Category Archives: russian imperial stouts

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Three Floyds/Struise/Mikkeller/Surly Baller Stout, This Stout is Blended too Hard to be Ballin on a Budget

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Oh shit, the Voltron of baller ass beers,l a blend of: Black Albert, Darkness, Dark Lord, and Beer Geek Brunch. I will let you ruminate on the potential for a moment. Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.

This beer -BALs so hard, but first barrels gotta find me.

Three Floyds Baller Stout, Russian Imperial Stout, 13.8% abv

A: It has a bit of a wateriness to the pour that doesn’t really blow me away given the all start lineup of dark potations blended. The Darklord alone should be enough to consume the world, but it isn’t necessarily bad as a result. For the composition of those 4 beasts to create something with the coating of gentle Czar Jack, the result is anomalous. The carbonation is fantastic and clings to the glass with Ellis Island desperation. The color of the foam is dead on Dockers’ khakis, my favorite Mervyn’s foam selection.

WAIT. Darkness. Dark Lord, Black Albert. Beer Geek Brunch? I see what you did thar.

S: The smell has a nice coffee roast with a bit of an oakiness popping in here and there, however, the wheelies are popped by the chocolate and sweetness. I can only assume that Darklord and Darkness teamed up to whip the other two rapscallions into shape. The brownie batter smell lingers until a nice espresso element sutures the wound and the smell is done. Pretty impressive really, don’t know what haters hate.

T: The sweetness has a great interplay with the coffee element and the result is a bitter upfront port character that is not altogether chocolate, but not just roasted malts either. It is funny how each beer contributed a different element to the final product, there’s the obvious sweetness from the Darklord that is faint, a nice coffee from Beer Geek Brunch, some roasted malts from Darkness, and a nice charred oakiness from Black Albert. No falacy by composition here, just a solid stout, BALLER EVEN.

Combining these beers has showed me something that I knew about myself all along. Just like Uncel Dolan.

M: The mouthfeel is surprisingly light given the composition of the 4 knuckleheads involved. Notwithstanding, I feel that it is a more original product as a result. I don’t enjoy this more than any one of the parts involved, but it’s kinda like a janky ass Voltron. It might even be Go-Bot status. But even the sorriest Transformer like Nightscream or Cosmos is still a Transformer, that’s pretty bad ass.

D: The individual beers involved, Black Albert excepted, aren’t exceptionally drinkable, but strangely, this beer is splishy splashy and drinkable. The coating isn’t intense and as a result the synthetic oil burns cooler. I don’t know who was submarining the efforts to make this thinner and easier to drink but, I would say that this is the greatest aspect of the synergy between the elements. I don’t know that I will put this in my water bottle before I get into some sick ass MMA, but it’s pretty breezy and enjoyable for a gigantic stout. This beer has me feeling all like a Newport Slims advertisement up in this mix.

RISE MY BARREL AGED ARMY.

Narrative: Metroplex was a shitty Transformer and he knew it. Sure, Transformed he was a bad ass robot that would make Gundam quiver. But he “disguised” himself as an entire city block. The rest of the Decepticons just kinda sighed robot sighs and shrugged their massive robotic shoulders when Metroplex would dissassemble himself into a Jiffylube, Chick-Fil-A, Planned Parenthood, and Ju Jitsu Studio. “Starscream, please can you just, tell him it is painfully obvious, no one is fooled, literally not even the blind Transformer Brailzor is fooled by his transformation.” Deep down Metroplex had feelings too. He knew that the disguise was shitty and inoperable. The Planned Parenthood was always closed and the Ju Jitsu studio just had a guy who watched a ton of Affliction tapes but, deep down he had spirit. The elements that composted his false city were bad ass in their own right, even if assembled it was an underwhelming display of power. “So then Megatron was all like Metroplex? More like METROSEX! Oh, oh, didn’t see you standing there Metro, uh, we were just-” Metroplex ran to the lower chambers of the elaborate robot facility and buried his face in his iridium pillow. “THEY DON’T GET YOU! NO ONE GETS YOU!” he cried his autotuned sobs into his comforter while his My Chemical Robomance poster looked on ruefully.

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Hill Farmstead Damon, DAMON…Matt….Day…mon….

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Ok, so not to thoroughly beat this equine subject, but I love this brewery. They could bottle 4Loko with Hershey’s syrup in it and call it an imperial stout and I would still come running, Fedex account in hand. This beer is no exception. Let’s see what happen when the demigods in Vermont put that midas touch to one of my favorite styles: Huge Bourbon Barrel Imperial Stout. A new challenger appears…

This takes the prize as the most ridiculous bottle to open, dethroning that BA Shipwreck Porter. Dem wax. It had 5 coats like Lithuanian teenager sold into sex trafficking. Too soon.

Hill Farmstead Damon, Imperial Stout 10.5% abv

A: This looks beautiful like a fresh slab of obsidian that those rakish Hawaiians just harvested for kitschy jewelry creation. Nice deep black with roast mocha foam that is understated, yet classy, like a La Coste thong. The head takes a full 30 seconds to realize that it needs to get its shit together and finally rises to the surface reluctantly. The lacing looks incredible like that snarky liberal arts girl whose work you didn’t care much for but the substance lingered on. You know, her.

Matt....Day...Mon....Daymon.....MATT....Day....

S: The smell is like fresh brownie batter whipped up with grampa’s hooch. The smell has the note of fresh Tollhouse cookies, with a bittersweet toffee note. The whole smell reminds me of a See’s Candy Toffee Sucker. God damn, anthropomorphism makes me want to give this beer a big old smooch. Do you remember in Melrose Place where there was always a fire or amnesia or some shit always going down? Well this has that sweet and simple feel but with a ton of other elements in play and it is fucking excellent like a 50/50 lipslide into a fakie manual.

T: The taste is like licking the bowl from some sweet nana’s cookies, and nana has residual drinking problems from the great war. Also, the malts impart this subtle roastiness that nudge at you like that little voice that tells you it’s ok to drink because it is Flag Day. There’s this final finish where bourbon shows up in a flourish with confetti and cocoa coronation fanfare. The taste is like that Master P video Make Em Say Uhh, where there’s a great robust profile and cast of interesting events that you want to ruminate on its efficacy.

This is officially Moar Certified.

M: The mouthfeel just gets all carnival and sticky real quick. Someone went and scooped up some of the La Brea tar pits, jumped into Kentucky for some fine bourbon, hopped up to Pennsylvania for that aforementioned chocolate. The mouthfeel doesn’t overstay its welcome. It’s like a friend who stays, makes out with a chick on your couch and when you’re just about to get mad, BOOM, sheets folded and he’s gone. The shamiest of walks.

The proud lineage continues in this beer.

D: This is absurdly drinkable. It is outrageous in the classic sense of the word, causing outrage. I look at my bank account, then the trade forums, then my cellar, ad infinitum and it makes me staunchly aware of my needledick that I am swinging in the beer trade world for this amazing potation. I just want to post up with these all day long. This reminds me of a gentle version of BB Plead the Fifth, with hand holding and it pops the door locks for you. Now slap it on my ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass, and make that mother fucker Damontime.

This beer blows my mind. Damonception.

Narrative: Damon looked balefully upon his colleagues poised in a tight circle. Lunches on the quad never seemed so long he was ousted from the magic: The Gathering society. Those 43 minutes ticked by with a painful awareness of the liches that were being summoned, the artifacts utilized, and don’t even get Damon started on the sheer potential for enchanted creatures. “Hey Damon” a pigeontoed youth with a screen print shirt reading “5 Dollar Footlong” with a tasteful arrow pointing down approached Damon. “Hey so uh, some of us other guys were gonna start up a Yu-Gi-Oh league an-” “GOD DAMNIT Clarence! What do I look like? A CHILD. You dont have to start some RC COLA LEAGUE to supplicate my self esteem!” Clarence looked to the ground and sheepishly retreated, clutching his deck ruefully. Damon had a heart of darkness and several booster packs worth of rares. However, deep down there was a loving, entreating spirit who could guide others into something amazing. Damon walked over to the circle of disapproving glances and looked down at the match in progress. “Royal Assassin in a blue deck? Good luck with that,” Damon quipped as he dropped a Timewalk into the circle and the masses jubilantly cried out at the sight of a rare and banned card from earlier days. One headgeared, poxfaced individual placed a hand on Damon’s shoulder “Heysh Daymonsh, you’re and shalright guy, you know thasht?” he said, spitting on Damon’s Type O Negative shirt. Damon nodded and all was right again, he was free to summon his loving darkness upon the masses.

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

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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.

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Southampton Imperial Russian Stout, Small Bottle Runs for Big Beer Ballers

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This brewery has a reputation, at least in my tiny sad existence, for tiny bottle runs, and massive whales. I have been trying to land their ridiculous Berliner Weiss since before it was cool to drink 2% beer, with no success. Here’s my consolation, lucky bottle #229 of all 650 of them. I like my stouts like I like my steaks, MEDIUM. If you thought I was gonna go with “rare” or “well done” that’s low hanging fruit my friends.

I didn't pour it like an asshole, this beer must have PTFD, post traumatic fedex disorder. That's a thing.

Southampton Imperial Russian Stout, 10.5% abv

A: This is about as deep and murky as it gets, T5 levels of blackness on par with Abyss and Hunaphu’s. As you can see above, the carbonation is outrageous in the classic sense of the word: causing outrage. There’s no reason for that much foam unless its the late 90’s and you have some glowsticks. The lacing is like a Baroque armoir, ornate and frilly. After about 5 minutes this excitable asshole settled down and stopped weaving tales about his Fedex journey.

There's something amazing about this beer, and it feels like I am bothering it, but that's fine because I know in its mimicry is a deep strength.

S: This is fairly muted on the palate but got better as it warmed up, like those shy recent divorcees that always order the salad. There’s some chalky chocolate, cocoa, sticky vanilla, and a subtle macaroon. Then, wearing a cape and goggles comes COFFEECOCK to dominate everything at the end. Javatastic COFFEECOCK all over the place.

T: Well if you weren’t on board with Coffeecock from the last section, you can stop now because it just goes deeper in the same vein. That was not a euphemism you sicko. There’s a bitter drying at the outset that fades into a delicious baker’s chocolate like brownie batter, and as expected, coffee, well you saw that coming. I think this is slight underrated and perhaps its the small bottle count that makes people say fuck it, like when I decided I could live without the entire Step by Step DVD box set, I can imagine what happens in Season 3. Cody gets a horse or some shit.

You can cellar this beer for 10 years and you will still be an asshole for not sharing.

M: This beer has a huge sticky coating that lingers well after the first drink. The coating just sticks and does operation grill maker over in short order. The coffee and deep chocolate makes you feel like you were just mashing on some serious bowl licking for hours on end. Don’t act like the foul spatula of indulgence has not soiled your lips.

D: This isn’t exceptionally drinkable unless you have insatiable salivary glands and a post-menopausal rapacity for chocolate. That hits a fairly small niche, maybe the coveted pre-pubescent market is what they were seeking but I am pretty sure 9 year olds dont have Fedex accounts. Or…do…they….

fucking around with a beer this big seems like an inherently bad idea.

Narrative: Baron Southampton was the regal son of Lord August FitzRoy, but the cut of his jib was not unremarkable. He knew that this title was entirely created by his hateful old father as a fading sign of regal power in the days of an expanding merchant class. Just across the channel the barbarous franco-massacre had run the cobblestone streets red with the blood of an oppressive regime, leaving the largely mercantile class staring with despondence at the titled land owners. Baron didn’t give a shit. He spent the majority of his days walking the regal gardens, burying items of value in a spiteful manner to hide them, throwing rocks at the champion hunting dogs, and berating the help for streaking the sterling silver. This dark tiny master hated the opulence that he was subjected to and lashed out accordingly. He wished to be one of the masses and apprentice in a trade, press the rough hands of the working classes and see the Carolinas. Sadly, the common man would never look upon a Southampton, and he knew it. The Southamptons were few but poised, out of reach of the commoners but held just close enough to remind them of their failings. His cousin from Austria Count Berliner Vyass was the most acerbic asshole from his lineage. He did not even allow the proletariate to look upon him at all. They were rare and untouchable, that’s basically the, that’s the jist here, it’s what the underlying narrative is trying to convey, in case you missed it, just tossing you a bone.

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Deschutes The Abyss Imperial Stout, Total Abyss of the Heart

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Every time this beer comes out, I shrug it off as a “widely available” top 100 stout and act like I dont want it. Then I can’t get it and the butt hurt ensues. Anyway, I landed this the old fashioned way from Sunset Beer in Echo Park and figured now is as good a time as ever to start giving sick props to this gem that most people have already had their way with.

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I opened this at my housewarming party when I bought a house and pretty much everyone wanted nothing to do with it. My house was all the warmer with this potation lighting up my chest like E.T.

Deschutes The Abyss, light pilsner, PSYCHE, Imperial Stout, 11% abv

A: This looks like an Exxon valdez rampage. Pure black with shimmering darkness like the gulf of mexico. Huge khaki carbonation with sticky lacing. If you spill this on your clothes, just throw them out. No middle carbonation, at least not much that I can see. It reminds me of those villains from Pirates of Dark Water, oh well, Google it I guess, my jokes aren’t for everyone, you gotta earn that shit.

Ever since I started drinking Abyss, I never win because these stouts make you fat as fuck

S: There is a huge chocolate profile, not similar to most stouts, it registers sweeter more of a syrupy bitterness like those bags of syrup you add to soda machines but with a ton of awesome coffee balance. As a side note, I feel like Deschutes sometimes ends up with too much sugar attenuation and they defy the status quo here with this chocolate syrupy note that remains balanced.

T: Very sweet on the first taste that coats the bitter zones with an overwhelming hop presence that subsides into a tarpit of gooey coffee notes. The heat is there but the alcohol is overridden by almost distracting sweet notes. It is reminiscent of if you subjected a normal stout to a 120 min boil. It just feels like stout concentrate in a good way.

I only got a single bottle of Abyss this year and I was all like this as a result.

M: I can’t overstate this enough, it coats harder than a single guy at 1:45 a.m. at a club. Chocolate robitussin with teeth staining presence. It will linger with you, whether you want it to or not.

D: I don’t know what crazy cold conditions or type of Siberian misery that I would have to endure to put away several bottles of this away. Perhaps the people in Bend Oregon have a tough gulag life that I can’t comprehend from my Mediterranean climate throne but one 22 oz bottle of this is plenty, anyone who “wishes” for another bomber seems questionable, but understandable.

Making a beer this delicious and alcoholic just seems like a dangerous idea.

Narrative: “So this is how product liability lawsuits happen,” Warren Dolce thought as the maroon viscous liquid glugged out of the cocoa butter vat and all over the factory floor. “Of all the things to skimp on, I don’t think that the pressure control valve and the blow off valve were proper,” he reflected “at least not for the chocolate refining tank.” Thousands of wanting Cadburry eggs would remain wanting frosting yokes, in endosperm stasis. The chocolate crude gurgled up to his jaw line and Warren reflected, “perhaps the basement lock was not the way to cut costs either, here I am, 3 floors down, about to endure the prophetic Death By Chocolate, to be honest, I kinda always knew that it would end this way.” He exhaled into the mucilaginous depths watching the bubbles struggle to the surface. “A sweet death, to be sure, but who will finish my screen pl-”

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Jester King, Black Metal Imperial Stout, Austin, Texas Turning Out Something Besides Meth and Sunburned Hipsters

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I remember seeing people going all apeshit over this beer last year and whenever I looked at the reviews I was like “I can buy a Speedway stout, I am not paying Fedex to bring me this shit.” Anyway, a year older, year dumber, this finally got some limited distribution to the west coast, so my laziness and $12.99 got the best of me. WATCH WHAT HAPPENS.

Why is the blackest metal usually performed by people from the palest places in the world?

Jester King Black Metal Imperial Stout, 10.4% abv

FUN FACT: I wrote this entire review while listening to Hammerfall. If you aint know Hammerfall, you and Spotify need to have a chat.

A: The appearance is about as dead on as stouts can get. It has a fantastic depth and hateful depth to it that is as dark as a Norwegian winter and a jet black pallour of that goth kid no one bothered to talk to, now look at him, dot com millionaire. The lacing is non-existent but that foam looks like Banana Republic khakis, except there’s actually something dark inside, unlike that racist ass store.

This beer is a strange hybrid of greatness that is awesome in its own right.

S: There is a mild raisin, chocolate, light coffee, and a big sweetness that finishes with a fleeting acidity. I am not unstoked for this, but knowing there’s no bourbon magic dust in this, my stout arousal is around 6/10.

T: The taste delivers in a huge way about and beyond the nose of the beer. There’s a delicious coffee initial note that lays the groundwork for a baker’s chocolate 85% cocoa dryness that is just sweet enough to be fantastic. At the end the light woody and mild hop notes round out the palate. This is a solid non-BA offering and does a ton with the malts presented. The alcohol is smuggled in like prohibition Canadian whiskey. 7th graders could class it up and drink this while listening to KoRn and complain about how their middle-class parents don’t understand their middle class adolescent life, like if this stout could just get its own car it would totally be out of here, like now.

There's a deep childlike satisfaction that comes from this beer. No beards necessary.

M: The mouthfeel doesn’t go full on apeshit like Hunaphu’s but it hits a fantastic lingering coating and frothiness that lingers long after the sip, let’s call it 40 seconds and just go about our lives, jesus why does everything have to be a competition for this guy? The label says “It is best enjoyed while pumping out blast beats, summoning trolls, or enjoying a nice leisurely reading of the Necronomicon.” God damn, extra points for the awesome label and classy 750ml packaging. I came into this wanting to dislike this beer but left with ebony teeth and a nod of approval.

D: This is not exceptionally drinkable but is a great beer to share amongst friends. Not that I am some raging labia who can’t handle one, I can rock this all day long. Other mandolin players might not be able to handle the face melting 24th fret solos and wicked sick runs it sets forth. I could beer bong this no problem and still have room for spicy Thai, I try to write to the common 8th grade Newsweek audience. Writing beer reviews for 8th graders seems on point. Super cutty.

This isn't the child that I never had, but it feels familiar.

Narrative: Sarai bore the silent communion with God and nodded solemnly as her name was changed to Sarah, my princess. Her fallow belly was infused with a deep power to change the world and eventually she begot Isaac, which by all accounts was the beginning of power black death metal. In a roundabout way, the humble beginnings in the fertile crescent would have never foreseen that in a mere 6000 years beyond their legacy that Norwegian and Swedish youths would push the nature of dithyrambic dissonance to face melting power. The Ark of the Covenant possess a power to smite and destroy a man where he stood. Likewise, man built in the image of God sought to control this mixolydian speed and fire within their own fingertips and scales progressively were run faster, hammer on pull offs harder, screams higher. Finally, as the lost scrolls prophesied, a deep unworldly power was discovered: THE PINCH HARMONIC. When man discovered how to mute a struck harmonic, the screeching power of simple melodies hit black, evil levels. This dark art was furthered by low class Ibanez guitar owners until the black science was reduced into a fine art. This deep communion still takes place at forgotten realms within the midwest, wherein the metal bands have been banished to obscurity for their blistering, shredding ways of worship.

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Churchill’s Finest Hour Imperial Stout, Good Old Winston Churchill Beer, Solid Old Lion

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In honor of a certain beer release, I thought I would review this old gem, one of what, 200 bottles released? This is a gem that I was lucky enough to try and I thought I would roll out my 2011 impressions before the brand spanking new recruits land.

One of the only British people to ever live to have not only no overbite, but an underbite.

Churchill’s Finest Hour, Imperial Stout 11% abv

A: As to be expected, this beer has an oily thick blackness like the trails of a frightened squid. It sticks to the glass and drags its fingers wantingly to the depths below. Also coffee brown head with nice lacing, but mostly poltergeists and petulant ghouls are left wanting.

This beer was all strong, thick and dark. Picture unrelated.

S: There is a great deep dark fruit coming from the wafts. It feels like high brow huffing to inhale this beer. There are licorice notes and some burnt chocolate. It’s like someone burned down the Chocolate factory only to replace it with a distillery.

T: There is a nice thick “black” caramel taste, were that even to exist. It follows with a fully presentable chocolate palate that dominates the palate with minor bits of mocha and toasted almond burning through on the tail end.

I will give you a hint for what type of people don't enjoy or get to drink this beer. Picture very related.

M: This coats very well but, it feels like it is fighting in a league where it is simply out classed. The stickiness is nice but the flavors aren’t so impressive as to warrant searching high and low for this beast. I feel that rarity has boosted the curb appeal of this old chestnut. It seems like after 2 weeks of summer camp, when anything shy of a size 12 gets a second look from angst ridden adolescents.

D: Sadly, this beer does not perform well in this category either. The bourbon notes impart a dryness that makes it totally inapplicable for all of my Integra modification days in the hot sun. It also makes it unworthy of chilly times fixing my lift kit on my truck simply due to its unavailability. There is simply much cigar gnashing and grinding of top hats in the acquisition and execution of this old lion.

Yeah, that's how we roll, sipping on rare stouts. Call the fucking police, see what they have to say about that shit.

Narrative: He stared fatefully out the window of the palatial estate. The sky lit up with rosy fingers of dawn and the trails of fire bombing from the night before. His cigar embers seemed to fall with the same careless regard that had afflicted all of those around him, a man, reduced to the headstone of a nation. “WILLIAM FOR FUCKS SAKE ARE YOU EVEN ON YOUR BREAK?” He snapped back to reality, the year is 2134 and in this advanced time, William Zerkov is an accomplished actor living in the pre-modern equivalent of a “frontier village.” It was his charge to play the role of, well, that would seem to belabor the point. “AND BEFORE THE NEXT SECREENING WILL YOU AT LEAST GET ANOTHER CIGAR, COME ON NOW WILLIAM!” He clenched his proud jowls, for no one could portray a pre-post historical figure not unlike him.

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Block 15 Imagine, I can’t IMAGINE a better stou-

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Toot toot, here comes the hype train. This beer was matured 9 & 21 months in bourbon barrels, there were 40 cases produced, released at the pub every other year, most recently November 2011. You can TASTE THE RARE. Tastes like Fedex bills.

This beer originally came in a fancy box, wrapped in fancy paper, in a..blank bottle? It's like a girl who wears Marciano but has no work done. Mislabeled.

Block 15 Imagine, Russian Imperial Stout, 15% abv

A: This doesn’t have a heavy oppressive look to it, a nice shiny wateriness similar to czar jack and where that 15% abv is hiding, I have no clue. There’s mild bubbles with a bit of 1/2″ lacing. The appearance is pretty tame and could be mistaken for a single stout, if you want to write on your friend’s face later. This beer has purpose. UNLESS IT IS JUST MY IMAGINATION.

At first, no one in Oregon would trade me this beer and I was all like-

S: This smells like the inside of a See’s candy factory, or what I imagine the inside of an Econoline van if I were 9 and blindfolded. There’s a huge fudge, brownie batter, just Charleston Chew, sticky gooey taffy, and a mild hint of bourbon. I IMAGINED that there would be a huge heat on this but, IT WAS JUST MY IMAGINATION.

T: There is a great chocolate initial taste that presents a sticky bake sale presence and you know it was the ultra hot soccer mom with no responsibilities that made it. The skillset is distinctively domestic. There’s a nutty almond middle to this and a light warming bourbon sensation at the end. I THOUGHT IT WOULD TASTE LIKE BOURBON BARREL PLEAD THE 5th BUT-, ok you get the bit? Alright. Moving on. IMAGINE PUNS.

Sometimes you get a bourbon barrel stout that is all sassy and silly, this is not the case, turn the above picture into an angry Samoan man who runs the yard with a substantial shank.

M: The mouthfeel is just light enough and doesn’t boss my palate around. It sticks just a bit, washes away with a bit more tenacity than Czar Jack and Stone IRS, but it doesn’t set up a homestead like Abyss or Black Tuesday, it handles it business like Juvenile and gets the fuck out of the game. You get your chocolate and bourbon, like that foul temptress barista, and then you’re on to drive a City Bus for a living, man shit.

D: This is scary drinkable and looks down its nose at Dark Lord and wags a knowing finger at my other favorite heavy hitter, Martes Negro. But then again, how drinkable is a beer that they made like 550 bottles of? OH I AM SORRY CAPTAIN MONEYBAGS. Enjoy your Block 15 hoard.

You think 15% is just a number, and then the colony drop happens after you kill 12 oz.

Narrative: Walter Percoletti crafted his homestead lovingly and dug his irrigation trenches deep. Some onlookers told him that the Salinas Valley was no place for cocoa beans and a whiskey distillery. “Kate! Turn that Usher CD down and get over here to the primary ditch!” The bitter beans stained the soil and soul a deep chocolate brown. The hardpan arose only 3 feet down and below that, God knows it could have been meteorite, the entire Salinas valley held a bed of carbon and sea sediment. The grain for the whiskey in the deep harsh central California summers were not faring any better. “Papa! Come quick! One of them stills done boiled over, Cotton Eye boiled a deep chocolate solution in the sour mash and done ruined the entire whiskey batch. The entire plume smelled of fudge and child rapists, drawing all of the children and local towns people to gaze at the billowing whiskey clouds. Cannery Row never felt the same with a malaise of deep bourbon and espresso raining down upon their GEORGE LENNY BLACK PEARL DUSTBOWL META TAG OVERLOAD.

2

Dogfish Head World Wide Stout, He’s Got the Whole World, In His Liver.

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Happy New Year. Here’s the perfect beer to read about while you feel like shit.

This is a perfect treat for those who shy away from excess and seek moderate and balanced libation. Psyche.

I am pretty sure that this isn't WWS, but, after drinking it, I have absolutely no recollection.

Dogfishead Worldwide Stout 18% abv, Imperial Stout

A: Liquid ink, with an angry pallour. I am unsure if ink can be pissed off, but I feel like the slight bubbles are mocking me but they rise slowly and linger as if they dont care in their murky depths. There’s some carbonation but it is spiteful in nature. It doesn’t want to be here, it needs another 5 years of rest but here I am, bothering it and shit.

S: It is like a cup of melted licorice and coffee with a soysauce kicker adding an impartial dryness. it feels like the negligent judge from the karate kid movies is just letting me get destroyed sip after sip without regard. There’s a crazy heat to the nose that isn’t bad, just feels like the colors of a monarch butterfly, I shouldn’t be going after this.

I couldn't imagine trying to get anything done after a couple of these merkers.

T: My mouth basically goes through a blue phase and 14 year old Korn fans invade with murky aggression. Tons of coffee that bodyslams the toffee notes that gets leg locked by the drying chocolate. It is summerslam 2011 in your bitter zones and there can be only one. I end up tapping out, I can’t hang with this level of coffee/cocoa abuse. There’s a nice waft of heat and sweet dryness to level off the experience. Shit was so cash.

M: Again, it is absurd and so over the top that the coating takes centerstage. It sets up some good old fashion 19th century imperialism and your molars are rife with its grasp. Be prepared to tell your friends about it and exhale in their face and let them enjoy the magic firstnose. This is the perfect beer if you want to look and smell like a negligent ass parent, great for pre-soccer game festivities for sure.

The world becomes a dangerous place with the World Wide Stout.

D: Absolute failure. No one can drink more than one of these if only on a dare or some fraternal rite of passage. I cannot imagine someone finishing one of these and hankering for another. The entire experience is a chocolate iron maiden with pin and needles just crushing you with inky maltiness.

Narrative: Guillermo had been a janitor at Falling Springs high school for over 13 years, but he held a harrowing secret. He was the darkest individual ever conceived, born with a curse. While the students saw a wayward janitor, this gentleman was born with the curse of humor. You see while he observed the students in their rakish behavior his mind constantly crafted the funniest jokes ever conceived. “Please just, dont dump the chocolate milk in the lockers…ok thank you…” His protestations were fallow seeds cast on infertile ground. No one wanted him there but deep inside he knew his dark secret, internally crafting the most majestic jokes ever, but not sharing him. That was the source of his evil, entirely depriving others of inherent joy. Guillermo was uncaring in his turpentine dispensation. He grit his teeth to suppress the complex pun he crafted and mopped the chocolate milk from the adolescent crime scene.

0

Three Floyd’s Bourbon Barrel Vanilla Bean Aged Dark Lord, The Hnngs are substantial

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Even while sweet and vanilla, this is still the darkest of lords.

Three Floyd’s Vanilla Aged Dark Lord, 15% abv Imperial Stout

A: The appearance is a deep murky dark brown with wispy light carbonation, but again, I didn’t obtain this in the most legitimate manner, so that likely has something to do with it. The booziness it huge and coats in clear angry strands.

S: There is an incredible vanilla sweetness like a fresh macaroon or vanilla frap. Amazing chocolate and coffee notes support the back end, there’s a waft of huge heat to this that stings the nostrils with a deep heat.

This picture is the complete opposite of Vanilla Dark Lord: smooth, hot, sweet, interesting.

T: The initial taste is incredibly sweet with intense vanilla. The vanilla integrates seamlessly and the sweetness isn’t cloying like the normal Darklord. It is a complete improvement on the old formula. Why in the world that they don’t bottle this is beyond me. There is an amazing coffee and burnt chocolate taste to this beer that just lingers on and on. It like a kiss from an eskimo, who somehow has coffee and chocolate with him.

M: The mouthfeel is like the old school Darklord with an intense heat to it, sticky coating, and lasting sweetness that inherits your mouth in fee simple. It isn’t going anywhere any time soon. This is a good thing since the bold mouthfeel is incredible and welcome just nestled in my molars. My dentist doesn’t approve but HE IS NOT THE BOSS OF ME.

You just wish every beer could be like this beer.

D: Oddly, for a crazy 15% abv stout, this is somehow drinkable. I wish that I had a huge serving of this amazing rare beer, but I dont have the means to perpetually land this crazy beast. I love the sweet heat of this and can only look at Vanilla Darklord as he speeds away with his hand pressed against the back window of the stationwagon as it speeds away, away from my tiny heart.

Narrative: I can’t even write a narrative because my maltboner is at full attenuation. This is insanely good and top 10 stout for sures.