@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).

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.


HAPPY H(ALE)OWEEN, Time for a Top Rated Quad: St. Bernardus 12, for the Pagan Ritual Haters

Here’s a top 100 beer that has gone unreviewed for far too long. On a larger point, I have neglected the shit out of quads lately, I usually view them as a halfway house between the sweet English Barleywines and the deep dark succor of Imperial stouts, but they are a beast all unto themselves, worthy of reverence and cool reflection. Even if you have disputes with the monastic roots and don’t see the point of pious reflection and fasting to honor whatever deity that you see fit for whatever ritual rooted in pagan fealty that you happen to believe or cast cool skepticism over, you at least have to respect parsing phrases and independent clauses. And beer.

Sure I could have dropped that $8.99 to show you the 33cl bottle, but is your fucking Google finger broken? Here is what it looks like in draft you lazy ingrates.

Brouwerij St. Bernardus NV
Watou, Belgium
Quadrupel (Quad) | 10.00% ABV

A: Nice deep almost milky caramel countenance, solid lacing, tiny tiny microscopic bubbles that linger long after you drink and a mirror shine to it without any middle carbonation to speak of.

Quads this big and delicious will put your palate in overrustle, use your limit break already.

S: You can hear the groans from the anticipationists a mile away, guess what it smells like? Yes, deep boozy figs, raisins, dates, and a nice malty back bone. If it didn’t, would it really be an exceptional Quad? Maybe but do rhetorical questions still perform well in a global economy? We shall see.

T: This has a nice syrupy quality that is abated by the tiny bubbles that pump up the palate mildly. I don’t want to take deep swallows of this by any means but, it is a great beer to sip on if only a 10oz pour were provided. I don’t want to say that you can’t opt for the old 3 Liter chestnut that we have all seen, however, I will opine that you have demons that you are chasing that the public remains aware of.

You can’t photoshop a quad, no matter how hard you try, it is a tough style to pass off, dating site or otherwise.

M: Again, this has a decent coating lying somewhere between the crazy OG of an imperial stout, that hates you, and a loving DIPA that lingers for a bit too long after dinner parties. This is perfect if you want to brandish a huge corked masterpiece and impress a “boss” languidly. “CORKS IN BEER WELL I NEVER!” the Applebees hostess exclaims as a cork rickochets against a picture of a a tube filled with ice cream.

D: This, somehow, is incredibly drinkable. On paper it seems like a swimming pool in the front yard: things all out of place, problems abound; however this just works. It seems like someone dropped off their idiot savant cousin who decided not to drop a duke in my sink and instead arranged everything amiably. As thick and alcoholic as this is, I still feel this is an everyman[sic woman] beer that is simply delicious.

When you get a trappist ale this drinkable with a solid 10% left hook, someone is gonna be getting some smooches and knuckle sandwiches.

Narrative: “GOD DAMNIT IT, EVERY holiday” “Hey Steve, lower your voice” “OK, every holiday party he does this” Their eyes surveyed the Christmas party and noted several women at the beckon call of a single aged man with a clear graying cul de sac. “HOW DOES HE DO IT!” Steve exclaimed in exasperation. “Come on man, he wears a bold orange robe to parties, talks to women like he’s been drinking 12% beer all day and all night, and performs mild miracles; how do you not love him?” The two watched from their sulking position as old Abby 12 pulled a bottle of Svedka from his robe sleeve. “OK COME ON THAT ISNT EVEN GOOD VODKA!” Both guffawed in disbelief as he chastely rebuffed a woman’s advances and deftly cited passages from the book of Ruth. “RUTH! COME ON WHO KNOWS RUTH!” Steven bemoaned.


Marin Brewing Bourbon Barrel-Aged Old Dipsea With Brett, Pop Mad Bottles and Start to Feel Dipsea

Oh wait a second, two vintage rar barleywines in one week? Sounds about right for this site. Here’s a roaster from the Bay Area that has been tossed in a barrel and then lightly infected, to taste. Let’s see if Northern California brings anything to the table in today’s review

This was back when taking pics with, or even owning, a Blackberry was acceptable.

Marin Brewing Bourbon Barrel-Aged Old Dipsea With Brett
Marin Brewing Company
California, United States
American Barleywine | 9.00% ABV

A: The look is clearly murky brown ale or a hateful barley wine and the latter is the frontrunner by a longshot. It has a mild murkiness that doesn’t impart a ton of sediment or carbonation. It feels like this beer has had enough punishment and just wants to be consumed, like anyone on the cover of US! Weekly.

Whenever someone starts comparing barleywines to King Henry, I be all like-

S: This will not make your cranium explode: at the outset you get mild infection which creates cool funk and some hot peat notes; your boner is shortlived once the bumbling dark fruits roll into tow, feeling out of place at best.

T: There is a decent malty note that drops off precipitously into mediocre “deep fruits” but again, there are just so many other haters doing it much better. The years gave this some good mellowing time, but it still will not be winning any spelling bees. If I see this for less than $15, I will buy it absolutely. Let’s not cross streams, this is delicious, but it is. . .strange?

Brett in a barleywine seemed like a good idea, many things sound like a good idea at first.

M: The mouthfeel is a bit weird, it comes on with this cigar smoke/burnt oak which is cool for a bit and then goes ape shit and turns into a fig/plum mess for about .5 seconds, then it is a brown ale. You look out your cellar door and you say to yourself “ok, what happened?” 2009 just happened. Each drink is like this.

D: I can honestly say that 2009 mellowed it out. That being said, it did not tame it completely. I couldn’t drink an entire bomber of this, nor do I want to. Again, the caveat is that I don’t enjoy the idea of infecting barleywines but, I guess after having your dick slammed in a car door several times you are…less averse to having your…dick smashed?

I was told that barrel aging always improves beer, wait wat-

Narrative: God damnit, you are born with a huge gullet for feeding on bottom feeder fish and all of a sudden everyone assumes you are the symbol of fertility. Sure, they don’t know the difference between the old pelican and a stork but, it just strikes you to the core with hateful interpretations. You just attempt to be a mid California bird of prey and all of a sudden Napa house wives are casting their undergarments into the bay at the outset of your wake. How you wish you could tell them that it wasn’t that UC Berkeley PhD in gaelic studies that would enrich their lives. IT WAS WHISKEY. The pelican was not the paradigm of fertility, it was the bird of vice, SO DRINK MORE, he would opine.


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.


Odell Saboteur, Someone Straight Sabotaged My Wild Ale

Odell makes some great gems. Colorado beers at large are on the come up like a Tibetan dice game. Sometimes however, wild ales get a little unruly and you gotta bring in the sour stick to get them back under control. Let’s see what exactly is Sabotaged in today’s review.

This pic be ode. No pour photos, fire up that imagination.

Odell Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 10.00% ABV

A: The appearnce comes off as a brown muddiness with light lacing and some ruby tones at the edges. This is a strange base for a wild ale but it looks good, all things considered. I am always wary of dark sours because sometimes the complexity makes it trip over its own bacterial shoelaces, but this one looks pretty legit so far.

It’s like Consecration, but not. Like Rodenbach, but er…something is a bit amiss here.

S: There is a weird hybrid smell to this beer. You get two different worlds colliding at once. The first smell wafts of cherry, dark fruits similar to a quad, and some acidity. The second part is similar to almond with hazelnut and toffee. The smell is simply too busy to figure out what is going on for my feeble mind and nose. It’s like when someone puts on Godspeed You Black Emperor and nods approvingly, expecting you to love it at first blush.

T: There is a mild sourness at the outset that isn’t overly puckering. There is some smokiness but overall it doesn’t overpower or assert itself. It feels like it got pushed into a locker a Sour High School. It is mild mannered and enjoyable, if not forgetable. Again, the whole litany of things going on here makes it tough to pin down for either deficiency or innovation. You remember that dude in Mary Poppins who played all the instruments at once in the park? This beer is kinda like that, his music might suck, but what an undertaking.

This beer is interesting, but not exactly a Nightmare.

M: This isn’t overly drying but it isn’t exactly savory either. It is silky smooth but it also has some spikes and brambles to it as well. It reminds me of Rodenbach Grand Cru, but with a goatee and an eye patch. Just slightly different. It is the nuances that makes all the difference between Friends with Benefits and No Strings Attached.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and I wish that I had more of it, however, the availability and types of things I would have to give up to land this beer again make it less desirable. I could drink this beer all day, and not simply because it is my favorite style. Its complete failure to assert itself is a winning trait that makes it more likeable. Everyone needs a whipping sour you can beat up from time to time. It seems to have only Sabotaged its own chances to making it a truly memorable beer, and those Thundercat episodes aren’t gonna watch themselves.

I am not recommending death, but I would certainly say a solid 25 to life would benefit this wayward wild ale.

Narrative: The flashlight clanked and banged down 34 stories of the central air duct, setting off several alarms. Agent 301x wasn’t the best Saboteur that the Covenant had, but he was the only one currently available. 301x forgot his gloves at home and instead fashioned crude plastic mittens from discarded grocery bags. “I THROW MY HANDS UP IN THE AIR SOME TIMES SINGING AYYY OHHH” his cell phone began to clamor and resound echoing through the halls. He was memorable in his faults and impressive in his victories. The soles of his nonstick shoes squeaked loudly through the halls alerting everyone nearby of his presence. “ACHOOO!” he sneezed and accented the final noise so loudly that a janitor looked at his conspicuous face. “You again? God damnit, agent 301x, you forgot your keys again?” the janitor let him back into his own office; and the grand heist was complete.


The Bruery Barrel Aged Partridge in a Pear Tree, The Bird Did Not Survive

Going hard in the paint for this one, the inimitable, elusive ornithopter that everyone seems to be breaking their backs to land. Did putting a rare bird in a barrel make it better? Is Christmas observed by beer nerds? Can a wale fit in a barrel? These questions all answered today.

And a fat wale in a cellar tree.

The Bruery
California, United States
Quadrupel (Quad) | 11.00% ABV

A: This beer has a beautiful murky brown hue that is ugly but lovely at the same time, like a pug. The lacing is minimal but for style and abv, this seems about right. The turbid slosh lets you know that this beer is tough to excite and the mahogany hues seem inviting but standoffish at the same time, like most real estate agents.

To most beer nerds, this is the unapproachable .rar deity that will never be seen.

S: The bourbon has been muted a bit and comes off in more of a caramel sweetness mixed with some melted Rolos and stone fruits. I also get some wafts of black cherry and mild char, but they are cameos like the pizza guy in a sit com.

T: The taste sits straddling English Barleywine and Quad, not quite committing to either, but the bourbon drags both parties along like a Victorian love triangle. Boozy Mr. Darcy presents his hand and dances elegantly with your palate as the oak and vanilla take center stage in the proceedings. Mild caramel and figs sit amongst the court looking onward as the malts fall deftly underneath his tender hand. The entire affair is brash but calculated, it is far better than the other ratings would intimate.

BARREL AGED PiaPT!!11One!!! time to pump up the jams.

M: The mouthfeel has a sticky coating and that is removed like vagrant graffiti by the taming bourbon heat. The result is a perpetual motion machine, vis a vis, your arm, that empties your glass expeditiously. I try to savor these rare gems, knowing that it will be a complete pain in the ass to land again, but, tickers gonna tick.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and drinking it in June was a fitting mid-Christmas observance of the summer solstice. Things got pagan and bacchanalian pretty quickly but I wanted more. That’s the problem with gorging yourself on whale fat, only so many whales to slay in the day. I would recommend this, but that’s like a dick who gives a 5 star to a Bugatti Veyron and says “GO GET ONE DONT DENY YOURSELF THIS TREAT.” It’s like “thanks, also, fuck you.”

This beer is exceptional, rare, and noteworthy in its own distinct manner.

Narrative: Cardinal Dolcini had granted more indulgences than the suppressed fiefs could endure. This clip clop of his glorious raiment resonated through the muddy streets. In the filthiest district in Burgundy, he was charged with providing sweet succor to the mealy mouthed common people. The simple breads and sweets were purveyed with grimy hands and impure hearts and Dolcini could only look upon the serfs with loving disdain. The feudal classes ate decadent caramel plums and complained of oxidation in their rich “burned water.” The inequities were apparent. The blessings of the rare treats were largely conferred upon a small minority who held them with incredible avarice, never allowing the merchant classes a single taste. Their vaults contained more treats than could ever be sold in a lifetime, much less consumed, but it was their lineage and birthright to stand proudly above the menial machinations of common libations. “Y’er excellency, sweet cubes, 2 livre.” The sweet cubes were so readily available, so common, so unabashedly predictable in flavor and execution that a titled individual would never stoop so low to consume what would surely be a forgettable tryst.


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.


Smuttynose Julio’s Ry(e)an Ale, For All The Ryans In The Place With Style And Grace Allow Me To Lace-

Imagine my unending surprise when, upon opening a box from the Northeast, already my favorite type of box to open, I GET THIS THROWN IN AS AN EXTRA. I remembered seeing people scampering to and fro attempting to lock these down previously and what divine providence brought this to California for my sampling pleasure.

If your boyfriend's name is "Ryan" and he drinks 3 bottles of this, he has a 47% increased chance of cheating on you.

Here’s the deal behind this gem:

Rye ale aged in Sazarec rye whiskey, Buffalo Trace bourbon, and Four Roses bourbon barrels, brewed exclusively for Julio’s Liquors in Westboro. This beer was on sale on Sunday, May 23, 2010, at their 8th Annual Spring Beer Fest.

Smuttynose Julio’s Ry(e)an Ale, 8% abv, bourbon barrel aged Rye Ale

A: This has a ruddy amber character that fades to a bright maroon in the center. It’s a cheerful sprite for having spent so much time in bourbon lockup. The lacing is impressive and doesn’t leave one wanting. It looks like a genial iced with with a mildly murky luster.

This beer is menacing, yet gentle.

S: The smell is a bit heavy handed, particularly for the age, with generous wafts of booze, bourbon, babes, and brewskis. The oak and scorched caramel notes are present as well, but in a pleasing way. It comes across like tulle, adding accents to an aggressive endeavor. The bourbon cleavage is present in a big way within this beer. It reminded me of a more aggressive barleywine in the nose, but less stable on the malt backing.

T: The taste initially gives this crackly rye bramble whip and the interlocutor makes it clear that heat and speed will be the malty weapon of choice. The beer opens up into a caramel, butterscotch (not in an infected manner), toffee, and finally a scratchy thistle heat to the finish. If the foregoing sounds harsh, it is, however, it is harsh in the way a day of drinking on the beach of Cabo leave you with a light sun burn. The entry costs are far outweighed by the benefits.

The key to this beer is not overthinking it, just exhale, embrace the moment and you'll level up shortly.

M: The bourbon barrels just creep up from behind with that “tell me what your palate interests are, who they be with?” It gives a nice caramel stickiness that is melted away with a heat and oakiness and ruminated in a woody barrely manner for a minute after I swallowed. I can finish an entire bottle of this, but I kinda feel like the kid who hogs the controller and doesn’t let anyone else play.

D: This is a seriously delicious beer, but it is a bit like Bowser in Mario Kart, a bit to unbalanced for long sessions, unless you know how to use BA Rye Ales, then you will completely tear shit up, figuratively and literally. I want to keep drinking more, but the complex finish makes me slow down and ruminate on Rilke poetry and existence and I JUST FINNA TRY TO BE DRINK ON. Its faults redouble like the walls of a mitochondria and impair the drinkability. FUCKING RIBOSOMES.

Despite what my friends say, this is my lifestyle and I think that this is perfectly acceptable to drink beers aged in 4 different barrels. You should see my Christmas cards.

Narrative: The trash pile had gotten out of control. Burlinger, North Carolina had encountered a problem that seemed to have no solution. The trash workers were on strike because they didn’t get health benefits, but if the health union had to treat the trash workers, they would go on strike, thereby cutting all the funding for the municipal waste workers. Yessir it was quite the Catch 22 and this sleepy southern town hadn’t seen the likes of this conflict since the antebellum south. “I cannot and will not stand to look at those looming piles of refuse any further, I say I say, I just simply cannot!” chimed in one Christian Southern Belle wearing sweatpants with the words “JUICY” across where her petticoat should have lain. A man in a salmon suit strode into the unventilated court room wiping his brow furiously, “now I say I aint no big city lahh yuhhh, but what if, I say what if we make all this into quality wares for all the Yanks to enjoy!” The crowd responded with resounding applause and all the townsfolk set out to turn those Waffle House wrappers and Bubba Gump refuse into nice baubles for others to enjoy. A video of these poor miscreants was posted on youtube and hipsters bought the town out of house and home overnight. Suddenly, the trash repurposing union was losing their jobs and refused to work with the health workers union and HERE WE GO AGAIN AM I RIGHT?


Charleville Vineyards And Microbrewery, Box of Chocolate, Mama Always Said Life Was Like a Box of Cliches

I remember seeing this beer tearing up the billboard charts last year and I never quite understood what was going on. Ok so it is a quad, so there’s gonna be some pitted fruits and deep malts and, oh wait what? No it’s chocolate. So it’s a stout? No, it’s a quad. Yeah see, fucking confusing. Anyway, I finally traded for one and here are the results, NESTLE` your ass into this review.

See what I did there? CONTEXT IMAGES, hot chocolate on chocolate action. GOD DAMN IT IS SO META.

Charleville Vineyards And Microbrewery, Box of Chocolate, Quadruple, 10.5% abv

A: This seriously looks like Coca-Cola Classic. Next section. Ok fine, it has a mild wateriness that is black in the center and darker at the edges. The lacing is minimal and there’s a big watery profile going on with middle effervescence throughout. It doesn’t look like a quad, but that’s what the Temecula boys said before they broke their necks on those sick dune runs.

This beer is all good and fun with your friends but drinking it alone you just get hit by the caramel refuse truck.

S: There is some chocolate, but moreover I get a sticky sweetness more like maple syrup or burned caramel. I have definitely encountered more chocolatey monsters than this offering as far as noses go. August Gloop would be disappointed as all hell.

T: Ok there we go, even at a very chilly temp, the chocolate comes through and. . .that’s about it. You get a very mild caramel finish but it is seriously just a one note chocolate that fades into cocoa and caramel. I don’t to make a Rolo comparison because those are more sticky and decadent but this is a watery rolo, it has the chocolate going on, but if you’ve ever had Chocolate Rain, this will seem like the anemic artsy brother who is into interpretive dance chocolate. Not the hardcore 85% shit.

I was so jazzed for some decadent treat, and while the chocolate was still very present, I was all like-

M: This is incredibly watery and almost comes off closer to a porter in mouthfeel with less roasted malts. The sweetness gets a bit old after about 5 ounces and this is clearly meant to be shared. No one ever sits down to this much chocolate unless she’s single on 2/14 and there happens to be Lifetime marathon on. There is this lingering Dr. Pepper finish that makes me assert that this soda character is there through and through with the syrupy notes on the finish. But it’s like the busser fucked up and didn’t put the co2 mix right on the soda machine because it gives too much chocolate caramel and not enough xanthan gum.

D: I guess if you are at a 5th grade sleepover, this would be ideal. However, if you are bringing 10.5% craft beer to a sleepover with 10 year-olds, we have some other things to discuss. The more this warms, the thinner that the beer feels and the big old box of chocolate that I was expecting is turning more and more into a bag of Mr. Pibb concentrate. It doesn’t paint the walls with decadence, it just leaves a mild wateriness that sprays away with the gentlest of Shamwow treatments.

It is so much chocolate and burnt soda goodness, I can't handle this formidable bomber alone. Halp plz.

Narrative: The rain streaked small rivulets down the pane of Jericho’s hazy window. Phoenix never received this much rain and ever since he received that debilitating text message, it seemed to pour even harder. Jericho aka Faded J aka the Feeze had a budding hip hop career in the strictest sense of the word, a graft planting really. He tried unsuccessfully to learn Fruity Loops, then audio forge, then a simple Casio keyboard, until ultimately he decided that Arizona needed a pure lyricist. Notwithstanding the foregoing, his girlfriend dumped him after a staggering 5 months of these charades. “Jericho, your raps sound like change in a dryer and have the rhyme structure of an E.E. Cummings epic,” she would rail at him while he tapped out his sonnets on a Pringles can, crafting his magnum opus, 300 bars dissing a variety of movie theater chains for overcharging on concessions. “Your candy aint even sick, why you always, even, I mean, I am just here posted up chilling with my chick, not a bitch, but you know, like, Cookie Dough bites for like what, sometimes $4.50. . .well fuck that shit.” The local manager of the AMC autotuned the flows and received over 500,000 hits, at poor Faded J’s expense. Now he was sitting caressing the case of Cookie Bites that was sent to him in concession, the bitter chocolate underscoring the pain on his mediocre existence.


Pannepot 2005 Grand Reserva, Because I Had So Many Amazing Memories of Nothing From 2005

Oh well, another day and another top 100 beer, ho hum, just another day in the life of a gosh darn overseer.

This review is actually the ultra-baller 2005 Grand Reserve bottling of Pannepot, but oh well, you get the idea, ONLY MORE BALLER.

Pannepot 2005 Grand Reserva, Quad, 10% abv

A: deep chocolate brown with a slightly offwhite head that produces nice lacing. Not exceptional carbonation but it is the 2005 batch so complaints dont seem to be in order, henceforth, the beggars become the choosers.

I wasn't a huge fan of quads but, after you have some top tier shit, you want to catch em all.

S: This seems to be its weakest trait with the anticipated huge dark fruit bouquet being rather muted, more of just a general sweetness without pronounced notes, it’s like when I tried to learn Clarinet, you know the greatness was there, the notes were just a little fucked up.

T: The smell does not indicate the incredibly rich profile of this beer, deep roasted almond notes, burnt currant, s;ightly boozy character with minimal heat that is displaced by a nice finishing sweetness. The taste more than makes up for any other shortcomings, it’s a rich kiss from uncle quad and there’s serious boozy wincest.

I know I am experiencing something amazing but at the same time, I can't help but feel like a total piece of shit for not sharing.

M: the mouthfeel lingers for just enough time, but leaves you wanting more, like each song in the first 2 Ramones albums. The coating is just long enough to make an impression, but not long enough to be overwhelming. As far as quads go, this is pretty light on the maltiness and I think given the character of the fruit notes, it is better as a result

D: Most quads wear out their welcome either due to overpowering booziness or an expansive maltiness that takes over your palate and stomach like japanese kudzu. this is a great beer that you could substitute for any beer in its class and people would welcome the complex sweet notes and high abv. Give this to any Newcastle drinker and bankrupt your friends overnight.

Struise are in Europe but I pretty much imagine shit is popping off like this after hours

Narrative: This was easily the worst High School Reunion that Jacob mellors had ever been to, and he had seen his fair share. His obsession of crashing High School Reunions started simple enough, play the role of the muted Magic the Gathering player, the forgotten 4th chair trombone, lay low. It worked like clockwork, the open bar started flowing, old enemies regailing each other with carrer conquest exploits, soon Jacob, soon. His latent abilities went far beyond the scope of the pedestrian masses that he regailed. At the strike of each gala, 3 hours in, he would emerge as the forgotten socialite besting the former nerds in volairean wit, intimidating the portly former jocks with a panache and bravado that oozed confidence. It was this latent power that fed him at night, the knowledge that his unknown ability was his greatest asset. However, he could not drink so much that night as it was mid-november and class reunion season was in full swing.