floor and the exotic dancer elects to clap those red bottoms. Tickers go hard for those red bottoms. With 17 years on this bitch, still foam, still cream, still cling, still putting commas in the bank. I don’t know what else you could really want when you see shit like this standing tall doing 15 to life still not getting shanked. Fucking beautiful beer, not muddy, not faded on that oxidation tip, but you could crush up that oxy and let Alexander work his 8oz magic.

This beer is a great listener.

S: God damn this is straight cherries on cherries, even my cherries got cherries. This is maraschino at first but then evolves into an acidic flame and screams like Bieber fans. There is oak, a light dryness, a tangy sweetness like Fruit by the Foot, some red 5 pimpin, earthy and a tad splash of vinegar notes but nothing off-putting. Shirley temple for days on that Littlest Rebel mix. Drop your glow sticks and tongue kiss that Honduran chick rolling hard on molly eating those cherry jolly ranchers, get on that Alexander game.

Dropping holy judgment.

T: This is phenomenal in the way it balances a legit cherry sweetness without being sucrets, and a tartness without being an overpowered acid bomb. This wouldn’t talk to the cops, take the charge and still take the years for you holding up hard with the cherries in tow. The oak is legit, it is a bit dry but also has that great tannic presence to round shit out with another level of complexity like a C plot in a Family Matters episode. Some 3J shit.

M: This is sticky but lightly dry at the same time, the cherry is RIP straight rest in pussy. For this many years, it is insane that it has held up this well and the carb is a lil Crystal Geyser crackle like sparkling water that keeps delivering after all this time. Rodenbach keeps that AK on the nightstand shooting out with modern day Flanders letting shells drop. There is a finishing creaminess that coats the back with gentle bubbles like jacuzzi’s at Coachella.

D: This is insuling. How drinkable was this fucking 25cl white wale? I can’t even begin to address this. My erection was visible throughout drinking this bottle, the dogs present were uncomfortable. This has cherries, oak, splishy splashy juciness and keeps you wanting more. I can’t think of an analog to it, which should make sense given its age and pedigree. Again, seek it out but do us all a favor and put your Cherry Rye shit away, the real men are talking.

Better ask someone.

Narrative: She sat there day after day, painting landscapes in the Garden at Giverny. Her flowing red gown seemed ill at east in the summer breeze, yet inviting. Each day you would feign the pretence to visit the shores of the recending lakeline, prod about in the muck while wondering what the glowing red countenance had to offer. The air was redolent with bluebell that fateful day you crushed the poppy flowers and closed the distance. So sweet in demeanour you introduced yourself, and were treated to a laundry list of compound curse words that would make a Press Gang blush. So sweet in appearances and introduction, you could take your new baroness anywhere, to the Salons, to the racetrack, to Tinpenny alley to bet on cockfights. She was your patient, yet offensive muse. She likened your grandmother’s face to pachyderm ankles, but you dont care, you love the sweet and the sour that she presents. Your calm demeanor is not enough to introduce yourself: YOU NEED A BALLER ASS MATERIA. You need materia hidden in snow for years, aged to perfection. That smug french asshole, we will see how she feels after you summor the raw power of ALEXANDER.

25 hour tutorial? fuck you.

@santeadairius West Ashley, This Beers Gets More Tickers off Than Cochran

July 5, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright so changing gears from a Vermont 300 bottle release, let’s peep game on this 300 bottle pre-wale from the west coast Hill Farmstead. Sante Adairius is a hot new brewery running the trap, slanging farmhouse ales, and dropping low bottle count beatdowns on the trade boards. Also, their product is 99.3% pure, that all blue Jesse Pinkman blend. So in today’s review we have a rare+saison+apricot+wildale+unzip pounding things out without remorse. Bay area kids were hella stoked on this and clutch them for good reason, this beer sets my apricots ablaze with careless abandon.

No filter. Srs. Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace’s briefcase.

Sante Adairius Rustic Ales
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.30% ABV

A: This is that goon shit, mess up your whole afternoon shit. Just take a look at that burning fireball above, it is like looking directly into Beatrice while in paradiso. That isn’t a play on words because Beatrice may or may not be the base beer for this, it is just that radiant and melts your impure soul to take in those bright orange/tangerine/pure sunlight. The wispy carbonation crackles away like a piccolo pete and leaves no real lacing to speak of, but who is really speaking of lacing anyway? If you said grade A microcock beer nerds, you are correct.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

S: This reminds me of Logsdon Oak Aged Bretta scissoring Beatification’s thighs raw with a musky funk, tart apricot meets Fou Foune’s effeminate brother. The acidity doesn’t get in the way and you get this watery dog groomer’s air about it that the fruit supports nodding in the background on a 2/4 beat. There isn’t a ton of cheesiness or elements in the way of Cantillon/De Cam/Boon, nor is the acidity as harsh, but this is its own jam. Selfmade millionaire wild ale poppin that .45 acidity at haterzzz.

T: This is the absolute perfect beer for summertime. Take that floral/tart aspect from Ithaca Brute and add some apricot tannins and you have a massively drinkable beer that doubles as titty elixir for Yacht parties since this beer is balling outrageous. The tartness doesn’t go overboard and instead serves to compliment the hay/leather dryness, it wilds the fuck out like Bobby Bouchet. The fruit again is just mindblowing and links arms in the same realm as Fantasia (batch 1, not that brett bomb b2) Peche n Brett, Persica, and to a lesser extent, Fou Foune.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

M: This is drying at the outset with the apricot leading first but it has this murky waterines to it that washes so clean it leaves a sweet apricot life saver flavor that lingers and not unlike a Brazzer’s actor, you gotta get your mouth on it once more. I could crush these without remorse, the apricot jury would deem me an unsympathetic Ashley mass murderer. I love the careful tartness because it allows the underlying saison elements (which are fantastic) to show off in a manner more approachable and ultimately satisfying than say, Upland Peach, which is the acidity show in execution.

D: To double down on everything else that I have mentioned, this is scary drinkable and the ABV is not only present but this beer straight up feels GOOD for you. Like you conscience wouldn’t kick in drinking this before a funeral or a classy bris. The jamba juiciness keeps things lively but the oaky dryness lets you know the refined MILF will also enjoy this as well, inbetween her sips of Yellow Tail Moscato. Get this, actually dont, I need more, so don’t seek this out. Don’t ruin this shit for the rest of me.

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

Narrative: Life at the Behr paint supply store was a mile a minute. Sure there was the time that they accidentally mixed turpentine with the eggshell, making the ignominious muted halogen color, completely off style but mindblowing nonetheless. Yes sir, Ashley West had seen it all in her duties as overseer of the interior vibrant tones division of Behr paints. It was her sworn duty to ensure that no paint scheme stood as too far fetched or offputting. Nothing escaped her trained penchant for searingly bright colors. If she saw a mild yellow that struck hier as too explosive, she’d be the first one to take it down a couple notches to a sublimely genial canary tone. For Ashley, life was all about the Golden Mean, in the Arisotelian sense, the paradigm of good taste. “Miss, do these sandstone swatches look appro-” “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Look at this, I’m sorry, where are we the Luxor casino? You need to mute these down to C11H14 palate, we don’t run some kind of funhouse, you can take these monstrocities down to Tempera paints Mr. Jackson Pollack if you feel like expressing yourself on my KHAKI WATCH!” Another solid day of work for Ashley West.

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

June 19, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

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

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

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

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.

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.

Kuhnhenn Blueberry Eisbock, If Someone Says “Lagers Are Boring” Show them this shit

March 25, 2013 | dontdrinkbeer

I love reading beer forums when some is like “lagers are all boring, why do they make them” and I just LOL myself and jump in my Scrooge McDuck vault of crazy ass lagers. I thought that I reviewed the 2007 Raspberry Eisbock for you assholes, but upon further reflection, after drinking at 15.5% abv tiny penis bottle I somehow forgot to type up a 900 word review. Imagine that. Anyway, this is even better and I cannot thank SurlytheDuff enough for this massive hookup. This was a 215 bottle release, $30 a bottle, 1 per person. Now add the midwest factor and we are talking shitstorm of the century,

Just my berries, no twigs. No stems no seeds no sticks. Put it in the air.

Kuhnhenn Brewing Company
Michigan, United States
Eisbock | 15.50% ABV

A: This looks like hardcore IHOP blueberry syrup and you wouldn’t be totally out of line drizzling this over some bread pudding or a stack of hot cakes. Look at that deep purple, regal in Imperial garb, deep violet tones coupled with a plum darkness. If you want carbonation, maybe you fucking forgot that we are dealing with Kuhnhenn here. If you signed up to this beer expecting massive head or sheeting, maybe you work QC for Hair of the Dog or something. Nobody got time for that.

Slaying 200 bottle releases and 12oz bottles that are 1 per person AND $30 a piece? berry thuggish.

S: This smells like a fresh jar of smuckers. Srs. You get this deep blackberry, plum, blueberry, jam, straight preserves to the dome spot. Again, imagine blueberry syrup with a light fusel aspect on the backend that some assholes would liken to Grape Robitussin, but I wouldn’t cast that dark a pallor on it. If you have ever had a huge American Cabernet and it comes across like boysenberries, that is how this is. Fucking massive.

T: This is exceedingly sweet and is seriously like taking jams and jellies straight to the dome piece in a blueberry factorial manner. You ever read that book “Blueberries for Sal” and wish that everyone was super wasted and that the bears ate the children? Well Kuhnhenn can make that happen for you. This has an incredible fresh produce taste to it way beyond the adjunct berry tastes that often occur in other beers. I can imagine that this cost a shitload of money to brew and the massive waft of alcohol on the backend makes it clear that this is not for the uninitiated. Some people might be like “wahhh this tastes like cough syrup” or complain that they have to take insulin before drinking this, but it’s like, grow a pair and get berry wasted. AMIRITE?

This beer may seem sweet and crude at first blush, but maybe it is way ahead of its time? Think about that shit.

M: This is as heavy as the cast of Designing Women and just lays around the palate like a viscous syrup, painting your tongue blue and purple. As it warms the fusel notes become more evident and the alcoholic waft loses that restraint but with that territory comes a deeper jamminess from the berries so it gives with one berry and plucks from the pail with another. Some would say that these Eisbocks are too saccharine and sweet but the light tannins and the huge juiciness to them keep this from being a Blueberries for Sal journey into the Candy Cane forest.

D: I am in the absolute minority here, and I know it, but I feel that these beers have far more utility than a mere 3 ounce pour that most people adhere to. If you take the time to let this beer open up and you drink some of it EIS CODE and then let it warm to the high 50’s you will go on a wonderful drunken journey that will likely be documented in the Police Report the next morning. Grip your twig and berries and lock this bitch down. Tag team it, film yourselves tag teaming it, put it on you tube, lick your fingers and talk about how sweet it was. Fucking weirdos.

The produce in this beer is taunting, strangely seductive.

Narrative: Jacob Lowbush was in quite the dilemma. He walked up the entryway in a dapper azure suit with a sweet DKNY cologne wafting through the air. “WELL THERE YOU ARE JACOB!” Keira’s mother exclaimed and accepted his bouquet of blue hibiscii flowers. Jacob’s lavender patent leather shoes creaked on the dark teak floor and he wrung his handkerchief sweetly and stammered out his wild confession. “Ms. Coccoros, you see, I am sweet on you, well no, that’s not how it is, see, I like you, and painting your fence violet and picking all your wild berries on your property, that was right aimed at getting closer to you, not….not Keira.” As he pushed out this confession the portly Keira was rounding the banister and the frame creaked from her indulgent corpulence. “BUH HUH HUH BAHHH” she sobbed and pounded steps back up to her room. Ms. Coccoros threw the basket of freshly picked blackberries onto the ground and stamped them in a sweetly controlled rage. “NOW YOU SEE HERE MR. LOWBUSH-” she began and took a deep pull of boysenberry liqueur “I am a distinguished women, whose daughter happens to have a glandural problem. You sir can take your sweet nothings and cast off.” Jacob picked a stray seed from his navy blue cumberbun and lowered his head sweetly. He would return after she drained the contents of the berry liqueur and get up in those jammy jams.

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Category Archives: fruit beer