Category Archives: hops

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Kern River Pumpkin Ale, Get Smashed on Some Pumpkins in Today’s Review

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I know what you are thinking “PUMPKIN BEER? Where the hell is the Citra review no one we have been waiting for?” Well to tithe you over, put on your skanky Halloween costume and enjoy this pumpkin jam.

Halloween in June, Ring a ding ding.

Kern River Brewing Company, Pumpkin Ale, 6% abv

BONUS PIC, here’s where I got this beer from:

Pics or it didn’t happen.

A: This beer looks almost like a pilsner but with a bit of an orange hue to it, tons of tiny bubbles provide a nice lacing that subsides almost immediately. The biscuit clarity leaves a sort of cornbread meets golden hue melange.

zabba with the pumpkin and the Rudy and the Bakersfield JELLOOOOO

S: There is a hint of pumpkin sweetness, a touch of cinnamon, and a dash of allspice. Those are to be taken quite literally because the nose of this beer is not an autumnal overload. It is reminiscent of fall in the same way that backpacks are, in a muted roundabout manner.

T: The taste lacks all the charm of the nose and instead offers up a crisp moderate sweetness that fades almost immediately into a mild hoppy character. This isn’t the pumpkin blast that some other offer up, nor is it the spice overload that other fall beers take either. In sum, the tastes is almost like an adjunct lager with some hints of cinnamon and pumpkin zest.

Most pumpkin beers are completely derivative, this one stands out beyond all the allspice and nutmeg sex that is usually going on.

M: This is mildly bready but the notes fade quickly and leave just a tame hop profile and some allspice in your mouth. It is underwhelming and feels like the pumpkin was added as an afterthought to an existing blonde.

D: This is incredibly drinkable, but any low abv beer without an aggressive profile will be drinkable. Ultimately this just fails to deliver in the aspect that it most heavily touts: making with the punkin. If Final Fantasy 7 bragged all day long about the Knights of the Round materia, put it on the box, and made it seem like it was an integral part of the game, people would be pissed. The average person doesn’t want to breed black chocobos all day and when I am promised pumpkin and given watery cinnamon, I bid the beer adieu. I say good day sir.

This beer is a bit wacky, yet intriguing at the same time.

Narrative: “I think you know why I called this meeting, Royce” Mr. Wallerson boomed while staring out the floor to ceiling glass windows, gazing out upon the dirt lot across the street. “Sir? I, uh that is, not exactly-” “ROYCE, when I hired you as our logistics systems analyst, you knew that we had a multifaceted resort to build, did you not?” “Yes, yes sir but I don’t see-” “AND, in the course of your duties, where did you infer that buying and storing mashed pumpkin slurry was somehow a requisite to this position?” Royce exhaled ruefully and realized that the jig was up. “I just, I always” “YOU ALWAYS WHAT? It’s just always customary to keep rotting pumpkin bits in your desk? That’s just part of the job description? Well here I have the employee manual that you were provided and it rea-” Royce stood up and clenched his fists and stared a white hot gaze right through Mr. Wallerson. His gaze was so intense that it stopped him dead in his tracks. “Yes sir, it was my secret, you know what ISN’T A SECRET? Pumpkins are a part of the Cucurbita family, they contain potassium and vitamin A, and they were once recommended for removing freckles and snake bites. SURE, everyone knows that. You know what everyone DOESN’T know? That you have sex with the HR rep assistant on a bi-weekly basis.” Royce stared down his brow and walked intently over to Mr. Wallerson’s desk. “So unless you want some more pumpkin facts: why don’t you stay the fuck away from my desk.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some mushy, lukewarm pumpkin sludge and placed it on the desk on top of the Employee Handbook and walked calmly out of the room.

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

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

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

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

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

Triple IPAs are like mashing out on greens so hard.

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

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

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

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

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

Tripel IAPS? Gooby pls.

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

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

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

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

Alpine Bad Boy, 9.5% abv, Double IPA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cigar City, Jai Alai, IPA, 7.5% abv

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is incredibly familiar, maybe a little too familiers.

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

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Avery Maharaja Double IPA, Hoppy Kisses from a Stern Sultan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Terrapin Sun Ray Wheat Beer, An Evil Genius From Georgia Has Constructed a Sun Death Ray- in Ale Form.

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I like Terrapin. I am not the biggest fan of hefs. So who will win this tug of war? Maybe people from hot humid ass areas know how to work that wheat stalk? It worked for Live Oak, let’s see if they can bust some thistles in today’s review.

Buy a Tool poster, some incense, move to Athens, Georgia and get hella into toasting wheat.

Terrapin Beer Company
Georgia, United States
Hefeweizen | 4.50% ABV

A: Cloudy tangerine color, nice radiance to it, looks like Hi-C but with murkiness to it. Carbonation could use some work and the lacing is non-present but, for the style, that’s not a deal breaker. Again, it is like a sun ray in a glass, but the sun can also burn your eyes during a lunar eclipse so, there’s also that.

When I first popped open this bottle the radiance emerged, blasting my corneas to dust. The sun doesn’t fuck around.

S: Tons of nectarines and tangerines, a bit of a chemical tartness detected, but that could be from a variety of things. Obviously a huge wheat profile with biscuity cornbread notes. If you’ve been the hef rodeo, this is a solid bull that will get up on your orange haunches and give you a solid buck to your wheatstones.

T: The initial taste is sweet like a tangerine with a bit of orange hidden at the back, it fades into a foamy wheat profile that is expected but what really is noteworthy is the way that it just resonates for days with a genuine citrus note. This isn’t a citra/simcoe false citrus, this is like they actually squeezed it into the beer or something and it is really fantastic. This is a bit chewier than I desire for the style but that’s not to say that this is some malt bomb by any means.

A sun beer for people who are constantly punished by the sun. The irony of nature is not lost on me.

M: I love the way the feel coats but just exits like a 7th grade drama student, promptly but making a lot of noise off stage. The juicy notes just sustain like a telecaster note. The hops are incredibly subtle as though they are a kinda of a negligent babysitter letting the citrus profile just run rampant. Overall, very accomplished wheat beer. Particularly since I find this style to be shallow and pedantic.

D: This is incredibly drinkable. I can only assume that they sell this in the south in no smaller than 30 packs given how fast it can be consumed on a hot day. I don’t even own a Mustang 5.0, but drinking this beer makes me want one to work on. I don’t even have to be doing anything, just lay under a mid-80’s mustang with this beer complaining about corporate fat cats. It’s that kind of crisp refreshness.

If you take down about 9 of these, you will feel like a complete hard ass, but then again, if you take down 9 hefs in session, you are probably an overweight Sigma Kappa anyway.

Narrative: Walter Burrs was the sweatiest turtle in the Splishy Wallows. His course obese hide spilled through the furroughs of his shell. “Hey….:::wheeze:: hey fellas…how’s the algae bed today?” The others groaned as he pushed his wide carapace in between them. “Whew, hot one out there today!” he bemoaned his thick fat terrapin breasts rubbing against the face of his peers. “Even the algae is warm” his sticky plastron rubbed against the others, making them exceedingly uncomfortable. “God damnit, it isn’t even hot! Why is he such a sticky fat bastard?” “Myommm nom nom” he exhaled while swallowing, his brow wet with a sticky, acidic sweatiness, his mouth covered in wheat grainy goodness. “Later we should go to the rive-zzzzz” he sticky hot breath billowed across the group as he passed into a grain coma.

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Hill Farmstead, What is Enlightenment? If not the Process of a Lager Being Lightened?

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Alright, I took a week off to go hit up Cabo to learn about the beer culture down there and I am back on my grizzy with something as far away from Cabo as it gets in the Western Hemisphere, some down home enlightenment in today’s post. What is the nature of enlightenment? Isn’t that the age where the oppression from a liturgical society was cast off? Didn’t it promote science and intellectual interchange and oppose superstition, intolerance and abuses in church and state. Other haters say “oh that shit went down about 1650 to 1700, it was sparked by philosophers Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677), John Locke (1632–1704), Pierre Bayle (1647–1706), physicist Isaac Newton (1643–1727), and philosopher Voltaire (1694–1778).” But fuck all that, today we figure out what enlightenment REALLY IS, for the haters.

Schopenhauer straight creepin on my Enlightenment. He just wants to Will that mouth up on this Representation.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Pale Ale (APA) | 5.40% ABV

A: Alright, let’s try to be impartial here, every one knows about my past love affair with this rural gemstone quarry turning out hop bombs and barrel blasters on the reg. But the beer appears directly to style and comfortably shoulders next to Zombie Dust and Hoppy Birthday with that beautiful clarity and foamy radiance that you have come to expect from infant bath time and amazing APAs. The lacing is substantial, it just gets everywhere like when slimer gets blasted on by a proton pack. The legs look nice but I think the time in the growler may have tamed it a bit so you can put that on my set, I GUESS.

At first I thought this beer was too complicated, but as I continued on, the nuances showed themselves and entirely new concerns arose.

S: There’s an amazing sweet citrus without a huge bitterness to the backend that just screams grapefruit, lemon rind, apricot, and pineapple jams. The pine and other harrowing aspects that nudge their way into APA’s is gone, thank god, so no mountainous shit ruins this experience, just you and a lovely fruit hoptail to enjoy at your leisure. Where was this beer when I was draining Modelos hardcore during the entire last week? Thousands of miles away? Oh ok, cool, just peeping out the scene.

T: The taste doesn’t go aggro on the hops or the fruit aspect. You open the door and see a nice compact edible arrangement of hops and fruit assiduously arranged on your doorstep with a nice bottle of water to refresh your palate. Enough equivocating and circumlocution: This beer is refreshing. It isn’t the depths of free press or a direct challenge to the sans culottes, but it washes away clean with a nice tinge of fruits of the Tropical Skittles variety, except not derived from sucrose, just pure pineapple, mango, guava goodness from hop oils. The whole finish washes away clean in more of a shallow pantheism than the full spectrum of intellectual depths of say, Heidegger, but who has ever found Being and Nothingness refreshing? Fucking no one.

When a brewery half asses something, you can tell immediately, such is not the case here.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and clean, imparts a nice watery tone that transfers into a mild hoppy stickiness and before you know it, the pleasure is over and it is time for the tip. Again, this cannot be construed as a diss when it is brewed exactly to style and shows such extreme balance and punishing hoppiness like the first three Ninja Gaiden games. This is a real good beer and, for the style, def in my top 5 APAs, hell make it top 3, but I am trying to be fair and balanced here.

D: Does anyone remember when Ford released the Taurus SHO and shit got nuts real quick? You take a balanced base and then push it to the limits with amazing (Yamaha/Vermont) craftsmanship and here we are. I am trying to go half throttle not to drain this old chestnut instantly but that’s how these forays into Vermont always seem to go. As I type this, my growler is gone, and I still feel like i can go kayaking or play handball, and that’s how I know the APA is working, maximum flavor without the beastly DIPA withdrawals. If Ephraim is a 911 Turbo, this is Hill Farmstead’s Lotus Elise.

It’s the smooth comfort of a well-done pale ale that comforts in a softly aggressive manner.

Narrative: The local islanders did not want to cause alarm to N’thraiku’s parents, but it was clear that something was a bit off with the archipelago youth but at a certain point you just have to call it out. N’thra stood a stately 1.5m tall at his tenth birthday, however, his triceps bulged with cuts almost .5m around. He assiduously scampered up trees and claimed even the highest hanging fruit, beyond the dietary needs of the tribe. “N’thra! COME!” the village elder, K’traikai called. “N’th, you have shown great discipline, but, seriously, you look like a bent tuning fork, let’s calm the aggressive climbing down a bit, ok?” N’thra kicked some of the obsidian black sand in front of him and looked far in the distance to the dormant fire God for solace. “I mean, sure we all enjoy local treats but, you need to ratchet it back some, we have way more almendra than anyone can eat-” suddenly N’th reached and crushed a balata in his palm and swung like a child’s swing in between his massive arms. The message was delivered loud and clear, N’th was going to keep reaping fruit, getting jacked, and juicing; dietary habits be damned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impressive. (C:/run_notracist.exe)

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

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

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

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

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Fantome Saison, The Original Belgian Incorporeal Gangster Clapping Funky Stacks Like Rack City

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This was the first Fantome that I ever tried and it changed the game for me and saisons. This beer took artistic license and made it clear that old saisons aint nothin to fuck wit. Anyway, I love this brewery, their saisons open up my ghost trap and get my pK meter blasting off the charts. Just don’t cross my streams.

Glassware fail, as usual. I have been pining for a Fantome glass since back when the Fantome ghost was in a corporeal form.

Brasserie Fantôme
Belgium
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 8.00% ABV

A: Huge grapefruit juice hues, great tiny bubbles, and archipelago lacing rounds out this beer. It has a solid pineapple and orange juice hue with murkiness to it that enhances the glow. Some people complain about the inconsistent nature of this beer but every. single. bottle that I have ever had of this beer had rocked a serious ghost erection through and through.

The ghost will wreck you and embrace you like Bruce Willis in the 6th sense AT THE SAME TIME.

S: There’s huge Belgian spice, nutmeg, clove, and almost brettanomyces funkiness to it. It almost has a wet cardboard muskiness to it. A bit of tartness on the finish that makes this both complex and interesting. There’s some nice fruits like granny smith apples, white grape, and tangelo. This ghost gets all up in your faceholes.

T: Wow, this is unlike any of the other musky spicey saisons that I have previously encountered. This almost has a wild ale character to it. The initial taste is a sweet biscuity hefe taste with some honey notes, the spices kick in and give it the taste of a tart apple baked good. I love the incredible funky sour finish. It is really impressive for the style and imparts an incredible citrus note at the end. As it warms you get some white grapes and tropical fruits. I could drink this all day long and the abv is hidden like a funk ninja.

I WANT MOER THES SO BAED!

M: It has a great murkiness that expands with a funky wheat tone. The coating isn’t overly aggressive but its has a great wheat profile that expands into a biscuity chewiness. Just like all the other foamy carbonation superbikes, this Fantome imparts a huge foamy peelout that is satisfying.

D: I initially was not a huge fan of this style but I must tip my hat and admit concessions to this amazing saison. I gave this to my girlfriend and she noted that it was “pretty good” which is the equivalent of a gold star on her scale. I could give this to any, single, person and rest assured that he or she would enjoy it immensely. The universal appeal is off the scale. I am perpetually in search of Fantome gems.

Santa knows how to fucking rage it. If you have Fantomes in your fridge, you can rally so hard.

Narrative: Lakitu loved the cloud life. Day in day out, tossing refreshing spined monsters down upon the earth. “HEY THERE OLD LAKITU! STILL RUINING PEOPLE’S SHIT?” Lakitu gave a knowing nod and proceeded to throw a spiked beast from 300 feet shattering the small dry cleaning business below. Some would say “hey lakitu, why not just be a refreshing cloud, you know, water the crops and all?” Maybe for a standard refreshing cloud, but Lakitu was born with bite. His acidic temperament fueled his anger and made it rain, not unlike Yung Dro in an Atlanta strip club; notwithstanding instead of dollars it was hateful monsters showered upon the masses below. Life could be worse, you could be an asshole like that Bullet Bill.

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Finch’s Beer Company, Cut Throat Pale Ale, Pale Ale Competition is Fierce These Days.

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Here’s a nice herbal gem from Chicagoland. I know, the silver can, the hops presence, you get your jimmies all rankled thinking this is gonna be like Heady Topper.

Spoiler Alert: It isn’t.

I wouldn't cut a convicted rapists throat for this beer. Maybe a ponzi scheme engineer or the inventor of pop-under ads.

Finch’s Beer Company
Illinois, United States
American Pale Ale (APA) | 5.50% ABV

So you crack this open and it pours a little more amber and deep orange than I like my (negative -I) PA’s. But hey, the lacing is there and the can looks pretty legit so I continue. At first blush the smell seems legit and there’s a slight Brazilian food cart fruitiness to it but then, wait a second, you get a juniper, that same herbal aspect that reminds you of the bushes your older brother pushed you into, the one with the wasp nest. Then it’s maple leaves and yard trimmings. Things went awry quickly here.

The taste begins with a watery crescendo and I suddenly wonder how many lawns there are to mow in Joliet and then BAM! LEAVES. So this is decidedly a fall beer for imposed labor in the form of raking, not a lawnmower beer. It isn’t necessarily a pale and switch, but I was expecting something gentle and instead you get water and a deep floral aspect. I wanted some juicy juice, instead I got a nature hike, the kind where you get your no no touched.

The Verdict: better than other pale ale offerings, but don’t give up a pack of KOOLs to lock this down in the pen.

When you can, opt for the Super Swiss, don't eat babbies.