@Willoughbybrew Peanut Butter Cup Coffee Porter, For When You Need both Coffee AND Peanut Butter in Your AM Beverage

This beer is like those clandestine moments in the shower, where you spread your asscheeks and let the warm water run between: you aren’t proud of enjoying it, but there is something refreshing about it you can’t deny. Usually if I saw the word “porter” with that many adjectives bolted on like a late 90’s Integra, I would LOL and keep on getting farmhoused. In this instance, I heard legitimately great things about this LOW ABV, CLEAN, NOT NEEDLESSLY SWEET offering. My c1 fractured under the attempts to reconcile the name with these appraisals. It’s like meeting an interesting, insightful communications major. You cannot comprehend how such a reconciliation is possible.

There’s no wrong way to eat a Reese’s, unless it is out of your cousin’s anus. Let’s review this shit.

Trap all day, sip all night, this is the life of a goticka

Trap all day, sip all night, this is the life of a goticka

Willoughby Brewing
Ohio, United States
Style | ABV
American Porter | 5.50% ABV

Commercial Hand Job:
A consistent award winner and truly unique taste experience brought you only by Willoughby Brewing Company. We start by brewing a robust porter and infusing it with locally roasted coffee and a special peanut butter and chocolate flavor. The result is a beer like no other you’ve had before. Some people say they taste more coffee than peanut butter, others say the opposite. Which is it you taste?

You will get in the damndest scenarios drinking this crushable beer

You will get in the damndest scenarios drinking this crushable beer

A: Alright, this is distinctly a porter through and through and presents beautiful mocha foam like those darkwood cabinets you covet at Home Depot but then you realize you rent a shitty studio apartment. The deep black has a nimble BP oiliness to it that doesn’t coat especially well and washes clean like the filthy banks of the Gulf of Mexico, except you cant help but take a dip.

S: This presents an awesome roastiness in line with Edmund Fitzgerald, a comparison this Ohio brewery is probably sick to fucking death of hearing. Notwithstanding, being put in the ranks of the best is tolerable at worst and this adds a coffee profile and is less acidic roast, more of a South American/civet toastiness like burned rye bread that works well with the baker’s cocoa sweetness from the nose. It doesn’t seem excessively adjunct forward and neither aspect really steals the show or makes the porter sit in the back of the Econoline van with promises of candy and puppies. Everyone gets their turn on the porter bang bus. As far as peanuts go, I have no fucking clue. There is a light almondy presence and a sort of light nuttiness you would get from a malty brown ale, but not like PETER PAN NUTS IN YOUR NOSE status.

I could crush more of this, but Ohio seems so far away

I could crush more of this, but Ohio seems so far away

T: The coffee puts the first foot forward and, while not the most exceptional coffee blend or roast, it works well with the malt profile to provide a depth and bittering basis for all of the sweet madness that is predicated upon it. You need a solid foundation, always invite a 300 lbs man to your gangbangs, it will become clear why. The middle of the swallow has the peanut I was searching for earlier, and the nut is a brackish salty affair that would be strange on its own, but I can swallow heavy loads if it is sweet enough. The sweetness is the chocolate aspect which isn’t exactly like Tootsie Roll, it is more like those greenpeace $4.00 TCHO chocolate bars you usually see lesbians buying at Whole Foods. It’s a classy sustainable chocolate to enjoy in your Subaru.

M: This beer is as thin as Natalie Portman double donging Rachel Zoe. it drinks like a 4% export stout offering and is limitlessly crushable. You ever play Alpha Centauri and look up and 9 hours have passed and you forgot to pick your kids up from swim practice? That’s how this beer is, you drill an entire growler on accident and then suddenly it’s “officer the cuffs are too tight.” The clean swallow with the robust roast is a great combo that can lead to some serious mischief. Do yourself a favor and kennel your pets before you get all up in this mix, that 2L serving size will serve you just find, provided you dont have access to your ex’s numbers. LOL you dont even have an ex, let’s be real here.

This beer is straight decadence

This beer is straight decadence

D: See above, this is staggeringly croosh and even croosh progeny will salute the manner in which it is disposed. Take a crazy crooshable beer like Lagunitas DayTime IPA, then make it a porter, with insane flavors across the board. It is in that realm of drinkability where, after 64 ounce, you start thinking you can do things, like, say you have never fenced in your life, you would suddenly look at the Epee like you know some shit. It’s that kinda beer.

Narrative: Peter Legumee had the worst route out of all of the ice cream trucks in western Ohio. He drove by the DOW industrial chemical refinery, in the section 8 housing suburbs, then closed his run down near the quarry. Nobody was trying to eat a Pink Panther when the air smelled like curry and burning pubes. Then one day, Peter got into his shoddily modifier confectionary-mobile and had a realization: coffee and peanut brittle. He decided that lactose heavy frozen treats weren’t what these leatherneck Ohioans wanted, they needed roast and salt to fuel their lives dancing just above the poverty line. He would roll right up the Dawn Soap manufacturing plant with his pentatonic jingle playing and the men would stream out in their coveralls, dunking barklike shards of peanut brittle into scalding hot V60 cups of Intelligensia coffee. It was a winning combo for the rockbreakers at the quarry too, they even gave him a complimentary fragment of basalt in gratitude. Yes sir, it was a bright day in Western Ohio that day, such that no one even noticed when the river caught on fire, the coffee was just THAT GOOD.


Blue Lobster Ragged Neck Rye, Fedex Getting My Porter Straight Shaken Ragged

Alright we handled that Treehouse shit earlier, we hit up HF gems on the reg, but what about neglected ass New Hampshire? Don’t they get any love in the beer spectrum? Well this is kinda a hyrbid of sorts since one of the Blue Lobster brewers, David Salkolosowklsky, used to work at Hill Farmstead. The entire region is just whipping up game and pushing cream in the trap. Some people’s jimmies are still steel traps for regular, non-BA porters. WELL THEY NEED TO GET PUT UP ON GAME. Let’s see if this is some Funky Buddha porter steeze or a weak ass Shipyard offering in today’s review.

Cross-country journey and it was still excited to see me.  Beer you my only fren.

Cross-country journey and it was still excited to see me. Beer you my only fren.

Blue Lobster Brewing Company
New Hampshire, United States
American Porter | 7.40% ABV

A: This looks phenomenal and keeps the carbonation just flowing and billowing like chocolate mousse from the jump. The cling and lacing is nice, residual malts just streaking the glass like chocolate milk tatties in the shower room. You tip up for that splishy splashy light body that breaks out cola thin, shooting that bubble up from below like a darker Miley Cyrus, but far cleaner in execution.

This porter is a different kind of uplifting, but I like it.

This porter is a different kind of uplifting, but I like it.

S: This has a fantastic almond tannic presence that lends a distinct rye crackliness that almost reminds me of cracked black pepper mixed with a baker’s chocolate hand you can hold while skipping through the gentle single porter world full of robust choices. Very little if any smoke to this, more like scorched coffee grounds for those of you that weigh their water before brewing LIKE LITTLE BITCHES. The dark bready aspect is a crackly lil gem that reminds me quite a bit of a thinner, more angry version of Everett. Everyone’s porter recipe seems to be jacked from somewhere.

T: This extends the olfactory and again is a compeltely dry affair with a roasty first foot that steps in a puddle of 85% cocoa that balances shit out and boosts that drinkability hardcore like a Terran Stimpack. The Abv is laughable and lies in wait with the shiv under your liver’s bunk ready to put in work. This isn’t the most complex beer in its rye forward, dark bread, thin execution; but that’s ok. It could use a bit more chocolate malts to boost a sweetness to balance out the woody aspects of this beer but some people would tell me to suck on my own tits because that is how they like their porters. Agree to suck on one’s own tits, respectively.

Whenever I try a really good porter I WANT TO GIVE IT TO EVERYONE.

Whenever I try a really good porter I WANT TO GIVE IT TO EVERYONE.

M: This is thin and the light dryness from the rye doesn’t make this a cloying affair like say, Smoking Wood from the Bruery. It reminds me of the bad seed twin brother of Everett. It is more menacing, drier, less sweet, and just doesn’t seem to give a fuck about you. This is the Everett twin that does sick burnouts, fingerbangs chicks in 9th grade, has slicked back hair, takes dixpix and is all around just a more pissed off porter. Some tickers like that kinda role model, who am I to intervene?

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and, even more so than Everett in some respects. The sweetness is absent and so you get roast and rye to push you along this khaki foamy log ride. If you don’t like that, then you will drink faster, if you do, you will swallow harder for those dry bready pumpernickel notes. Either way the growler is gonna be drained and you will have to drive your kids to school drunk. Good job, parent of the year.

Some porters are on a whole different level of badassness.

Some porters are on a whole different level of badassness.

Narrative: Solvang was a Danish City known for its sunny fields. Well to be more accurate, Solvang was a central California city, founded by Danish people, currently populated by Mexicans. The little city of 5,000 was famed for its rye harvests year in and year out, travelers would come from miles around to sample the scratchy dry wheat and enjoy the dark loaves of bread sold by the street vendors. The teeming masses from San Luis Obispo would watch the migrant workers toil to reap the crop annually, never thinking to contribute to their efforts in a meaningful way, or contemplate their crippling wages. It was easier just to buy some Danish chocolate and some plastic Viking costume for the misbehaving children. One of the gems of Solvang that none of the tourist seemed to appreciate was Mission Santa Ynes, which sat right next to the fake Danish village. The stoic congregation would pray and eat rye Eucharist, looking solemnly on the obese masses enjoying funnel cakes. Many would overlook the real splendor of the town, its agrarian roots, deep rye beds, incredible chocolate; they would listen to 2 Chainz CDs and buy Danish wares made in China. Some people just don’t want to actually travel; don’t actually want nice things.


@hillfarmstead Madness and Civilization I: The Unbecoming More Than Without

I wanted to use an abstract gerund phrase to take the piss out of recent brewery titles but Jean and the TH boys beat me to it with a lengthy Vonnegut reference, so we all get to collectively rub those philosophy degrees for kindling. Except I can’t brew for shit. Anyway, I Tarrantino’ed the fuck out of these reviews and dropped a fat #2 of madness on your before I closed with a long hard #1 of Madness. This has been colloquially deemed the more “accessible” of the two offerings. But that is like a Dupont Registry buyer saying that a Gallardo is an “entry level offering.” Take your KBS bullshit elsewhere, the men are talking. Anyway, let’s take this supercar of stouts around the ring a bit, is this the malty r8 everyone is hoping for or just some bullshit Tesla hype? We shall see.

Look, oh wow, I didnt share it, that means I know some shit, right, oh wait I am still a prediabetic bitch.

Look, oh wow, I didnt share it, that means I know some shit, right, oh wait I am still a prediabetic bitch.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States

Style | ABV
American Double / Imperial Stout | 9.00% ABV
It is a BLEND of very complex components – 2 year old Buckwheat Rye aged in Elijah Craig 18 barrels, 15 month Maple Wheat Imperial Stout, and a blend of Vanilla and Cacao Nib Bourbon Barrel aged Everett.

A: Alright drink all of the above in an just imagine the world that you live in being sucked sideways by a wanting George T. Stagg fleshlight. This is far more lively than the second offering, but for reasons that will be outlined shortly. This is the Island of the Blue Dolphins of the HF stouts accessibility and it looks beautiful with a splashy wake like some bourbon otters are cracking some cask oak on their chests. The carb is there, the alcohol doesn’t drill your anoos, everything was well.

Sometimes I get emails about some stupid BJCP or Naked Pint shit and I be like-

Sometimes I get emails about some stupid BJCP or Naked Pint shit and I be like-

S: This is where things start going from standard to “oh fuck, this Fedex box was worth it.” I love two things that I have read in other reviews: 1) this is amazing at 45 degrees and 2) I can certainly pick out XXXX barrel. For the former, you dun goofed. The olfactory consequences will never be the same. Let this warm up and it is like a derelict candy dealer dropping cacao and sticky hersheys in your nose holes. This is more scent than MC2, and delivers a more complex smell bouquet than its elusive brother. You get some red wine tannins at higher temps in the same vein as Parabola but this has the sustain of oak and baker’s chocolate that rings deep and pure. The nose just fucks you sideways and you tip up for it.

T: The taste does not deliver in the intensity that MC2 provides. This has a sweetness and almost a Grape Fanta finish to it that is still GOOD, but after my butthole was stretched to Rubix cube levels by MC2, it is hard not to long for that gentle chocolatey fist. Regardless, this has a more nuanced gentle profile with red wine tannins, the sweetness of the bourbon, a vanilla profile that seems to watch over this shit like a Mormon dance, not letting anything become too ridiculous. At the closer you get a kind of chocolate pancake aspect that is sweet but the red wine just interlopes hard like an Orange County mother you wish would move its fake tits on out of here.

MC1 puts you on that sweet sticky drinkable game that you love to love.

MC1 puts you on that sweet sticky drinkable game that you love to love.

M: The mouthfeel is lighter than MC2 for a billion reasons, but it has its own charms. You can apprehend the nuances and variety of notes taking place here, whereas the MC2 is a full on assault that takes a fuckload of concentration to address, this is a delcious Event Horizon sort of stout that lets you meander at your leisure, never unfulfilled. It is sweeter but doesn’t overwhelm in a way that most bullshit tickers wont notice anyway as they are lining up 45 bottles on the mantle of their garbage track home.

D: This is easily more drinkable than MC2 but the format also almost seems to lend itself to this fact. If you have ever been to a diner at 3am and had the “chicken noodle soup” and had the reduced blast that is the stiffarm of concentrated madness, you will know the true nature of this beer. To be honest, most people will like this version more. The bitch ass tickers who focus on rarity will claim to like MC2 more and continue to rate Darkness down for being “too hot” but at the end of the day, these are two different beers both kissing the neck of two totally different neckbeards. MC2 is for the hardened veteran ready for the 2009 Beer Cynic, the MC1 is there to glad hand the normal “Huna for BWXIV” kids. I don’t know what DDB has degenerated to, but this shit was delicious.

some tickers complain that DDB has lost touch with the regular beer world, like this shit ever resided there.

some tickers complain that DDB has lost touch with the regular beer world, like this shit ever resided there.

Narrative: “Hello? Is this recordin-pshh- hello?” Taylor Carmen tapped the monitor pleadingly. He never meant for this to happen. Just three weeks ago he was your average Orange County youth, slammed Silverado, flat brimmed hat, Crazy Town not an uncommon artist within the ambit of his auditory selection. He was a master of NU METAL and presented a deep and profound manner that every woman with pink highlights would embrace. But now here he was, an ad hoc astronaut. To be fair, the prank war was getting a bit out of hand. “Please, if anyone sees my step mom, tell her, I am so sorry for mistreating her-” Taylor started it by down tuning his friends bass to E flat. Then the classic bucket in the doorway, things escalated, and they tricked poor Taylor into boarding the launch of a new Verizon satellite. “And if you see Aiden, tell him he is a total dick. . .I am running out of air. . .but he should know. . .those texts never came from a. . .chick-” He layed against the GPS monitor and gasps the sickest final breaths of a bro cut down before the pinnacle of his sickness. Later they would recover these remains from Mars and realize his genius, a prank that was common to all but inacessible and perfectly executed for its purity and sweet nature. Poor Taylor Carmen.


Revolution Brewing Mean Gene Flicking that Mean Bean on the Clean Scene

I give the midwest traders dress downs on the regular for shittyh trade offers and some people get butthurt at the perceived bias. In the future I will try to clown on Florida and the Pacific Northwest to make some amends. In the interim, how about a completely fucking favorable beer review of something amazing straight out of the 312? Can we still be friends? I have had latent curiosity about Revolution ever since I tried Mad Cow, and every offering that I have subsequently enjoyed has been amazing. This brewery is spitting crazy ether and dropping hot 16s on cyphers just making other midwest breweries, excepting maybe Haymarket, getting copped up and clapped quick. So enough massaging the sack, let’s get at these beans.

I was gonna make an erection/wood play here but, at this point it is like a single entendre

I was gonna make an erection/wood play here but, at this point it is like a single entendre

Revolution Brewing Company – Brewpub
Illinois, United States
American Porter | 8.50% ABV

A: This beer is full of fucking life for a deep malignant looking brew. It froths out crackly and excited, lacing the glass and looking like a Honduran waterpark all dark and full of vigor. The lacing looks great and it maintains that clearly porter aspect to it with some nice legs but no crazy char staining the glass like the petulant beast Huna, just ruining carpets and doling out paternity tests.

It is tough to argue with porters that are this good.

It is tough to argue with porters that are this good.

S: This has an incredible interplay between the coffee, roast, light oak, vanilla and the barrel cloystered way in the back like an approving parent. This doesn’t go apeshit in any one aspect and the coffee has this acidity that gently scissors the barrel aspects, straight grinding them beans. I could quaff this all day but don’t think I am some quaffer, ain’t nobody got time for that.

T: This reminds me of “Baby BA Kopi” in many ways. The coffee doesn’t go as hard, the barrel has this coconut/oak/roasty aspect and a gentle vanilla that is not the relief pitcher it is the closer. This just has an incredible balance that remains distinctly porter and doesn’t go down this quasi-stout road. I could drink this all day, hit parked cars, holler at pregnant women and get lackluster hugs from drunk sorority chicks. It is that kinda beer.

cant land limited barrel aged porters? Don't cry, drink an Edmund Fitzgerald and think about things that coudl have been.

cant land limited barrel aged porters? Don’t cry, drink an Edmund Fitzgerald and think about things that coudl have been.

M: This washes clean and just serves to dice shit up quickly with little residual sugars but a great barrel character that is restrained enough that you don’t need to plan ahead or split this. Fuck your friends, they didn’t show up to your Slam Poetry competition, drink this alone. The watery aspects would usually be a knock, but in this instance it just delivers shit up flawless. These other breweries wanted beef until Revolution started serving up slabs. This is on the same level as Batch 2 Birth of Tragedy and gives a sly nod to Jack’s Abby BA Framinghammer, being in the mix with the late great porters.

D: Taken as a whole, this beer is incredibly drinkable and masks that abv with great depth but at colder temps a sort of incredible simplicity. At higher temps the beers opens up and shows its more complex sides, a lil something for everyone. It’s like putting on a Crazy Town album, just incredible depth and clarity for all, magnum opus of- just kidding I can’t even type this, Crazy Town is worse than stapling your labias together.

Bourbon, char, roast, chocolate just getting up in the mix for a sick cuddle sesh

Bourbon, char, roast, chocolate just getting up in the mix for a sick cuddle sesh

Narrative: Gepetto’s woodworking shop was not performing as expected. Perhaps it was his fault, opening a fanciful woodshop in 17th century Vienna. People just did not have the need for trifles and dolls in a post-reformation world. Gepetto would get so lonely, looking out the shop windows, observing the bustling populace going to and fro. It was never in his constitution to be a butcher or a baker, he was born for the baroque and ornate woodworking was the only thing he knew. Sometimes patrons would frequent his store and he would be seen speakingly lovingly to an inanimate doll or laughing and patting a wooden bear on the head. Despite his beneficent intentions, people were creeped out. He was a master with the wood, but his execution was not for the general populace. It would take generations to realize that his creations required no strings, none at all. His brilliance laid in his ability to take the simple and raise it to a level of grandeur unparalleled in wood grinding until Seventh Veil opened on Sunset, many years in the future.


GUEST REVIEW: Three Floyds Topless Wytch, Pagan worshippers straight stacked

HOW CAN I BE ANY FUCKING LAZIER? This site is already the post-bike ride taint of the beer world, but now I am farming out my own shitty beer reviews to legitimately talented writers? You get what you pay for on this site OKAY. Today’s guest review is the same contributor from the Lawsons Kiwi Double IPA Review aka Hevvymetalhippie. Thank you for your work, now I can chase down diabetes in peace. I will give him the floor:

How apropos to be reviewing this beer during one of the last snowfalls of the winter, it doesn’t get more metal than this beer. Not only are there a pentagram, an inverted cross, and an axe on the “death metal band font” label, but…titties! Besides, what is best in life? Answer: To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women. I’ve been waiting to drink this beer for months; this Wytch isn’t topless, say the titties is out.

Tatties straight blasting harder than the Four Play label. NSFW beer.

Tatties straight blasting harder than the Four Play label. NSFW beer.

Three Floyds Brewing
Munster, IN
Baltic Porter || 9.00%

Appearance: Even a hard pour couldn’t get a head to form on this godless harlot. If anything there’s a thin and tight ring of bubbles, that quickly vanish to a scant ring around a mysterious coffee black body. Why you gotta be so triflin’! When I set a burning bible behind the glass, looking through the darkness to the other side, deep shades of burgundy and garnet reflect from the glass…robey tones braj…robey tones. And for the record, no lacing, this wytch is topless remember

I looked closer at that label and wuz all lyke-

I looked closer at that label and wuz all lyke-

Smell: On the initial pour bakers chocolate, bitter coffee and sweet malt are as
obvious, but much like the letter art on the label, not all is what it seems. To qualify
as a Baltic Porter, a higher ABV must be created to withstand travel to the “Baltic”
regions, as well as being bottom fermented at lower temperatures. A slight vinous
character emerges from the briny deep as well, perhaps an unholy note of satanic

Taste: If it smells like a wytch, looks like a wytch, then its PROBABLY A FUCKING
WITCH! This beer is awesome, straight up. A lot translates over from the nose,
but richer and sweeter as it warms. It’s probably sucking my soul out Dementor
style like a golf ball through a garden hose…yeah think about that. If 3 Floyds ever
decided to barrel age these, or better yet do barrel aged variants of this, they’d have
a line down the street of beer geeks willing to sell their souls for this potential insta-
Whale. I see bourbon barrel, port, or even cognac going over very well.

This beer might be deemed sexually offensive and offputting to women, but ladies be loving dem imperial porters tho.

This beer might be deemed sexually offensive and offputting to women, but ladies be loving dem imperial porters tho.

Mouthfeel: While thinking of how to make a joke about doing body shots of Topless
Wytch off a topless witch and how hedonistically aristocratic I felt sitting amongst
a pile of recently traded beers, I couldn’t help but notice how badly I wanted this
to be a thick witch. If only it had gone further down the road into stoutsville; well
I guess it’d just be a barrel aged imperial stout; fuck me right? Some people like
their women like they like their stouts: thick and fudgy. AMIRITE? Hey where’s
everybody going?

Drinkability/Overall: I accidently a whole Topless Wytch…is this bad? Over a
prolonged and more civilized drinking session; like a respectable adult would have,
not some college frat bro drink-a-thon shit show, where I’m sucking down beer like
a man-titted bridge troll whose life depended on it; I realize that my beer nerd rage
wants, and rash judgments might be a tad hasty. This is an excellent beer, another
world-class offering from 3 Floyds. I have come to the realization that drinking
amazing beer regularly has clouded my judgment on what is actually a good beer
and what is a phenomenal beer. It’s tough isn’t it? #firstworldproblems. It could
be enhanced if they bumped the ABV up, tossed that topless bitch in a barrel like
she deserves and let her out some months later, but it’s also excellent all on its
own. Satanic imagery, evil letter art, tits, a Norwegian Black Metal album, and one
amazing beer later, I’m ready to sign my name into the black book of death, if this is
any predicator of things to come.

Ultimately it is a porter, it is a non-imperial stout, black ale, fuck if I can explain what this is.

Ultimately it is a porter, it is a non-imperial stout, black ale, fuck if I can explain what this is.

Narrative: It had been three weeks since Lydia had seen the sun. Her skin, pallid and
milky had been untouched by the light of day, her purple blue veins read like a map,
roads down her arms and into her hands. Inside the cemetery catacombs, the need
for clothes had become moot; the temperature often soared leaving the mausoleum
sweltering in the mid-day Louisiana sun, causing her to venture deeper into the
dark vaults, bereft of clothes. Further she walked, blindly and topless into the earth,
hand upon the wall, beyond the oldest portions of the grave until she reached the
terminus of the pit. There upon the roughly hewn ledge lay her prize, the Black
Book! It had taken her years to find its final resting place, but here it was and here
she was. Warm to the touch, the book was waiting for her, to inscribe her name into
it, and cast it from the book of life. Perhaps now she would feel the satisfaction, the
comeuppance in unlife that she so desperately desired in life. Lydia was becoming a


Great Lakes Brewing Company Edmund Fitzgerald Porter, Gripping the Wood Like Kiki Shepard

What else is there to say about this beer? It is one of the best porters in the entire world, it packs a huge flavorful punch with a paltry 150 calories, has an incredible balance and just might be the textbook example of an American Porter. Let’s stop gripping the wood and investigates the guts of this shipwreck.

If you see this or trade for it-

-Obtain several, you will not regret it.

Great Lakes Brewing Company
Ohio, United States
American Porter | 5.80% ABV

A: The appearance pours a nice thin wispy cola color with light mahogany and slippery watery disposition like that used car salesman always trying to put you in a Mazda 3. The lacing is rife with fine microbubbles, bubbles on her its skin make a white stripe like a zebra. The lacing is substantial and looks like a lacy dress that Taylor Swift was wearing before she got his by a depleted uranium round. Goodnight sweet princess.

This will catch you off-guard, but damn, it is worth talking about.

S: The smell is sweet like turbinado sugar with light baker’s chocolate and a hint of Nestle chips. There is a light char on the backend that is notable but not intimidating, like a baby blue Pit Bull. Adorable amounts of roast.

T: The taste is incredibly light and refreshing with initial sweetness that follows with a slick chocolate aspect like you tried to make Quik with water, you poor asshole. There’s a nice light tobacco and roastiness on the backend that rounds out the watery straight up porter aspect to it. This is like a sessionable imperial stout if you want some sort of paradox with your beer reviews, it has all the big charm of a powered up track home, with with the panache of a studio apartment. Swag curb appeal.

DURRR levels at 0% with this one. Super official.

M: This might be my favorite aspect this beer. It is incredibly light and dances swiftly from flavor zone to zone imparting a nice sweet and hint of smoke aspect. If you went to Wikipedia for something other than jungle porn, you would find this as an unverified textbook definition of a porter, citation unneeded.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the price and 6 packs are all the explanation I need for the obesity epidemic in the midwest. If I were a fireman, or like, an insurance salesman, I would drink this before work instead of coffee. It is that good and refreshing. Or maybe you just live in a rural part of Ohio and your Saturday night fun has a price tag of $9.99, throwing rocks at trains and shit. Get on that grizzy.

It is an amazing porter, I know it is 5%, there’s no time to explain, get in.

Narrative: Michael Chambers was a legacy weatherman as KFEC 6 and everyone in the newsroom knew it. He would swagger in just minuted before the cameras were live, pressing Hershey kisses into the palms of his co-workers. He spun a tight circle and flashed a smile at the producer and sauntered over to the weather green screen in a light brown suit, looking as smooth as the summer day is long. “OK, Mike, hey, let’s get this shot down-” he was popping and locking in a charming manner while ushering the computer generated clouds across Lake Michigan. He might be a bit sweet, even at some times borderline cloying, but God damn it if that Mike Chambers wasn’t a refreshing guy to be around, at all times.


Midnight Sun Oak Aged TREAT, Take You to the Oak Aged Shop, Let you Lick the Pumpkin Pop

For the uninformed, this might look like a rather pedestrian gem for this site, that is until you see those magic words on that bottle OAK AGED. That’s right, we skipped right over the old traditional version and went directly for the .rar jugular. I have heard that they release 400 bottles of this each year, but maybe a Midnight Sun rep can clear that up for me. Either way, this is one of those 400+ wants < 15 gots sort of beers that brings all the boys to the yard. Let's get our pumpkins smashed in today's review:

Midnight Sun Brewing Co.
Alaska, United States
American Porter | 7.80% ABV

A: This has a slick blackness to it that doesn’t come across as a hefty boy, it is nimble and imparts some light sheeting on the walls but the mocha skeeting is kept to a refined minimum. The carbonation runs freely and serves up tiny effervescence like a hungover barista.

Out of the pumpkin mire, the oak aged chocolate monster cometh.

S: This has a much more robust nose than the regular version and deals out pumpkin, nutmeg, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, smashed M&Ms, light lactose aspects, and some pepper. There is a strange bit of clove and sweetness from a Djarum Black, the whole affair is classy but sticky at the same time, like 5th grade Halloween sleepovers in an opulent den of rich mahogany.

T: This carries the chocolate and pumpkin to the maximum, 7th gear engaged to the fullest. The spices are present throughout but are not overpowering, they are more like a tasty garnish to the main event. The chocolate and pumpkin don’t have that horrible synthetic feel that some other holiday offerings posit, I am looking at you Shipyard brewing and all of your Smashed Imperial offerings. It’s the kind of chocolatey boss that doesn’t give you your tens, but lets you leave early. Pretty solid.

Try this pumpkin beer that said. Only 7% abv they said.

M: This has a nice slick porter wateriness to it that imparts the flavor and gets out of there as though a new episode of Breaking Bad is on or something. You could put this back all day long, or you could open it with some people that will never have the chance to try it, either way beer curmudgeon. Spread the love around.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and hides the abv well. The pumpkin and complexity of the chocolate aspects balance each other out and everyone is left with beige ass teeth smiling happily. The oak is not too pronounced but it is still empowers the other elements to do their thang, impart some vanilla and spice notes and then the bottle is gone.

This beer hits your flavor zones hard and leaves you stable, like a pumpkin BAWS.

Narrative: Bill Nye, the guy of science looked through the fusion reactor blast shield and scrawled some obtuse findings into a yellow notebook. The particle accelerator had successfully extracted carbon chains from both chocolate strains and disassembled complex amino acid chains from a gourd. Now the faint hue of the orange light spun rapidly as the proto-pumpkin quarks attempted to integrate themselves into the chocomatrix. “Those years of admonishing the reasoning faculties of children have postured me, BILL NYE, to usurp the throne of the king of Halloween.” The flow charts on the wall demonstrated the complex plan to become the figurehead of pagan rituals and how to rekindle the love of his followers through the use of science. “OH MY GO-” a flash of Ferrero Rocher gold erupted and Bill stared into the wispy whirring chocolate cloud. “MR. NYE! YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE, IT IS NOT FINISHED!” The Science Guy would see the instability of the product breaking down. He grabbed his oak clip board and entered the reactor and was imbued with chocolateyoakypumpkin free radicals, infusing him with the deep painful essence of Halloween. BUT WOULD HE USE THESE NEW FOUND HALLOPOWERS FOR GOOD OR EVIL?


Hill Farmstead Fear and Trembling Cabernet/Bourbon Blend, Infinite Resignation is the Last Stage of Fatih

Believe it or not, I have actually been trying to ratchet back my reviews of all these HF gems lately. No, it is not due to the confusion surrounding the Ephraim release, and no it is not due to my latent bitterness being unable to land an Ann (her?) I simply cannot forego reviewing some of these old school (relative to Hill Farmstead lifespan) treats.

This porter is suspending my universal beliefs for my individual understanding of what a porter can be.

Hill Farmstead Brewery visit their website
Vermont, United States
Baltic Porter | 9.30% ABV

A: Just like all well-done porters, this has that signature thin bodied nature to it that splashes into the glass without heft or massive sheeting. The carbonation is generous and looks like a Coffee Bean drink with khaki foam and microbubbles smaller than 3J’s role in Family Matters.

At a certain point you should at least try to mask your affection for something.

S: This is a bit smokier than I would have liked but imparts a nice char, super Charizard if you will. Then again I am not a fan of char in the first place so I guess take that with a grain of char limits. There’s chocolate, a slight red grape aspect that is more of a tannic dryness, and a bitter coffee aspect. I could have used a bit more of the refreshing porter aspects to this instead of toeing the imperial stout line but, you mess with the Baltic, you get the horns.

T: Thankfully this campfire session eschews the roasted wood and goes a ‘smore route with a deep chocolate, cocoa, vanilla and a touch of mallow foam. The dryness from the oak is present but doesn’t put both hands in your malt bowl, just enough to be noticed. There’s some plum and stone fruit aspects and a smoky finish at the verrrrry end that sneaks in like the littlest roast puppy in the litter. There’s a great complexity and it’s tough to knock any of the three variants of this beer.

If you don’t enjoy dark beer I could always serve you a baby sloth in a chalice, your decision.

M: The mouthfeel is slick and light, dead on to porter, but not quite going into an overweight stout territory. The carbonation is fine and feels like 700 thread count sheets, a sateen duvet in your mouth. But you drink beer so you probably have that Walmart all-in-one bedsheet that single moms love to tolerate. I liked this better as it warmed and the barrel characteristics became more pronounced. You want that deep dark fruit, go get it.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and masks its ABV very well. The light body and huge flavor profile is a haymaker that clears your glass pretty effortlessly. I would say the imperial porters from Hill Farmstead are improving steadily as I would rank them as follows:

Birth of Tragedy > BA Everett > Fear and Trembling

For anyone who gives a shit about bottles that are nearly impossible to obtain. Me recommending a 300 bottle run of something limited beyond belief is kinda like polishing an apple on my shirt and talking about which of my Ornithopters is my favorite.

Some people think imperial porters are just stouts in disguise, haters gonna hate.

Narrative: “And go, take your last bottle, first born in your cellar and cast it into the Fedex truck, for a return blessing shall be forthcoming.” The anonymous message seemed suspicious, yet highly credible to Mark Wallerstein. He had been trading beer online for years, but never before had he received such a divine command. “Is this some kind of LIF or someth-” he thought and suddenly a message appeared “NO, this is not a lottery it forward, only when you sacrifice your most precious bottle can you obtain that which is truly worthwhile.” This was a bit creepy but Mark began solemly wrapping his 2007 Cable Car in bubble tape, aware of the intense burden laid at his doorstep. He was to suspend all belief in bartering and give up his most precious to become elevated to a state of fear and trembling. He would exchange rationalism for hope in the ultimate gesture of beer bonhomie. Just as Mark was about to ship his final and only Cable Car, a UPS worker stopped him. “You see Mark, only by knowing that you could give up this sick wale, could you demonstrate your right to receive this:” and on that very site, his bottle was spared and he was given a bottle of Dirty Horse, unblended, 1983. A divine blessing indeed.


3 Floyd’s Bourbon Barrel Aged Alpha Klaus with Plums, Adjective Stacking FTW

I know what you are thinking “another rare Barrel Aged 3 Floyd’s beer? Give that shit a rest.” Alright, fair enough, but BA Behemoth was beyond amazing so I can’t stay away, the game needs me. This is another one of those 391 bottle, generic barrel aged bottle releases and so far, all the prior releases were amazing. Let’s see if this follows suit or IF IT DOESN’T HAVE THE PLUMS TO DO SO

Keeping it Alpha as fuck with Victorian literature.

Three Floyds Brewing Co. / Brewery & Pub
Indiana, United States
American Porter | 10.00% ABV

Oh shit, bottle number 221/391, .rar bonus.

A: This has that inky squid discharge look with the nimble porter wateriness that you’ve come to expect from those charming offerings. The splishy splashy cola notes give it a flat soda look with some moderate carbonation. It looks pretty legit, through and through, although some middle carbonation wouldn’t be a total turn off. But this isn’t a Hustler spread, so let’s leave these fictional dreams well enough alone.

Whenever I open a barrel aged 3 Floyd’s Beer: I HAVE THE POWER.

S: While it is plum, I get a deep grape and black cherry from the nose, mixed in like a Cordial with some chocolate and a marshmallow froth. There’s some booze holding this kraken back, but the whole thing seems sweeter and purple Flintstones vitamin more than chocolate rampage.

T: The plum kicks into a deep sweet grapitey grape rampage. Statutory grape, if you will. The plum comes across in more of a light tannin fairy dust sprinkled throughout the fracas like feathers in a sorority girl pillow fight and the chocolate and roast look inside through the malt window with visible erections. It reminds me of a purple fanta meets yoohoo outing that is neither suitable for hikes nor sitting by the hearth, discussing Roosevelt’s re-election. Like a plum bachelorette, neither classy, nor explicitly trashy.

This beer pulls of some strange stunts, which you appreciate but are not sure how to apply in a larger medium.

M: The mouthfeel is dead on and cartwheels into a nimble posture, tossing black cherry shurikens pell mell. It washes away clean but the booze hangs out on the way out, looking for trim on the way down. I would not suggest this to novice beer drinkers unless you want to hear a bunch of irritating adjectives that will denature your experience, “OH MAN IT IS LIKE A TAFFY BURNT TIRE BRO” see I can’t even make them shitty enough to impart realism.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, but I am torn as to whether I like it more cold or warmer. Cold it is more chocolate with tame fruits, around 60 degrees this shit starts getting into Fruit Stripe Gum territory real quick, which is tasty and original, but maybe not as drinkable. If you focus on the lingering chocolate and cocoa phosphate aspect, it is fulfilling through and through.

Porterrr….plumssses…..bourbon….now….build me a dam sweet Indiana muses…

Narrative: William Goyette gripped his temples and popped another prune into his mouth. His status consistently garnered no showering of likes, thumbs, approval or otherwise. “GOD DAMNIT THIS GUY AGAIN!” he exclaimed and looked at his minifeed cluttered with “THE DOCTOR SAYD YOUR HAVENG A GIRL!” with 56 likes. Another status from a marginally attractive Mormon girl said “each day is a gift wrapped in a sunrise” that received 34 comments. “THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE,” he thought to himself and took a bite from a juicy plum. William lives strictly off of Farmer’s Market food, did crossfit, read H.P. Lovecraft and thought that he was edgy as fuck. He still could not understand why the goldpan of life passed his pithy statuses by. “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what LPs Real Estate are going to release next fall” he could not understand how that gem of relevance and ultra ironic but self deprecating tone of metacritical commentary rolled in auspicious knowledge, somehow failed to elicit “likes.” Likes are the lifeblood and currency of the insecure. They feed the Williams of the world with a sweet succor of post-collegiate relevance. It is the sweet nectar for his race, the rare and relevant, the cloistered tiers of esoteric civilization. He popped a dried plum into his mouth from the Ronco food dehydrator and he began his 43rd screenplay, this time a SciFi re-imagining of Howard’s End. He was edgy as fuck.


Southern Tier Mokah, Why Brew Coffee When You Can Brew Beer? Oh, DUIs.

Southern Tier rolled out a whole line of these imperial stout monsters that tasted like other things, creme brulee, mokah, jahva, all kinds of things. You don’t see that in other formats, I have never seen a baker making cupcakes that taste like an imperial stout, I guess it’s a one way street for people with things to take care of. Anyway, let’s get coffee wasted and start cupping in today’s review.

I can’t be bothered to sort all these damn imperial stout pictures, but this one tasted like coffee. Big shocker.

Guess what, this tasted exactly like creme brulee and the girls lost their shit over it. I thought it was sweeter than the end of a Nicholas Sparks movie, but then again I have that XY chromosomal order.

Spoiler alert, this beer, called Choklat, tasted like a sweet kiss from Johnny Depp, psyche, it tasted like fucking chocolate. Duh, next beer.

I completely forgot what the fuck we were talking about. Oh yeah, this beer, which is TOTALLY DIFFERENT THAN ALL THAT OTHER SHIT. Just kidding, they are all awesome, haters gonna hate.

Southern Tier, Mokah 11.2% abv, Imperial Stout

A: Deep dark oily hues, not so black as Satan’s magic or straight up Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, but, still pretty black. Mild tiny bubbles, tiny carbonation, tiny everything. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Most people can’t afford to take down a series of Southern Tier dank ass stouts, pic related.

S: Very sweet milk notes, not unlike their crème brulee, with a solid coffee waft as the backbone. I am very intrigued by this penumbra between the two elements. “Oh wait, he is intrigued?” not a single fuck was given today, I know. But seriously, the dichotomy is amazing.

T: The taste is a spot on rendition between a sweet stout and a deep coffee stout. It is just amazing on both polar ends. At the outset you get an amazing caramel milky sweetness that subsides into a drying coffee dryness. It feels like a cuvee between a milk stout and a coffee stout. Again, just amazing on all fronts.

I love you forever Southern Tier, even though you put my nice things in the toilet.

M: This imperial stout is not overbearing but is incredible in the mouth feel. It coats and imparts some great sweet and bitter notes and fades quickly, not overstaying its welcome. The whole endeavor just smacks of value. This beer has a great breakfast stout character to it without any barrel aging, very impressive.

D: Very drinkable, incredibly silky in its body with a great mouthfeel and coating to it. I cannot believe that this is a simple off shelf beer and again, when it comes to stouts, the east coast is spoiled beyond belief. I feel like I just spoil this category but I seriously could drink this stout for days on end, it has an incredible balance. For reals.

Unlike facebook, I never rage at Southern Tier stouts, because they are sweet and amazing.

Narrative: Do you ever feel like someone is just controlling your every movement? Like Truman show? No like literally hedging every single one of your clips and turns. In what way? Ok, I don’t want to invoke the old deontological chestnut where we discuss pre-destination relative to a divine plan, I mean, in this earthly world, some people are destined to encounter some conflict and resolution, purely on the basis of man’s plight and have it resolved by the same anomalous factors. Well sometimes, like a flat tire and a serendipitous tow truck? That sort of thing? Exactly and now what those conflicting elements interplay so succinctly? Well usually something bad happens and then something pretty cool happens. The bitter and the sweet. Well, yeah. So who determines this balance, if it is determined, the interplay should be fairly evenly divided but who is the wholesale recipient of a load of bitter while others receive nothing but sweet. Well, to that I cannot say? It feels arbitrary and totally unfocused but at the same time, it is uplifting knowing that at any given moment a blast of splenda or carmelized sugar could come my way, sure it could be in the form of strippers or Magic: the Gathering cards, but the treats are nonetheless sweet. Well, I guess I feel you, but I can’t help feeling that this entire discussion was a paper thin pretense for both deontology and simple aromatics in food. Well, basically. Those two are pretty aligned.