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@hillfarmstead Elaborative, These Walnuts Be Gaspin These Tickers Ain’t Ready For Action

If you want to make beer nerds pass out from the blood rushing to their inner thigh sweat glands: 1) release a collaboration beer that hits two midcontinent hot spots 2) add an adjunct to it (walnut beans) 3) release it in Vermont 4) make it 1 per person. Oh shit, if you listen you can hear the flapping shut of labias like firefly wings. It is Horace incarnate the way that beer nerds lose their fucking minds over prospective tasting. I love when beer nerds give up amazing beers they havent tried for another amazing beer that they haven’t had yet. The lulz that I reaped were on the swords to plowshares level when the BA Kopi for Cherry Rye trades were going down. Later I saw people giving up T25 for MS3000 and wiped my brow with a calm collection and noted the disparity. Long story short, people want this shit. They jockin on them Chad/Shaun nutssszzzz of the WAL variety. Let’s see if Jackie O’s distributed this to 300 employees and ruined shit.

This beer is not elaborate, but that doesn't stop its elaborating/pontificating/oud bruin hatin

This beer is not elaborate, but that doesn’t stop its elaborating/pontificating/oud bruin hatin

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV ?

Availability: Limited (brewed once). bottle (4), on-tap (1).

Notes:
Tart Brown Ale brewed with Ohio Walnuts. Aged 18 months in a variety of oak barrels… in friendship with Brad at Jackie O’s and Chad at Crooked Stave.

A: Alright hold onto your lifeless squatless asscheeks, this beer is dark, has a mahogany sheen to it like an Oud Bruin and wispy lil 1/1 Black Mana Will of the Wisp that fades with a khaki collar like a Fubu 3 piece suit. Shit is basically the ESPY awards with more lacing. Even Reggie Bush would think this was over the top.

AHHH no wayyy you are 13 of your Iowa suburb friends teamed up and landed a bottle of this? SICK YOU ARE BROS FOR LYFEEE

AHHH no wayyy you and 13 of your Iowa suburb friends teamed up and landed a bottle of this? SICK YOU ARE BROS FOR LYFEEE

S: This reminds me of Oud Bruins for dayzzz, some will disagree as is their right but the nuttiness is only present at mid 60 degrees. It is more of a currant and light lemon aspect meets a huge porter/roast zeitgeist. Let’s take it back to the first party when you tried your first Molly, before you were sippin Rodenbach and not givin a fuck, them Oud Bruins would hit you hard like Kimbo Slice. This leaves that almond tannin aspect in your nose but a tart black chery shasta aspect mixing with it. I am not going to say 6th grade sleepover, but SNES may be involved.

T: The other 5 people who reviewed this are full of shit for the most part. Let’s just put that out there. There is no walnut going on for the most part. If you start rubbing your nips expecting nuts, keep expecting. This is like how Jackie O’s released NUT and you were like “THIS DARK APPARITION SUCKS.” It is like that, except they nailed their nut onto Prolegomena. You expect this shit to have lambo doors and wild out with deep roast and tartness, but the walnut just nods its head in 2/4 as a support character lending more gumline tannic dryness than some Funky Buddha hardcore adjuncty busted nuts. You get some black cherry but the roast kinda works the door akin to CD4 aka the most underappeciated fucking beer ever. It’s not really sour, its not really tart, its not really a creamy Oud Bruin either. It is kinda like a Ford Flex where you feel like you could use it but you aren’t sure how.

Many glasses were raised, well really just mine since I drank it alone in sadness watching HEAT, anyone wanna talk about that movie? ok cool.

Many glasses were raised, well really just mine since I drank it alone in sadness watching HEAT, anyone wanna talk about that movie? ok cool.

M: This has that hard as fuck water profile that Hill Farmstead imparts with that bizarre carbonation that levels motherfuckers with a balanced creaminess. That aspect blows me away every time and almost pisses me off. It is like the Coca Cola recipe for mouthfeel and they kill it every time. Even when they “fail” with beers like Jimmy, which I disliked, they still smash it on olfactory and mouthfeel and its still wordclass and has what linguists call “A method of intentionality.” I can’t dislike this beer simply because it is well done. I don’t like the Camaro SS redesign but, god damn it, 420 horsepower and the engineering is hard to disagree with. Even if this isnt as sour or nut laden as you wanted, it is still fucking awesome.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the ABV is a punchline to a joke that your dry cleaners will tell you later. The one two punch of tart and deep roast just washes hand over hand and your glass is empty. Take out your detective kit and look closely, I drank the whole bottle to myself and my acorn penis got full sensation. Every other bullshit site will show some 1oz forced perspective like Fritz Lang. I dont’ even know why I bother comparing DDB to other sites, this shit has no peers, lezbiahonest.

Sometimes you look back on your record of ticking beers and it...doesn't feel that good.

Sometimes you look back on your record of ticking beers and it…doesn’t feel that good.

Narrative: Lucretius paced wildly in his limestone cell, awaiting his fate with a tenuous repose. “For all reduces to matter, there is no soul, only one unity in matter, but getting killed for this would seriously fucking suck” he muttered to himself while rehashing a series of Hellenic hexameters in solitude. The comforts of atomism were reductionist at best. He ran his palms against the cool stones of his cell and licked the walnut residue from his gums, embracing his fits of “habit”: counting the tiles, recounting Gallic encounters with specificity, and espousing proto-materialist doctrine. Everyone was pretty fucking sick of listening to him. The forum was crowded with plebian well wishers and Lucretius provided little in the way of new gods or old. He was a synthesis that was easy to embrace, however, it did not provide a deeper clarity to any real problems an individual was seeking. It was a far cry from the Legumes of Pythagoras, but his existential hopelessness did little to rouse a pre-Octvaian world. Synthesis alone was not comfort, execution and mastery was only revered with Cicero, the pangloss nature of Cato was all that he could hold on to. For some it was enough, but those were the same Praetorian that did not need it in the first place. Many nuts were busted in that cell.

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GABF Gold Medal Winning Church Brew Works Heini’s Hooch, Draft Only Gold Review, for the Haters.

Alright so I have seen this listed in a variety of ways but I am going to straight up call this what it is: an old ale. Beer sites be all confused but having had it, it steps directly in line with Cuir and 2010 BA Decadence in that proud lineage. I saw this win the Gold at the GABF in a style that I feel is wildly underrated. Most people love stouts and will have a soft spot for BA English Barleywines and foolishly overlook the Old Ale genre, you need to get on this grizzy.

This is that straight up clear growler magic. Malts telling the world that they dare light to try and skunk them. Posting up so hard.

Church Brew Works
Pennsylvania, United States
American Strong Ale | 10.50% ABV

A: Well it is safe to say that this beer will not be winning any beauty contests, but come on, if you were made in a lab with a ton of dark caramel malts, boiled into a sticky medium, then put in a barrel for months, would you be so fucking handsome? I didn’t think so. It had moderate lacing and low carbonation but part of that is Fedex’s fault for leaking this all over the place. Negligent ass handlers. In fact, I had to drive all the way into East LA and go to the facility and tell them that this was a Balsamic Reduction because they were tragically going to throw this away. Jeez louise. The murky brown notes are dirty but inviting like a 1989 Ford Probe.

It is always unacceptable to taunt your friends for drinking Old Ales. Dortmunders yes, but never old ales.

S: Holy sweet decadence, this beer goes ham on the olfactory front and leads with a pinch of light char, some caramel, toastiness woodiness, a deep bourbon character similar to Eagle Rare or 4 Roses, if you are into that shit. There is also a light mallow foam and a vanilla on the backend, ya feel me?

T: This has a nice oaky opening that gives way to some sweet and sticky notes, light caramel wrapped in a sort of almond nuttiness. The finish lingers for a long time with a deep fig and booziness that is a bit hot on the palate but not overly ethanol up in this bitch. Maybe it is the carb lacking, but it seems like such a gentle beast like Pete’s Dragon, roasting apples for you and shit, boozy and yet tame.

Sipping on that high ave smoky oak gets you straight baked.

M: This is sticky but gives way to a lingering dryness from the booze and the oak so it gives with one hand and takes with the other, like a skilled escort, badumtish. The dryness from the oak imparts this desire to take another sip right away so this 2 Liter was merked pretty quickly NOT JUST BY ME THIS TIME THOUGH. I enjoy the sticky sweetness that is kept in check by a domineering ass patriarch figure that is the wood, euphemisms all over the place.

D: This is strangely drinkable with a big caveat, FOR THE STYLE. I mean if you pop this open at a cookout and expect a bunch of backslapping and people chugging it in a bounce house, you are in for disappointment. And diarrhea. This is a nice sipper but you can sip A LOT OF IT. I technically COULD finish this entire growler, which is something not to be attempted with most Old Ales. It is like how I technically can eat an entire P’zone, but god damn does my body make me pay for it. Never before has dialysis been so classy and affordable.

When you pop open 2 liters of draft only Old Ale, your face be like.

Narrative: “Ok well when you step in, watch out for the drawbridge,” Mrs. Olson noted as she led the social worker into the expansive parlor. The entire framework from floorboard to crown molding was covered in complex K’Nex contraptions and devices. “Honey…the lady from Adult Protective Services is here to see you sweetie…” Mrs. Olson noted to her father and he looked up from a multicolored carousel and frowned upon being disturbed from his work. “Hello Mortimer, my name is Janice and I am here to check up on you since none of your other friends or relatives have heard from you” she trailed off as she saw a complicated network pulleys and buckets, carrying the possession of the old man from room to room. It was ingenious and colorful, pleasant and relaxing at the same time. The majestic pieces clicked in uniformity and brought Mortimer a plate of Vanilla Wafers and remained in silence, frowning at the County employee. “Mr. Olson, do you…do you want to come with me? This seems like no way for a man of your years to live.” Mortimer Olson was capricious, easy going, but more than all of that, he was complex to the core. You could enjoy a roller coaster demonstration with him while eating a Werther’s Original, or you could fuck right off.

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Kuhnhenn 4th Dementia Olde Ale, The Non-Barrel Aged Version Bangs on 808 Drums

Whenever someone brings up King Henry, I tell them just to drink Kuhnhenn Barleywine. They make delicious things and meads and sweet treats that people who dont live in a state shaped like an oven mitt seem to overlook. Today we look at the less celebrated, but still danky, regular old 4th Dementia.

I used the regular picture for BB4D and now I am using the Bourbon Barrel picture for the regular review, WHOA FREAKY FRIDAY.

Kuhnhenn 4th Dementia Olde Ale, 13.5% abv

A: Nice raisin purplish color with deep amber and brown hues, very minimal carbonation and no lacing. This has always rustled my jimmies about Kuhnhenn beers. When Lost Abbey releases flat beer, everyone loses their shit and makes jpegs for days about it. Kuhnhenn just hangs up their mash paddle and calls it a day. In an Old Ale it really isn’t a big deal, but Road Rash, BB4D, 4D, BBBW, have all been as flat as Keanu Reeves dialogue. Leave Tomme Arthur alone, srsly guize.

When you see someone at a party sipping on a 13.5% abv beer, you know they embrace that tug life.

S: Smells of smoky tobacco and figs. It comes across like someone overboiled a batch of barley wine. There is a mild bourbon note but without the oakiness. The alcohol is well integrated and the charred caramel is good, it reminds me of the time I did a burnout on top of a box of Werthers Originals in my IROC Camaro.

T: There are initially no huge notes to speak of for a split second and then the smoky deep plums and dark fruits rise out of the watery murk and set up Hoovervilles. The taste resounds with a lightly bitter hop balance and just reverberates like church bells in an abbey. When this beer warms up, things become real in and around the field, stone fruits, bruised peaches, plums, figs; it is like Gamgam’s Apotehcary, which is what I will name my Old Ale if I ever brew one.

There’s so much going on in this beer, you may miss the subtle nuances. Give it time.

M: The mouthfeel is surprising light for a beer this huge, also, the booziness is kept to a minimum. It is very impressive that they were able to pull this off with such a strangely balanced imbalance. I mean that the notes are very aggressive and watery at the same time. It doesn’t fill you up and doesn’t have a huge maltiness but manages to coat very aggressively. Nicely done.

D: I never understood the different between aggressive barley wines and olde ales but this is an exceptional example of an “Imperial” Barleywine which is basically an Olde Ale as far as I can tell. Some people will get butthurt and point out differences in the malt bill and the grain profile, start mumbling something about residual sugars but, come on, we all know who you really banging on the side. It has all of the deep dark fruits reduced to a syrupy watery mouthfeel. The taste is very good and it is therefore a pleasure to drink regardless of circumstance, however, the abv is prohibitive and the lingering almost coppery agro deep fruit notes may be difficult over a long session.

You’re expecting one thing, you get something else that is equally awesome, and all the kids need tomato juice baths.

Narrative: “Just chopping and screwing beats all day man, if I aint in the lab, I aint worth nay thin.” DJ4D had an impressive work ethic and remained steadfast in his phillipic against the illusory “haters” that allegedly were constantly holding him back. “They said “yo 4D, you just layed the most savory stickiest flows we ever heard, then I pulled it clean on them and dropped sweet notes right on the treble, see haters hate when you pull of that saccharine shit, they just sit back, judging your sticky crispiness.” The reporter nodded pensively and scribbled furiously, hovering up these gems for his forthcoming article. “THAT’S WHY I PUT THE GRAPEVINE JAMS UP IN THE MIX BECAUSE YOU JUST ALWAYS GOTTA KEEP IT STICKY FOR THE HATERS.” His furrowed brown knitted his fitted cap back; the Expos logo bobbed in concurrence with every statement. None of this made any sense and people would question the death of print media with every word.

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2006 Thomas Hardy’s Ale, Finally I Can Drink a Beer That Is Older Than My Clothes

Everyone always gets an alerection when they talk about how old their Thomas Hardy’s is. It’s like all of a sudden sucking down old old ales is hot shit and everyone else missed the boat. Big ups to my homie Anthony for this bottle so we can see what the aleworld was like back in the days of dial-up internet (for the midwest.) Fear no more, I am rocking a 2006 in today’s review, back when your boyfriend still had frosted tips and retainers, shit was popping off. Let’s see if this little bottle delivers or, like Better Than Ezra, leaves me desperately wanting.

Man, 2006, what a fun year, wait, I am looking at the Wikipedia for 2006 and I literally remember none of this shit happening. A Final Fantasy game must have come out that year or something.

O’Hanlon’s Brewing Co. Ltd.
United Kingdom (England)
Old Ale | 11.90% ABV

A: Oh man, you know when tame old England (sans Brewdog) comes out swinging with an 11.9% old ale, shit is about to get real. The beer is completely flat and looks like Dr. Pepper that was left out during your 6th grade sleepover party. No lacing, no legs, no stems no seeds no sticks. You swirl it around and things don’t get much jazzier. It just sits there limp, sad, and swears that this never happens.

Maybe I am not old enough to fully enjoy this beer but, it makes things pretty difficult the next morning.

S: Mmm, that’s a damn fine bouquet, especially for a 6 year old. Well, you know what I mean. It has vanilla, aggro caramel, nice subtle bourbon presence, oak, and toasted marshmellow. It kinds reminds me of a sticky kettle corn with more of a butterscotch presence. Nice wafterburners on this Maverick.

T: This almost goes from O.G. Ale to quad in the way to pulls you gently to stone fruits, plum, currant, and raisins. I am thankful for the relatively small bottle size as this guy is a bit of a turn off after a while. I enjoy the panoply of fruits and sticky gooey campfire treats presented but, it is a bit much after 5 ounces. Maybe I need to put up with month after punishing month of depressing weather to really “get” the selling points of this UK gem but the taste gets to that point of like “ok, ok, enough already” of sticky sweetness like the hostess at Chilis.

I hate to push this bit incessantly but, things are almost always best enjoyed fresh. Ba dum tish. wakka wakka.

M: The mouthfeel has zero carbonation and a light stickiness that just hangs around like an officious gym partner that, while cloying, has a gentle aspect to it that you don’t outright hate. I dont think this will really improve with age and that fresh TH that I tried wasn’t really much better. You ever revisit a game that was bad fucking ass when it came out and then realized that you used to be content with crude polygons? Well, this is a beer from the tail end of the Ps2 era, if you know what I am saying. Go pop in Devil May Cry, tell me if it is still palatable. I will wait.

D: This is not exceptionally drinkable due to the sheer alcoholic content and sticky morass of saccharine notes that jumble up the mix. It is worth trying and showing off your alecock for cellar bragging rights but most people into beer won’t give a fuck if you have a 1996 TH because, like Aaliyah, age ain’t nothin but a number.

It doesn’t matter how old you are, if you were a boring jerk back then, well-

Narrative: “Listen Trevin, I am your agent and, quite frankly, I am your friend. At this point I think it might be time to give it up, seriously, I can’t spin you in different ways for 12 consecutive years, you’re…you’re too fucking old, Trevin.” Theodore Olsmly had changed his name to conform to Hollywood conceptions of name values, he had dyed his hair, undyed it, taken improv classes, unlearning improve classes, holistic acting, deconstructive scenework classes, and even melody workshops taught by the Spin Doctors: nothing worked. Even those gentle poets of Two Princes told him at the crest of 2008 that maybe a solid decade of annoying the shit out of audiences and producers alike, might signal a perfect time to bow out. Trevin refused to do so. He slammed the door of his shanty Burbank studio apartment and tossed on the Reality Bites soundtrack and paced the 405 square foot layout and devised a plan to start auditioning for the estranged older brother turned uncle roles that the writers had heretofore so obliviously overlooked.

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Kuhnhenn Barrel Aged 4th Dementia, The Perfect Beer Prior to a Parent Teacher Conference

Ah Old Ales, for those times when new ales just aren’t new enough and sobriety just seems like such a hassle. The perfect beverage for right before a Parent Teacher Conference, particularly this barrel aged monster. Well, let’s see if this helps you escape some demons in today’s run into the 4th DEMENTIA.

Barrel Aged Old Ales: No Longer Just For Salty Old Sea Captains and Sobbing Divorcees.

Kuhnhenn Bourbon Barrel 4th Dementia, 13.5% abv, Old Ale

A: The bottle was almost completely flat with very minimal carbonation that dissipated very quickly with dark khaki bubbles that fizzled like the plot of an Owen Wilson film. The beer looks like a deep dark mahogany treat. The beer leaves this slick alcoholic coating to the edges that is clear but serves as potent reminder of the beast that you are about to wrangle to the earth.

This seems like a deal for all the sweet decadence that you are receiving, but it ultimately does a number on your life.

S: Holy ABV bombs. Not since Chocolate rain and Dark Lord vacated the premises has such a ridiculously boozy beer appeared on the scene. It isn’t that the ABV itself is so high that it is overwhelming cum de Utopias, it is more that the ABV just doesn’t give a shit. It posts up, leaves muddy alcoholic boots in the entryway and proceeds to rifle through the pantry in your nose. It is unabashed and very apparent. This isn’t the regular old 4th Dementia that I recalled., this is it’s alcoholic brother. I kinda like him more, in a weird way. There’s also some vanilla, toffee and mild figs but, covered in bourbon.

T: Again, don’t smoke while drinking this beer, the abv will ignite and BOY WILL YOUR FACE BE RED. This has an intense bourbon heat at the outset that fades into a deep sweetness and plum maltiness. The vanilla and chocolate is present and lends some complexity with all the oak and dry notes that round out this crazy chimera. Also, alcohol.

Again, this beer is both sinister and sweet. Sticky and evil at the same time. Pic related.

M: This has a hot slickness to it similar to a baby chocolate rain, chocolate drizzle if you will. The bourbon hit’s the gum line and warms your chest not unlike a salt shell from a 12 gauge. The mouth doesn’t really coat in a huge way like an imperial stout, this crazy hybrid feels like a Belgian Dubbel gone on a bender rampage. For a sipping beer, this is nice and relaxing. Also, not that it would really matter but, the lack of carbonation just made the angry abv even more rampant. My mouth was left pleading to the police that he didn’t mean it, and assured them that this beer was a “good one” and that it did not wish to press charges.

D: This is hardly drinkable in the 12oz format and, if they offered bombers that would be remiss to not offer a life insurance policy with it. The average user couldn’t take on this beast, and the average craft kid would likely feel that it was too boozy. The lack of carbonation made it all the more apparent that this beer is not here for you, it is present to shirk the trappings of a normal life. I have to knock this beer on the drink ability and overall overwhelming nature of the bourbon notes. If I wanted to kiss a Kentucky trucker, I JUST WOULD GO AND DO IT OK.

Drink one of these at 2 a.m., the sky is the limit.

Narrative: No matter how often he strayed from the straight and narrow, Clemson Biggs knew that he would somehow end up ok. “Hey, uh, Clem, we noticed that you went and vomited all over the side of your freightliner, again.” Clem pushed back the bill of his worn Bill Earnhardt Jr hat, with the Jr. scrawled out. “Oh, I’m SSSSORRY! I thought this was Darlene’s Coffee sop, I didn’t know we were in the DMVs! Hold on let me check for the illegal of BEING THE FLU!” His drawl was overwhelming and the booze on his breath was palpable. “Well Clem, it’s just, we know you are hauling ethanol and industrial chemicals on up to Truckee and, well that’s a long haul, why not give it a rest hun?” Darlene looked over her note pad and tapped her pen entreatingly. “OH OK, how about I jus never do any OF THE WORK? Oh suuuuuuuuure, everyone hey listen DARLENE will do your works and we just made in the shad-” he slipped out of the booth and knocked over a cardboard cut out of Tony Stewart. “I AM SICK OK? Just gotta get some medicine and then I can make that lil 450 mile drive and then, how abouts, this, YOU SHHHHHUT up?” he cackled to himself at the apparent clever quip that he had just crafted, much to Darlene’s chagrin. “God, when he is good he’s great but, it is just painful to see him this boozed up,” Darlene thought to herself. “Here, slice of apple pie, on the house,” she said as she slid him a piece of mediocre pie. “HOW ABOUT THE PIE HOUS-blarghhhhh!!!” Clem’s gem of insight was interrupted by his own projectile vomiting.

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The Bruery 100% Barrel Aged Cuir, I Want a Beer That Says “Daddy Likes Leather”

Ah, back on the sweet Barrel Aged Bruery jams after a nice respite of sour tongue kisses. So this is the $30 100% barrel aged version of their anniversary beer, not be confused with the 25% barrel aged chopped and screwed version. Their new anniversary ale is coming out soon, so I figure I would celebrate the last day of pre-orders with this heater in the two seater.

For all the beer daddies out there who enjoy leather.

100% Barrel Aged Bruery Cuir
Old Ale, 14%

A: Great deep brown hues, like a masculine Belgian quad, this beer just exudes refinement. Its lacing and sticky profile connotes that this beer lives in a furnished loft that smells of rich mahogany. There’s a strange almost violet hue at the edge. The malty foam is like whitewater rafting with Kevin Bacon. I know, I phoned it in and fucked up on the non-pour pic, but use your imagination you ingrates.

This is a decadent gem that should be enjoyed in moderation, preferably out of the navel of a Ford model.

S: There is a huge raisin profile with booze and dark fruits. Again, it feels like you had the solid framework of a Subaru STI and then boosted it further. With compelling results. I enjoy the sticky caramel and bruised fruits all up in the mix. Brown sugar and some cinnamon poke their heads out but see that mommy and daddy booze notes are fighting and go back to bed.

T: There is a great cinnamon sweetness and again the dark fruits are dominate. Finally there is a satisfying molasses stickiness that just floats the wafty barrel notes incredibly well. The bourbon rolls deep with banana clips lighting up the scene indiscriminately. The raisin and stone fruits walk hand in hand in a civil union with the oak and bourbon and you are entirely tolerant of the results.

The heat amped up as it warmed, but the complexity of the flavor makes me not even mad.

M The mouthfeel is thin but enjoyable. I was expecting some huge maltiness but it actually keeps it pretty Callista Flokchart. Unlike its crazy brother Papier, the heat on the palate is noticeable but not over powering. If Papier plays football, this is more of a Le Crosse or debonair fencing type.

Probably shouldn't have taken this whole 750 to my dome piece. I ain't chicken. No regrets.

D The abv comes out bit by bit with warmth and makes it a little too much to take on by oneself. Then again, when drinking a 14%+ beer on your own, a 750 ml might not be the prescribed serving size. I enjoyed it immensely but, I also enjoy tiramisu. Just not a whole tiramisu. I am hardly the paradigm of moderation but this beer will get you more FEDED than Tyga.

Old ales always confuse me, but then I go to sleep and it all makes sense. Def a dank lil treat, 5/5 would read again, 2143 readers found this review helpful.

Narrative: Hitting the nightclubs with sage old Cornelius Woodage seemed like a complete paradox. What with his antiquated elephant hunting outfit, bezzled monocle, and a moustache that could only be deemed nonionic on the most hipster of circles: we just figured he wouldn’t fit in. “Guys, it’s a 3 bottle minimum for any guys, looks like we are sunk.” Cornelius strode up to the bouncer and immediately began to effect his bonhomie on what seemed like the entire line. His old genuine warmth had the tanned and tattooed masses eating out of the palm of his cream lambskin gloves. “Well chaps, looks like fortune smiles upon those who choose the flight not the right!” He clapped his riding boots together and we were immediately admitted. However, after 3 hours of drinking, he brandished a deuling pistol and fired it into a fish tank. All in all, he’s def a solid bro.

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Peg’s Cantina, Batch 100 Barrel Aged Old Ale, If This Growler is a Batch; Better Make That Batch Your Wife

Florida is the king of tiny bottle releases. Wait, let me rephrase that. Florida has the tiniest bottles released in numbers. Fuck. Misplaced modifiers galore, the breweries in Florida, while releasing normal sized bottles, choose to release small numbers of said bottles, and enjoy having sex with the children in the house. The last ambiguous clause was for the parents out there.

I got 99 bottles but this aint batch one.

Peg’s Cantina, Batch 100, Barrel Aged Old Ale, Abv (go ask those 3 dudes who brewed this?)

Growler #19 out of 25, off the scale rare taste factor brah.

A: Looks like a fairly pedestrian old ale outing, some maroon and deep mahonagany tones, a nice chocolate sheen like those baller ass rugs at Pottery Barn, and some spotty little constellational lacing. Spell check it telling me that isn’t a real word, haters gonna hate.

When these 25 growlers came out, I was all sad and thought I would never get one, and then, through a series of misadventures and a 90 minute plot arch I realized that I had Batch 100 in me all along.

S: Sweet sassy molassey, there’s a nice maple presence, with some sweet cream of wheat brown sugar like a 70’s blackspoitation film, with a nice wood profile rounding out the backend like a prosthetic butt cheek.

T: Man, these guys are sadistic for only releasing 25 of these. The taste is 5/5 Amazon would recommend to a friend would read again 1,435 others found this beer helpful territory. The sweetness comes through like a 24th fret hammeron and resonates with a ringing maple sweetness throughout, some harmonic bourbon notes with sticky sweet vanilla and rolo shine through and start shredding, finally the double bass kick drum of the barrel and dry oak lay the finishing groundwork. This is a perfect sipper and perhaps the best Old Ale I have ever had. Not that those ranks are bustling shoulder to shoulder in terms of style, but still, that’s just like my opinion, man.

This beer has an amazing bourbon and sweet molasses character to it and- oh shit an owl riding a skateboard.

M: The mouthfeel has this fantastic prickly alcoholic twinge to it that crackles and zips dusting the gumline with oakiness and very faint peat notes. The actual residual sugars don’t wreck your shit, they just head straight to the back and leave your shit unmolested. The alcohol however, sees it fit to chat it up with your gumline, the bouncer, and starts name dropping bourbons, passing out flyers for the booze it has tried. It isn’t offensive but it lingers a bit too long and is offputting to the rest of the patrons, namely my incisors.

D: This is fantastic and complex but, it isn’t exactly fair to talk about the drinkability of a bold old ale. How sessionable are old people? I can watch maybe an episode of Matlock and have my fill of old people for a month without ever actually interacting with one. The complexity and genius kinda makes this beer like an amazing savant that has bourbon autism. It is enjoyable in small doses to wow the palate’s imagination, but eventually the constant counting, clicking, brushing of its bourbon hair, gets out of control. “That’s fucked up to denigrate a handic-” oh I’m sorry? Anthropomorphized bourbon isn’t here to defend itself against my completely fictional personification, SORRY.

At a certain point it's hard to underscore how good this beer is so- oh shit a mouse riding a skateboard.

Narrative: “Billingsley please, hold my calls and correspondence and allow me to ruminate on this dewy tundra for a moment.” Pitbull, well more properly, Armando Perez was a historian, economist, and epistemological philosopher, but the world could not seem to see through the lenses of his prescription Tom Ford sunglasses. “Ah Armando, A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love, Yeats was so true.” He exhaled and through his consternation he watched his breath make symbols on the pane of the Rococo glass. “Mr. BULL! Er…PIT! These bitches are wildin out, we need you!” Skeezy Bird called through the thick paneled door. In between writing his treatise on constellation alignment and a nested proof invalidating Dyanetics, Mr. Perez had found the time to write a new single for the Men in Black soundtrack, and the bitches were subsequently wilding. “MISSA TREE O FIVE!” he called to the throngs of Forever Twenty One clothes inhabited by vapid bodies. Before hitting the swisher sweet, he ruminated on the passings of winters past, and “GAYYOOOOOCHOOOOO!!!!!” It was brash, yet civilized within the same breath.