Category Archives: imperial porter

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Arcadia Bourbon Barrel Aged Shipwreck Porter, For When Your Life is a Total Shipwreck

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So you take a porter, completely rape the style and boost it to a staggering 12% abv and then put it in a bourbon barrel and the beer nerd kids get all half chub, then you add some wax to it and the beerection is so hard that a kitten’s claws couldn’t scratch it.

When this thing breaches your hull, you're going down.

Man, this beer was a huge pain in the ass to open. They went for the 6 coats of wax option and I sure worked up a hunger for 360 calories of beer after going through that shit. IRREGARDLESS, notwithstamping the formgoing, the beer-

Arcadia BA Shipwreck Porter, 12% abv, Baltic Porter

A: Ah imperial porters, always a hazy venn diagram for beer nerds to debate about Imperial Stouts and other very pressing style classification issues. This has a nice water inkiness that produces a night frothy mocha head, but I’ve definitely heard this one before, more specifically it is a porter through and through in body and spirit. It is candid in a “did the neighbors see us through the window” sort of fashion. Straight up porter blood, no B’s and C’s.

For some people, barrel aged porters complete them, these people need an ottervention.

S: The nose of this beer has a nice toffee and brown sugar note to it that reminds me of a honey ham glaze with a nice oaky finish. The chocolate dallies in like a fat kid in PE class, but eventually makes it there. Very nice smell to it and I sure wish I landed more than just one of these but, then again, I have enough to take down as is.

T: This has a fantastic initial sweetness like a butterscotch kiss from See’s Candy, a nice boozy heat to the middle, and then a gentle chocolate coffee finish as a nightcap to the sip. I am liking this style more and more ever since Hill Farmstead went and fucked my world up with Birth of Tragedy, but this is an amiable substitute. As a side note, I paired this with a tuna melt and the two parties could not be reconciled, it tasted like shit all the way through on both sides like a Family Law case. So, dont pair this with fish, is what I am saying, or maybe don’t get divorced, I GUESS.

Sometimes just a little barrel aging is all it takes to turn that liverfrown upside down.

M: The thing I love about Imperial Porters is that you know exactly what you are getting: a ton of flavor and very mild filling and coating on the interior surfaces. That’s a Home Depot joke for all the painting contractors. Moreover, this beer washes clean and after just 12oz you start feeling it and watching iCarly seems like an acceptable thing to do.

D: For the huge bourbon presence and sweetness, this beer still gets a high marking in drinkability for its versatility, small format, and sheer deliciousness index. I would recommend giving this to a sorority girl and shaking your head ruefully when her palate rejects it forthright. This is a gentleman’s drink, to be consumed on boat decks with passing ironic references to the title. Again, BA imperial porters aren’t all over the place so this is a great one to spread around.

Some people think imperial porters are a weak substitute for the real ultra kush imperial stouts. I see them as something altogether different.

Narrative: Devin Worthington threw his back out at work. Well, to be more specific, he was reaching for a Payday in the vending machine and torqued his C-2 vertebrae, but that’s splitting hairs. After the first two days of watching endless daytime dramas and Court TV he began on a new venture: shipbuilding, in bottles. At first glance, the old impossible bottle schtick seemed like something you’d see in a glass case next to a wooden wolf carving or perhaps a beanie baby collection in a finely appointed trailer. However, his new passion called for a tiny nautical lifestyle and he put a pot of Progresso clam chowder on the stove to celebrate this ambitious undertaking. The manuals set forth the traditional mast raising technique from inside the bottle, but fuck that, Devin wasn’t some land loving labia, he wanted the real deal: mini-long handed tools. The epoxy got all over the inside of the bottle and his expensive tools proved as useless as his disability checks. When he sobbed over breaking a tiny balsawood mast, he knew his life was the real shipwreck.

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Péché Mortel (Imperial Stout Au Cafe), Stout Imperialism at Its Finest

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Alright time for some good old fashioned stout abuse, another top 100 beer, and more ways to write “this has a coffee taste” in fun and inventive ways.

Peche Mortel, Total Immortel.

Peche mortel, Brassiere, Imperial Stout 9.5% abv

A: The appearance has deep dark hues with no transparency, just a hateful oily darkness that abuses like a NASCAR loving husband. However, the coating relents a bit and there’s frothy mocha lacing that adheres to the glass longingly. Give up lacing, it is time to move on.

Satanic Cups of Coffee

S: There is a huge coffee aroma and burnt smoky notes preside with a bit of chocolate; it is clear that coffee is the main event here, and additional complexity is overwhelmed in this discussion. Not a word in from sweetness, edgewise or otherwise.

T: The nice bit of cocoa on the front is quickly chloroformed and dragged away by the coffee censors. There is a huge dryness from the hops and coffee overpower the sweet notes. This beer could use a bit more maltiness but it helps to keep the crispness of the coffee forward. I guess if you had a kick ass office, a negligent boss, or a drunk supervisor, this could pass as a morning beverage. DONT FORGET TO READ THE OSHA POSTERS.

This beer is a little too sweet, makes me question its intentions.

M: Again, the coffee and roasted notes just overwhelm and it makes it a bit of a one trick pony. Sadly you want more complexity, but what is there, is done fairly well, like a Gallagher comedy show. Except less racist.

D: Sadly, there’s just too much drying and acidity from the coffee notes to make this any form of a session beer. It has its place for three months of the year as a classy respite, but beyond that, it’s tough to really give it a direct nod of approval. This can be the ski lodge wench with fair skin that burns easily. The pale barista that serves you on a daily basis, provided the day is blustery and depressing as a gulag. That kind of barista.

It's like a childhood pleasure with a strange twist.

Narrative: She is wearing the green apron with the six pieces of flair again, it must be Thursday. Don’t look, damnit, you always look at her directly in the eyes before you are even to the register, idiot. Just examine the unhealthy, overpriced baked goods. Nice, now she’s not on to your schemes. Don’t order the same thing like you always do idiot. Naked Juice? No, she will think you are a pervert. Right, strike up a conversation about that captain entendre. Could you have put on a nicer shirt to go out to a café? You know she only comes home from school for winter session and this is the only time you have to see her each year. This year Reggie, this is your season, you will woo “What can I get you?” oh, think think, stack adjectives, describe something, she’s looking! “A frap, drip, uh vanilla soy…” “Latte?” “Yeah. That’s chill” “You want it chilled?” “No, I meant uh like, the adjective phrase, I mean, hot I want a hot latte.” Well, could that have gone any worse you idiot? “Adjective phrase?” why not just go slam your dick in a car door. Her breath smelled of redolent fresh coffee grounds and her eyes sparkled a deep mocha. Now it is all ruined. That is, until next winter session, when she returns, for your grasp. “What size?” “Oh uh, grasp, I mean, holdable, uh Vent…venti” Nevermind, you wont be grasping anything but coffee you needledick.

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Hill Farmstead The Birth of Tragedy, Apollonian vs Dionysian and Everyone getting Twisted

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Thus Spoke Aleathurstra

Ok so what’s the deal with this asshole? Well it’s the imperial version of an already badass porter, Twilight of the Idols. It is named after a Nietzsche work, it has bourbon, coffee, and a nice alcoholic heat to it. It’s like they read my diary.

Hill Farmstead Birth of Tragedy, 11% abv, Imperial Porter aged in bourbon barrels

A: The appearance has that classic imperial porter sheen to it, like the coat of an alcoholic panda bear. Black and slick in all the right places, it beckons to slippery asphalt and car crashes that New Englanders no doubt survived in obtaining this succulent potation. As a side note, my bottle had hardly any cabronation, wah wah, here comes the wahhhmbulance ready to pick some nits.

Ok ok, bourbon barrel aged porter, let's settle down.

S: This has a crazy powerful bouquet that smells like melted chocolate, toffee, boozy vanilla extract, and a mild hint of bourbon heat. There is a sweetness that is perfectly balanced by mild alcoholic heat, just like your old bus driver.

T: This is an incredible porter and I know that I ride this brewery’s jock like its jock will soon be discontinued, but it’s really that good. Top 5 porter and guess what, one of the other spots is held by, that’s right Barrel Aged Everett. I can’t get over this brewery, like the haughty 14 year old girl, who just wont accept that her 22 year old boyfriend wasn’t really in love with her. Ok so, it has a nice sweetness that enters and has a set allowing the alcohol waft to permeate and suddenly you forget that you are at a drive in, then a mild coffee pick me up before the bourbon mellows it all out. Just ridiculously pleasant, koala foot massage pleasant.

Just. Want. More Sick Porters.

M: It is thin, like a porter should be, no fat ass imperial stouts up in this mix. It is just light and coats just enough to be rewarding but then hammers its point home. The alcohol is like a stage director in all black watching every movement, making sure that the pilgrim chocolate kids dont miss their entry cues. Holy mixed metaphors.

D: This is incredibly drinkable, I am trying to tame myself from powering through the entire 500ml bottle with little success. It is thin, hot, and sweet, oh wait here’s a patently obvious female entendre. Nope, keeping it classy here. It is totally drinkable and I wish it came in sick sixers or at least tall boys to take up to the lake. PSYCHE. This beer is meant for hearths and post skiing discussions, luge comparisons and other highbrow Vermontean prose.

Do want more.

Narrative: “Existing within the framework entitles you to undeserved, awkward sexual interactions. That is the nature of a collegiate degree” the professor boomed to the teeming auditorium. His teaching methods were unorthodox but shattered the line between biology, psychology, and will to power. “You see, this is the only time that your biological willing will be in comport with the acquiescence with your biological counterpart.” Several students shifted in their chairs and looked left and right, largely Asians and Latter Day Saints. “The supple and demean curve hits its apex at precisely 20 years of age. It is at that age that alcohol enters a golden period of divine inspiration of inhibition where each person may assert the fulfillment of the Dionysian condition while still feeling confident in the missteps guided by the Apollonian age. You will have sex, it will be terrible, but it will be compulsory.” A scandinavian girl had seen enough and left promptly. “You see, all of dark willing is urging, and that is controlled ultimately by a tempering of the passions, and 20 years old is the exact age when both sides meet in a murky confrontation of rationalized bad decisions. It is in this moment that you will be the most alive, the most willing, and consequently the most powerful. You will never receive as much affection, as easily, as everlastingly as this year of your life my college juniors.” The student body began to look left and right with much trepidation and embarrassment. As much as his homework made little sense, the handjobs were rough and undeserved, the kisses pounding and syncopated. It would take the purchase of a Dodge Challenger and countless dates to recapture the ethos that was ejaculated into the air of that auditorium that day. “Only then, will you all become ubermensch. Now, go make out.” Class dismissed.

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Dry Dock Urca Vanilla Porter, Sweeter than Bieber’s Baby Mama

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I think I am getting an Urca just looking at this pic.

Dry Dock Brewing, Urca Vanilla Porter, 5.3% abv

A: The appearance is a deep mahogany with a really watery character, wishy washy soapy lacing, with some rub a dub dub mocha to it.

S: This beer has a waft of almond, a huge vanilla sweetness like a Starbucks next to a Strip Club, and a mild coffee finish. The experience is sweet and fulfilling, like the first time you heard Ashton and Demi were getting a divorce. Ahh, refreshing.

Just whispering some sweet vanilla sloth nothings into your ear.

T: The taste is sweet with a sticky vanilla bean at the forefront that slowly fades into a coffee and chocolate finish, a bit of acidity at the end washes away this beer like the taste of koala tears. Don’t act like I am the only one.

M: This is very watery and the the body is thinner than than Mila Kunis’s STAGE THEATER CREDITS, you see, expectations, this beer defies them. The sweetness and thin body make this difficult to stomach, its like a cinnamon roll with too much frosting, not enough roll. This would be an awesome additive to pour in a bigger stout and breakdown into two awesome vanilla stouts, it’s like King Theseus’s ship, but with an alcoholic engineer.

The sweetness and vanilla overload make me feel like a decadent fat ass.

D: The body is thin, the taste is ridiculously sweet, and it leaves you feeling like you made out with a dental hygienist who loves vanilla ice cream. Like, “keeps it at work” level of love. It tries hard and presents something new but, its like a big sword with a tiny handle, it needs some maltiness to comes to grips with itself, badumtish.

Narrative:

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Alesmith 100% Barrel Aged Speedway Stout, Modding out my Integra So Hard Right now.

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Ok, if you are in a store and for some reason they have the 750 bottle release on the right, just remember it is worth 15 times as much as the one on the left.

Alesmith, Speedway Stout 100% Barrel Aged, 2009, 12% abv, some more top 100 beer bullshit, just another day in the life of a god damn middle manager.

A: This has a slick BP disaster look to it, without all the deceased marine life. It isn’t pitch black but imparts some nice deep mahogany notes to the edges, like a hardened cop with a heart of gold you somehow impart a sense of trust in this stout that despite his over character flaw evidenced 14 minutes in, he will make it all right after 90 minutes in your life. Also, nice lacing, tiny bubbles, coffee stickiness, and other things people don’t read.

S: This is coffee acidity, to a huge degree. Also entering the fray is a serious boozy profile that apparently hasn’t had the shithead weathered out of it after 2 years in an oak barrel. It isn’t as recalcitrant as the new Dark Lords, but it still is rambunctious enough to be bothersome. However, some nice bourbon and oak notes finalize the experience and you give it an approving nod into your club, aka YOUR MOUTH, where all the action takes place infra.

Coffee so hard, all up in my nosepiece.

T: Fast forward 3 seconds from the smell to the tasting, first one to show up to your sick rager is coffee, oh wait but he brought, acidity, and then, his other boy coffee, and then toffee. You don’t judge but things seem a little unbalanced in here, oh wait then his crazy friend chocolate shows up doing magic tricks and making observational comedy references. Everyone is put at east with a nice coffee walnut finish: your BA speedway house party is officially underway.

M: This coasts like a bucket of Sherwin Williams. I don’t mean in the way when you hire day laborers either. It coats like if people who cared painted your mouth with coffee and bourbon. We all know how much that costs IN REAL LIFE so this is a welcome reprieve.

I had to trade 7 bottles to land this one stupid ass bottle. Then I shared it with 7 people. So the butthurt is flowing so hard.

D: As much as I want to hometown and keep the drive strong for this amazing beer, this is certainly its weakest point. I can’t in good faith say that I would crack 2009 BA stouts all day while at Havasu doing sick broesque things. Then again, is that the target market? Notwithstanding, this tires a bit after a solid 12oz just due to the complexity and rampaging coffee and toffee double team on your bitter and sweet zones. Enough is enough the tongue declares insouciantly.

Narrative: Kicked out of the racing academy. Well, at least that is what he told his parents that his tuition checks were going to. The truth is that Chase Worthington was never attending a racing school in Temecula. He accepted “tuition” checks from his parents every 5 months and even in the summer session for modding his sick 2001 Mercury Cougar for drag racing or “Straight up Dragging it” as he abrasively referred to it, much to the chagrin of his friends, when present. His friends told him that running the mean streets of San Diego was not to be trifled with, that is, unless one were content to life his life “a quarter mile at a time.” This seemed to be a deafeningly infinitesimal stretch for a racer like himself. Cold air intake, cat back exhaust, chipped, sick body kit; all of the accoutrements were present however he forgot a single thing: his car had only 189 horse power and people grew tired of its inky discharge, regardless of the speeds that it allegedly traveled. This speedway pun was a speedway pun for the racing pun speedway pun, and in the end, they all learned speedway pun, racing.

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Amon Amarth Ragnarok Porter, One of the Only Reasons to Move Out of Indiana

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AAAmon, I worka 3 jobs mon, Oh, I'm sorry? In Living Color references not welcome here? Fine.

Amon Amarth Ragnarok, Porter 8.2% Abv

A: This has a deep watery coffee appearance to it with deep brown hues and a nice cool whip head with stained glass lacing. That shit cray.

S: It has an incredible hop presence which is basically to be expected from 3 Floyd’s they put hops in their children’s baby bottles. I dont get anything else, it’s pretty limited and not chocolatey or coffee as the appearance would suggest. Ho hum.

Looks like one thing, turns out to be another.

T: This tastes like a black ipa with a little bit of coffee to it. I call shenanigans, this isn’t a porter at all. Here I was, innocently hoodwinked into drinking what I thought would be an amazing chocolate funland, and I end up in the grass mowing down herbal goodness. It isn’t exactly bad, but I can’t help but feel like orphan dreams smashed on the rocks around December 25th.

M: The mouthfeel is thin and herbal with a lingering dryness (read: Just like a fucking IPA.) It doesn’t coat that well, which I guess is good since I dont feel like wiping pine cones off of my teeth, at least not when I was expecting on holding Gene Wilder’s hand into a magnificent candy paradise. This isn’t bad but it is just unexpected. I went to see Drive expecting a rom-com and, well, just go see that shit and you’ll understand.

Some things, despite their packaging, have underlying truths.

D: For a double IPA, this has a great drinkability and, even with the huge abv, this is plenty sessionable. However, I just feel so badly misled that I cant with an honest conscience tell you that I would seek this out and buy it again. These excuses from the Porter only go so far, it needs to come out of the hop closet and declare that it truly is. Embrace the cones.

Narrative: Chase Franci applied make up to his face assiduously and prepared for his big speech. “I can’t keep this up forever, come on Chance, just tell Mr. Walters the truth!” Just as he was uttering these thoughts to himself, Mr. Walters’s assistant burst in and announced “Mr. Walters will see you in 5 minutes, good luck.” The company internal minority promotion initiative seemed like a smart enough idea: promote diversity, engender a core nucleus of new ideas and add altering viewpoints to the corporate board. This would be all well and good but Chase was as white as the convergence of the UV spectrum. He pushed his make up materials into his briefcase and exited the corporate bathroom with a cool, calm poise as he strode down past the cubicles. Chase’s co-workers stared agape at the patently offensive racist makeup that he had just applied. Chase flicked a dab of shoepolish off of his lapel and smiled big, the look of an alter ego that was shooting up the corporate ladder. Chase strode into Mr. Walters’s office and declared “wazzzzupppppp!” Mr. Walters just sat there for a moment wondering, “what in the name of God did Chase think that he was doing? Surely he couldn’t have actually believed that blackening his face like a silent movie character would suffice to earn him a spot on the- actually, that is a pretty bold move.” Mr. Walters took out a corporate checkbook and immediately wrote him out a bonus before Chase could utter another cliched phrase. Mr. Walters smiled and handed chase a check, payment for being a complete fraud, “OH SNAP! THAT IS SOME SERIOUS CHEDDAR!” Chase exclaimed as his now-subordinates shook their heads in disbelief.

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Foothills Baltic Porter, North Carolina is Known for Its Nautical Engineering

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It makes me feel all like Peter the Great, except not a giant savage asshole.

Foothills Baltic Porter, 9% abv

Gold Medal Winner, BEST FUCKING PORTER SO JUST MOVE ON AND DELETE YOUR OLD PORTER’S NUMBER YOU SLUT.

A: This looks like a Porter but with some serious fortitude, not of that cross-over Imperial Stout madness its a big crazy thin porter through and through. The carbonation looks like a haunted ass house, or that last level of Contra. Either way. Deep dark browns, not black, not overly malty, just enough whoppers.

S: The coffee and deep bakers chocolate is present with a strange sweetness finish that seems to accompany in a red wine sort of way. It’s how I would imagine a sassy nana’s mouth to taste.

Thakns a lot North Carolina for making this brewery only. Now these kids never get to have it.

T: The taste delivers things in that gentle southernly Foothill sort of way. It presents a nice tray of chocolate delights, gives a sweet cup of antebellum coffee, coaxes your mane and assures you of simpler times and gives you a gentle exit, feeling fulfilled.

M: The mouthfeel is distinctively porter with a nice clean watery body that delivers a huge flavor without overloading that malty elements. I got this as an extra and it was amazing, especially since Porters are usually the weird artsy twin of the Imperial Stout who usually are all lame and drama nerds. you know the drill. SOCKING NERDS.

Which Porter Should I Take.

D: The drinkability is outrageous and you can put this away like Magic: The Gathering cards when a hot girl comes over. So fast. This is remarkable for the sheer complexity and huge body that it imparts but washes away clean instantly. It’s like some David Blaine ass porter up in this mix.

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1/2 Idjit! Porter, Dugges Ale, Sweden Only Rocks 1/2 a Idjit

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For those who can't take a full Idjit, here's just a 1/2 Idjit. The size of the porter isn't everything.

A: The appearance is dark and murky with deep iced tea browns at the edges. It looks like the repository water at your favorite water park. It has pretty mild carbonation and comes off as lackluster as a Deer Tick album, it just doesn’t care if you enjoy it or not. Which is strange because I thought Sweden was all into helping its citizens and giving away everything for free.

Meanwhile in Sweden. . .

S: The smell is like a chocolate ashtray, burnt malts, like a scorched boil happened or someone was abusing cocoa beans something fierce. There’s also a deep coffee smell and a sort of tobacco finish. I’m not stoked to drink this and the $14.00 price tag didn’t help matters much. I was probably just subsidizing the health care of those poor Swedish brewers.

T: This is burnt malt at first and then the smoky notes sheepishly show up slowly. The whole Racine tragedy unfolds as the triangle love interest is completed with stale coffee as the virgin martyr. This might be a compelling one man monologue but the whole thing just takes way too long and has no fulfilling finish, it’s like Kurt Russell in a glass.

This is my life if I never had Idjit again, full or half.

M: the mouthfeel is thin and swift, imparting burnt cigar and chocolate dust along my teeth. I dont think my teeth whitening was worth the offshading that this beer imparts but, it is dead on for the genre so I guess we can’t knock it for giving the old college try. The old second string noseguard for
Kent State sort of try.

D: Overall, I dont smoke and I dont make out with people who smell like American Spirits. So I guess, no, not very drinkable and I am not stoked to drop a ton of MAD COIN on this Swedish meatball again.

Oh no, I just drank the whole bottle. Oh yes, that was a waste of money and calories.

Narrative: Torgny stabbed the arctic sheeting lightly and stared off into the distance. “TORGNY! You are must to be making the sheets faster! LARGER!” his supervisor called out to him. Life was rough on the ice farm. What with the whole, making the ice, waiting til the 9 month winter season and harvesting it; life was rough and cold. Torgny would complain, however, every morning at the crest of 12:45 p.m. when the sun was rising, he would see his old classmates pile out of the brewery. Each looked comically like a Victorian era oil prospector, smoking an oversized cigar, eating Toblerones with careless abandon. “That life is not for me to be having,” he thought in broken English and shook his head. Sure his hands would split with terrible cold and his ice sheets would only be made into Formula 50 Smart Water, but there could be nothing less fulfilling than making chocolate tobacco water that no one liked. “TORGNY, is the timing for the lunching RESPITE!” MMM sweet huskmankolst and tasty pitepolt.