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Cantillon Crianza Helena, The Face that Launched a Thousand Shits. On Ebay.

Cantillon one offs, just another Wednesday in this website, which is basically the perineum of the beer world. So let’s get tainted in today’s review. I remember someone told me the deal with this beer, something about a beer to celebrate someone’s daughter and special cognac barrels or something, but you don’t give a shit about that. You came for the labia jokes, and stay for the dick pix. Who am I to disappoint:

The sweet sound of beer nerd mantits slapping together as they pound their gamer keyboards in rage over not being able to have something.  Serenity.

The sweet sound of beer nerd mantits slapping together as they pound their gamer keyboards in rage over not being able to have something. Serenity.

Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Gueuze | 5.00% ABV

A: This is a standard affair for an oldish gueuze, it has a hazy orange construction paper/sawdust sorta aspect going on. The lacing was insubstantial and the carbonation wasn’t really that intense either. I guess you don’t go to gueuzes for their pretty looks, they are the battered, old barrel aged bretheren of the sour world, mistreated mistresses always not pressing charges, making up excuses for the carbonation and bugs therein.

At first it seems sour and acrimonius, but then it is approachable and gentle.

At first it seems sour and acrimonius, but then it is approachable and gentle.

S: I was really looking for something to hang my hat on to point to in an attempt to differentiate this from other baller ass gueuzes. Personally, I think this is kinda a standard execution, just polished up a bit, you get the dead bodies of the pellicle forward in a musky sponge dipped in orange juice, lemon rind, straw, some light attic aspects, but not the insulation/pink shit, like the creaky wood. I have some creaky wood fo- (PENIS JOKE LIMIT EXCEEDED.DLL_err0r)

T: This is lactic as the day in Morris Illinois is long. Ask Alewatcher, he will tell you, long ass days there. You get some white grape but the really hard ripe ones that pucker your face, some muscat grape, super small not ready yet apricots that make you deuce during Swim PE, oak, and a touch of the sweetness from cognac. This is pretty similar to Oude Gueuze Vintage from 3F, but with a lil bit more musk and funk mellowed out with a light caramel sweetness from the cognac. Maybe it doesn’t, train a Black Chocobo, get kings of the round, fuck if I know.

I guess this is better with age on it.  I will only have it once, so I can only speculate with regards to that person in red pants.

I guess this is better with age on it. I will only have it once, so I can only speculate with regards to that person in red pants.

M: This is as dry as the discussions at Coachella and you don’t even have to listen to shitty Animal Collective to enjoy it. You get the crisp apple skin dryness that isn’t exactly acidity but it imparts this kind of lip smacking goodness. You know how old men always have that white stuff at the corners of their mouth and have to lick like 5 times to soak their mouths, it is like that, except you can’t buy this with your AARP card and you won’t be able to get away with saying borderline racist shit either.

D: This is pretty gentle and drinkable and I feel that the light sweetness is a nice touch to what is already a world class gueuze. I probably wouldnt/cant/impossible to get this again, so pressing my love handles against the glass and showing off makes this beer seem a bit underwhelming in retrospect, but that is relative to other massive walez on the infamous list. Seek it out for sheez, but don’t go turning tricks on Craigs List for it, the therapy will cost way moar.

Pop this open, get a glass, and get sour twisted with your friends.

Pop this open, get a glass, and get sour twisted with your friends.

Narrative: “Well boys, it is finally over, we did it,” Cabbage declared with a succinct statement, wiping a tiny tear of victory from his fur. He was a sweet Sea Otter who could be found regularly scampering through oak pieces or gripping tensely onto some driftwood, but tonight he was a leader. “The federal government tried to relocate us, put us otters in coastal habitats, I say YOU GO LIVE IN A COASTAL HABITAT SENATOR” he boomed to a group of sweet and outright adorable otters slowly turning in the tide. One otter banged a rock on an abelone to bring the meeting to order. “BUT WE ARE NOT DONE YET,” Cabbage splashed some water defiantly into the air, “OUR NEXT GOAL will be to spread our culture up the mouth of the Mississippi to reach the tolerant southern states and spread our culture of adorability to states that are inherently depressing!” The crowd clamored, unaware that Southern trappers had almost no regard for cute animals and amongst the worst public schools in the western hemisphere.

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Russian River Toronado 25th Anniversary, Don’t Tell Me You Forgot Our Anniversary, Baby

I feel like Toronados is the golden baby of the beer bar world. I swear that anytime that this place has an anniversary, bris, or restructuring of their corporate board, breweries find some damn reason to shower them with .rar walez. Alpine made a double batch of Nelson to celebrate and I MISSED OUT ON IT. But oh well, let’s see what Russian River has up their sleeve in today’s review.

Throw some 25’s on the whip, barrel blend is so sick.

T25
Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 8.75% ABV

Toronado 25th Anniversary Ale started out as six individual brews, each with their own personality, and all incorporating Brettanomyces and or micro-organisms. Once the barrel aging was complete, Russian River’s Vinnie Cilurzo and Toronado’s David Keene got together to create the final blend. To create its fine carbonation, we re fermented the Toronado 25th Anniversary Ale in this bottle. Spent yeast cells from a thin layer of sediment in the bottom of the bottle. Pour slowly, allowing the natural yeast sediment to remain in the bottle.

Blend:
4% Sonambic (barrel aged for 15 months)
16% Blonde Ale (barrel aged for 8 months)
36% Strong Pale Ale (barrel aged 12 months)
28% Ale Aged with Currants (barrel aged for 8 months)
12% Strong Dark Ale (barrel aged for 12 months)
4% Baltic Porter (barrel aged for 10 months)

A: See all that going on up there? The result is a translucent orange hue with mild wispy carbonation that crackles and disappears slowly. This isn’t a particularly BEAUTIFUL beer like say, Ithaca Brute, but it has its own subtle charms, like that snaggletoothed woman in accounts receivable who always holds the elevator for you.

This blend got mad swag, gangnam steeze to the fullest.

S: This has a fantastic lactic smell to it that reminds me of Hill Farmstead Norma, since almost none of my readers have had that I GUESS I HAVE TO SAY MORE. There are aspects of cherries, orange rind, currants, fuji apples, and grapefruit juice. I don’t think that the Baltic Porter is pulling mad weight in the barrel as it seems to be incredibly acidic.

T: This is incredibly tart with a sort of refined Red Bull sort of sweetness to it that works well with the acidic profile. While cold, this beer is kinda one dimensional in the way that Beatification is just a 2D sour, but once it hits around 60 degrees the 3D glasses come on in a real way and you get a huge crisp and bright panoply of tart fruits.

This beer will get you rolling so hard.

M: This is puckering and very dry similar to an aged Temptation, let’s say b4. You get the oak and some lingering harshness but it welcomes another sip. The carbonation crackles and hits that gumline hard like Kimbo Slice, and the barrel be wood like a baseball bat.

D: This is insouciantly dry and doesn’t give a fuck if you can’t handle the puckering profile but ultimately, like a 14 year old girl I keep returning for this beer’s affection. It has a car. Ultimately, I wish this was a regular release amongst the other regular “-tions” but given how complex it is, I UNDERSTAND. Taking this beer to a bar with beer nerds present is kinda like getting your clit pierced at Claire’s, no one is exactly mad, but everyone is curious as fuck what you are up to.

This beer is daunting but completely satisfying.

Narrative: I dont quite understand Jacob, why is it that everyone wants to fight you?” You roll your eyes and offer this explanation once again “Alright fine, I got the same name as 5 other though kids in school and my dad is an MMA fighter and my mom is a WNBA player, those two people got beat up nonstop.” A sour taste fills your mouth knowing the struggle that you have faced on a daily basis. He looks puzzled and you stare at the principal’s snowglobe of Alberta and try to form a different explanation. “Alright, it’s like this see, if you wanna define yourself, sometimes you gotta be the bad guy, do things no one else does, like fight the girls softball team all at once…you see….no? Ok, so I got the same name and two bad as-” “LANGUAGE JACOB” “ok so I got two tough parents, so to prove my dominance, I go around trying things no one else does, milk enemas, eating lightbulbs, you know guy stuff, trying to prove my worth.” The tightness in your neck turns into a light acidity in your stomach. You have something to prove. It became clear that your laundry list of exploits was not exactly carrying the day for Principal Schlegel. “Alright to prove I am the baddest kid in school with the two roughest parents, I am gonna have sex with that Alberta snowglobe, see?” “That’s not necessary, you are suspended, get out of my office Jacob.”

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME. Cantillon Brabantiae, A Beer Born in 1989, Older Than Your Illegitimate Girlfriend.

Well as if yesterday’s review didn’t push things to absurd new levels, today we have a Cantillon one-off from 1989. You read that right. This was brewed to commemorate a king of Brabant, or a governor, or maybe someone who bought a Chevy Nova in Belgium, I forget the story. Some epic shit happened and Jean Van Roy made this to commemorate that instance. Maybe someone beat Metroid without using the freeze beam and Jean was like “Well fuck all that, I am making a gueuze to make sure everyone knows this went down.” The problem is, not many people were getting their jimmies rustled in 1989 for this style of beer, relative to today. So let’s drink it now, and see what the fuck the business is.

The label has that Walking Dead sort of gothic charm to it, like you know it went through some shit just to be opened on a random weeknight in America.

BroBrah
Brasserie Cantillon
Gueuze | 5.00% ABV

A: This beer needed the ginger touch of a latter day saint and had the fickle cork like the hymen of a finicky prom date. It took a solid 10 minutes to ease that thing out and guess what, 23 years later, a slight hiss emitted and CARBONATION was present. I was seriously surprised. I mean, not enough to pull some Tony Stewart victory spraying all over some white trash people in the south, but admirable. My glass had tons of strange residue and floaties, oak, yeast, cork, god knows what. No lacing, no head, no stems no seeds no sticks.

A blast from the past, that is surprisingly modern.

S: This is hands down the most amazing part of this beer. This reminds me of summer nights walking through musky warm orchards in Fresno, the humidity and tool shed dankness just palpable in the air. You get leather, musk, worn bicycle seat, weightlifting gloves, and crushed leaves. That shit all sounds horrible but in tandem, it is like liquid nostalgia that puts you on your ass with reverence. Go right now, open your old comics or Magic the Gathering ca- oh, you played sports? Well why the fuck are you reading this website? Go do some sports shit, you’re still in shape right?

T: I guess everything in this review needs to be qualified by the fact that this beer is old enough to drink itself. HOW META IS THAT. Anyway, you get a nice sharp acidity that lingers for a moment and subsides into a massive funk like old laundry that imparts this tangelo zest and yearbook paper. It is like being sublimated INTO a piece of the past. It isn’t the best or brightest gueuze ever, but it seriously delivers on that haunting aspect of the past note. I didn’t get any oxidation or dead hand control on this beer, it was still very drinkable and delicious, but it did remind me of dancing to Tony Rich Project in 7th grade.

This is old, musky, and you know some tawdry things went down up in this mix. So much AIM cybering.

M: This was dry and extremely dirty, if that is an apt adjective. There was this entire memory lane aspect to this beer that could not be denied. You ever get caught cleaning your room and you suddenly are looking through all your old Wizards and Nintendo Powers and- oh no? WELL THEN GO DO SOME SPORTS SHIT. This site isn’t for you.

D: This is not drinkable on long sessions. Go to a lake and think about the hottest person you ever kissed, think about the worst, take a picture in sepia, watch a grainy VHS tape of yourself as a paradigm of vanity and try and reconcile that self interested mess with the current person that you have become. Look the past in the face and embrace the Hegelian historical dialectic.

Can you ever really make a 21 year old gueuze relevant to anyone? Only on this site.

Narrative: “ALLLLLRIGHT! We need to ramp up production ten fold for the next fiscal quarter!” The Belgian overlord boomed into the loudspeaker. The Belgian factory workers, sticky with pulp and apple skins could scarcely understand the need for this. Much. Produce. One thin worker began to sob into the sorting machine as he pulled defective granny smiths from the line. “Adelbrecht! Show fortitude! For how else will those who have mild vitamin C needs get their apples? Will they be supplicated with your tears my dear Adelbrecht?” He nodded and thrust his jaw forward and wiped the acidic juice from his face. Little did they know, all of these apples were not for eating, but fermenting. Their hours of tedious labor would be pureed into a slurry of wasted dreams for the swill of mass communication and sociology majors. The grist of their labor would be ground, not unlike their dreams, into a putrid mash to be consumed near rivers by reluctant underaged girls. Adelbrecht’s efforts would be in vain. The past had come full circle, the punishment of the future would be realized on a daily basis, unending, with disaffected prejudice.

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Cantillon 50 Degrees North 40 Degrees East, Things Are Getting Geographic Real Quick

Bust out your compasses, we are going wale hunting in today’s review. As if slaying normal loonz isn’t enough, today we have a Cantillon one-off from 2007. The deal behind this beer is Jean Van Roy took his inimitable gueuze and found an incredible Cognac distillery and aged it for 2 years in barrels from that distillery. You know how membranes of a mitochondria fold in upon themselves to generate more ATP? That is what is going on here, except this is churning out purified RAR. Let’s get loonzy in today’s review.

I hope your harpoon is sharp, or your Paypal fishing vessel is well stocked.

Cantillon 50n4e
Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Gueuze | 7.00% ABV

A: The appearance of the beer is an almost tame affair. The golden hues of the normal gueuze are present albeit with a deeper golden aspect to it and minimal lacing. There’s very little carbonation but, at this point, I could give a fuck less about some carb issues. Go buy a Fantome or an Upland lambic and call it even after you clean the beer off your ceiling.

Cantillon one offs? You can only look like a total asshole asking for moar.

S: There’s a strange interplay of elements here, you get the classic musk and lemon zest from the Cantillon gueuze, but there’s a deep sweetness and caramel candy finish to the nose that wraps the two together like a candied granny smith apple with booze. The cognac seems to have faded a bit, but it feels like a more balanced product as a result.

T: The taste is an incredible Chimera of elements going on. At first the beer presents a tart acidity like a freshly cut grapefruit with some blood orange zest, then the e-brake is pulled and this shit flips faster than an Integra being driven by a 17 year old hmong kid. The beer magically turns into this sweet mellow golden aspect with tastes similar to caramel, toffee, macaroons, and a lingering boozy sweetness like brandy, or, more properly, cognac. This whole affair is strange, like making out with a beautiful asian girl and then finding out she is actually a beautiful Bolivian girl. You aren’t even mad, just confused as shit as to what is going on.

At a certain point, I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

M: The mouthfeel is dry and lingers with this swirling interplay of acidity and sweet baked biscuits. While the gueuze is disassembling your gumline, the sweet notes are reapply a sumptuous new ceiling on the roof of your mouth. Ultimately, your mouth becomes a public works project for strange ends.

D: This is not the most drinkable beer, even setting rarity aside. I really enjoyed it, but it is only fair to judge this against those that it shoulders ranks with. I personally enjoy Fou Foune and St. Lam much more than this “interesting” gem. If this Cantillon were on Match.com, all the sections would talk about how it does roller derby and has “such a great personality.” Don’t put a ring on it.

So they took this one thing and added it…to this other….thing….

Narrative: “Why are mommy and daddy fighting?” Baby Cognac wondered as she watched her parents tear apart their small abode. “OH OH OK THIS IS RICH! NOW IT’S….CAN I FINISH? LET ME FINISH!” Papa Gueuze was in one of his booze filled rages after a family outing. It had been chaos since they stepped into that Macaroni Grill and the din of excitement had now reached its sweet fever pitch. “Oh…SURE SURE….revert back to that, let’s focus on THAT ONE TIME AGAIN!” Mama Applezest was brandishing a large cutco knife and threatening no one in particular. Baby Cognac attempted to reconcile this hectic environment with her chaotic upbringing. No one wanted to visit, no one wanted to stay, but little cognac baby still had high hopes for later aging. She would get a pink VW Bug for her birthday to make up for the abuse living in that barrel of a home.

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Cantillon Fou Foune, Loonz Beside Me, Swerving Through Traffic with my Founes Behind Me

Enough killing off 2 liter growlers like Spaniards and Native Americans, time to get back to our Belgian roots. I don’t need to really say anything about this beer 1) it is Cantillon 2) it is their inimitable apricot fruited lambic, Fou Foune. People always get their stone fruits all juiced whenever this beer gets brought up, opened, or even discussed. I once took this to Cabo and drank it on the Tropic of Cancer, and it was an Italian bottle of Foune. So that means it went from Belgium, to Italy, to Ireland, to Florida, to California, to Cabo San Lucas. That beer is more well-traveled than most Americans from Alabama. Anyway, let’s get that juicy juice in today’s review:

Sipping Foune in Cabo, well this Friday now appears immeasurably shittier.

It’s like in Cold Mountain when Jude Law looks a pic of his long lost love and, wait what-

Fou Foune
Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 5.00% ABV

A: This has that classic turbid Cantillon straw meets orange juice sort of pulpiness to it, but the frothy carbonation seems inviting like a water park that is just clean enough to seem legit. The lacing is minimal but, did you really expect some massive frothy nitrogen head? You unrealistic bitch.

Send her an apricot lambic, girls be loving apricot lambics.

S: I can’t begin to tell you how amazing this beer smells just short of taking you to a Kentucky apricot orchard and rubbing sweet straw in your face. Maybe pull a Jansport backpack over your head, squeeze a bit of peach and crabapples onto your face, get things real tawdry up in this mix. That’s essentially the experience, but is it ever inviting. Some people like aging this, other haters just open it fresh and let God sort it all out. I have had both, EVEN ON DRAFT, and it is amazing regardless of circumstance.

T: This takes the old lactic base and musky wet leaves from the OG gueuze and dials things up a notch to a nice apricot meets acidity level that is impressive through and through. There’s an intense apricot skin and dryness that hits your gumline with nana’s peach preserves in town and light sort of biscuit quality that just gets its head held underwater mercilessly by the delicious acidity.

Fou is like an old friend who comes back from the past to warn you about a Founeless future.

M: This is crisp and dry like biting into a granny smith apple that happens to be coated in chardonnay and peach jam. The balance is incredible despite the excoriating acidity, and the 750 never lasts as long as you expect. I would suggest seeking some out but most trades for this beer are one way streets. It is an anomalous situation where people trade for Fou, but no one ever gives up a Foune. FEEL ME.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and will give you gurgle guts on par with the State Fair. But like the deep fried Pepsi, it is entirely worth it. This is a world class fruited lambic and it is better than Blabaer. I said it. I defy you to find someone who believes differently.

Running out of Foune is strangely disturbing.

Narrative: Kelly Chancery seemed sweet enough. She gave her friends rides to school in her lemon yellow Mini Cooper, never asked for gas money, and even tutored the water polo athletes due to their abject inability to circumscribe triangles. Deep down, she hated each and every one of them. At age 12 her parents sent her to a strict Belgian exercise summer camp. She was served nothing but overly ripe pitted fruits and engaged in vinegar diets and extensive cleanses. Her taste buds were so badly burned in the enterprise that she returned a jaded, bitter shell of herself, figuratively and literally. “Hey Taeler! Hop on it! Are those Rock N REPUBLIC!? OMG you are such a hot BITCH!” she quipped and stared down her brow as she grinded her mandible. The tiny convertible held 50 lbs of explosive materials and ammonia nitrate in the trunk. She sucked deeply onto her Lemon Sucrets and waited for that sour day that she would burn them all. Kelly Chancery only seemed sweet enough, she was sour to the core.

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Armand’4 Geuze Herfst (Fall), Dropping 32 euros on a bottle of beer Herfst so good.

How negligent can this website get? I reviewed Spring, Summer, and Winter of the Armand’4 series and straight up neglected to provide you with this banger: HERFST. Just so this is clear, here is how I would rank these Armand seasons: Zomer, Lente, Herfst, Winter. IN THAT ORDER. Well taking the bronze in such amazing company is nothing to be a sad panda about. Let’s get puckered in today’s review, for the geuze haters.

Love HERFST. Gueuze scars.

HERFST
Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Belgium
Gueuze | 6.00% ABV

A This has a huge generous billowing cloud of carbonation that is cummulus to the fullest. It is light orange at its center with light yellow and gold edges. It boasts a slightly unfiltered appearance. It’s like a 6 year old at CVS, you don’t want to touch him but you know he is a little sticky and filthy. The lacing is substantial as well, it leaves little party streamers on the edges of the glass with gracious aplomb.

With every season you expect a normal geuze, BUT THEN YOU GET AN AMAZING SUPER SOUR SOAKER. Dnt be fukn stpid Gooby.

S: Not surprisingly, it is stick and filthy. There are sour and sweet tart notes are blended with hints of granny smith apples underneath. I don’t want to go out on a limb but I am going to say a Skittle reduction is at play here. Compared to the other seasons, this has a funk and earthiness to it like the landscaping section of Home Depot. There is a great wet dog meets soggy alfalfa aspect that integrates with the acidity in a fantastic way.

T There is a pleasant sweetness for a split second with a latent backroundhouse to the bitter zones immediately thereafter. Its a sucker punch which leaves your mouth a bit dry but welcoming more if only for the strange assault. It’s like getting socked in the armpit, you aren’t mad youre just a little perplexed and glad it wasn’t worse. It provides a mild hop bite and this toes the line closer to an extremely funky saison but this provides an incredible acrimonious punch to the tart zones.

This is a huge beer, but small and restrained at the same time. It is a paradigm of delicate imbalance.

M: This is very light and dries in a refreshing fashion hitting that gumline deep and hard. It reminds you of an advanced cousin, the one who learned compound cussing earlier and gave you Too Short cassette tapes. Its like the tiny asian fighter who you underestimate who delivers fast swift blows that disorient and surprise your mouth. It is clean, crisp and damaging to your bitter zones. It is concurrently musty, funky, and also coats with a nice wheaty aspect to it.

D: This style is in my opinion fantastic for hot weather and, if you have some water on hand, a great companion outdoors on the beach or a boat. If you like very mild lagers then you will disagree but then you are also a raging pacifist and it is unclear how you ended up reading this review in the first place. The juiciness and earthiness of this perfectly captures the spirit of fall: straddling the heat and acidity of Zomer with the somber earthy tones of Winter.

32 euros PLUS shipping from Belgium? This is why we can’t have nice things.

Narrative: 47 years of service. Francine Manzana gave that caramel apple pop company the best years of her life and she was terminated “for cause” for reading a Patricia Cornwell novel when she wasn’t clocked out. Francine wasn’t going to take this lying down. She knew the secret behind the tartness in those pops, and she had full intention on taking this issue public. With her box of belongings from her desk she strode over to the quality control center only to find that Loretta was out. “I will make them feel the tart bitterness of abandonment, just like they showed me.” With a few calibrations she reset the dials and the mixture began running an entirely new batch of Caramel Apple pops through the line. Her acidic personality boiled inside with a deep complexity. She stared at her spiteful reflection in the bubbling pool of acidic green glucose. The wafts of the additional citric acid stung her eyes and nostrils. Francine smiled and tossed her mystery novel into the simmering goo, for she had an unemployment officer to speak to.

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New Glarus R and D Gueuze, S you in your A’s, don’t wear a C, and J all over your B’s

A gueuze? From Wisconsin? Let me hold your horses for you, because I know everyone is gonna get all up in arms about how this is only a “belgian style” imitation of a “real gueuze” and all the trappings that come with that madness. Take a deep breath. I know, this isn’t a blend of three different years of lambic, shhh, hush. People in the midwest need nice things too, so let’s just proceed under the impression that this awesome beer can be called a gueuze, everyone wins in today’s review.

Do you enjoy fine print on your beer bottles? Well sir, you are in luck.

New Glarus Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.20% ABV

1,900 bottles
Brewed March 24, 2009
Bottled August 6, 2010

Brewed in the tradition of the Lambics of Belgium but using a blend of Ale Yeast, Brettanomyces, Lactobacillus, Pediococcus, and Acetobacter. These microorganisms came from our culture collection as well as many collected by Dan around the wilds of Wisconsin! Fermented and aged in Oak. This beer spent the summer of 2009 aging outdoors in used oak barrels, then bottle fermented.

A: The glass has a strange murkiness to it with a clear yellow hue and fluffy white lacing. It is more carbed than I was expecting for the style but, no complaints resounded through the mahogany walls. You’d probably like a picture of the pour right? Well too damn bad, I took that pic with a Blackberry, you’re lucky those janky things even had a camera at all.

This is a blend of some familiar aspects of different styles, but the result is still equally bad ass.

S: There is a tart Ginger ale smell to it. It is not exactly acerbic, but it is certainly sour. Is it the most sour Belgian offering that I have come across? No. But it is not disappointing. There are small bubbles that break and cascade artfully like a Rubens painting. This is just one note granny smith apples, not exceptionally funky or complex, but as refreshing as puppy chow when those Social Security checks run out.

T: Again, this is not overly tart but it has a great grape skin quality to it. There is an element of mild drying some white grape on the finish, but redundancy is redundant. There’s not that big doghouse musk to it that I look for in funky gooezy oferings, but the tartness and acidic lemon zest aspects make this wild ale pretty enjoyable, just not altogether a “gueuze” per se.

My face when this beautiful wild ale hit my glass, straight cowabunga.

M: After the mellow “gueuze” taste, which was more pedio with a slight acidity (read: not gueuze) it mellowed out into this thin, wispy crackling Pan that enchanted the nostrils more than the palate. It doesn’t coat, it doesn’t dry, it just rolls in, hangs out for 4 seconds and then peaces out, leaving its card on your Ikea coffee table. That is all.

D: Given the fact that this beer is so non-commital, it is a great Bachelorette Contestant, but it is a substandard gueuze. I don’t feel that this imparts enough to be worth the effort to obtain it. This is a great beer but trades for much higher than it imparts. You could land a Tilquin or a 3F Oude Gueuze and be all set. Take it with a grain of salt but this is not my favorite representation of the style and there must be a BETTER WAY. But seriously, I don’t feel like paying Lexus premiums for a Prius. This is good, just not as good as the hype would declare.

It would take a hell of a lot of gueuze to get you to this level, usually you are doubled over in a different position.

Narrative: “I like the pink room next to the PURPLE ROOOO-” The new season of the Bad Girls Club would be taxing on Jeremiah’s nerves, for another 3 months. It wasn’t the girls, it wasn’t running the camera, it was just the incessant vapid statements that pulled him limb from limb. “I’m just saying like, not even gonna lie, if someone ever, ok let’s just say, no one can run this place-” He counted the subordinate phrases, not a single statement to be derived from entire sentence. The sweetness of the premise, the light tartness of the girls in passing conversation, and the smell of chardonnay throughout the house was welcoming. “OH NO SHE DI’NT! I AM FINNA SHOW HER WHAT TIME IT ISSSS!!!” but ultimately, this offering was not a show at all really, it was a conglomerate of other base emotions melded into a single unerring gaze through fake eyelashes and colored contact lenses.