0

@18thstreetbrew Sophomoric Saison, A Categorical Examination of Farmhouse Values Attendant to Reflection

Last week the owner of 18th street brewing and I had a discourse with an undercurrent of hostility and I elected to review another one of their offerings to determine if it was worth the $4.65 for a can of saison, or alternatively, if I am a huge prick.  The two may exist concurrently.  This offering is a collaboration with a brewery that I love, Arizona Wilderness, and I don’t know their interplay and I would rather judge this on its merits rather than throw rocks at trains and make dick jokes, the same tired Mikkeller finger pointing that this garbage blog usually embraces.  Let’s take a blank slate and examine the nature of examination itself in today’s review.

This is what the beer looks like

This is what the beer looks like

18th street Brewery, and perhaps some involvement with Arizona Wilderness, who knows

Saison with lime, 7.2.% abv.

A:  The beer is admittedly beautiful, in the way that anyone with a modicum of perception could decide for themselves.  Perhaps it isn’t beautiful, far be it for me to offer up prescriptive statements about the nature of beer.  To think this site would concurrently hold out a degree of aesthetic parameters and then ridicule the BJCP is laughable and lamentably sad at the same time.  If you enjoy what you see, as I do, then we are both simply damned, our appraisals as worthless as grains of sand worn down in ever cascading waves.

No number of trite references or watered down saison contrasts will ever best the begrudging realities of time or creation,  Not even Shining Force.

No number of trite references or watered down saison contrasts will ever best the begrudging realities of time or creation, Not even Shining Force.

S:  I personally love the smell of this beer, the lime rind, the zest, the muddled citrus and lingering ester waft like a murky Brother Soigne, it easily justifies the price of entry, regardless of format or shithead blogger commentary.  The closer is bitter and dry on the nose akin to grapefruit pith but the entire experience is highly refreshing and never lacks depth like hundreds of words cast daily upon an immutable surface, feeble attempts to avoid the pressing weight of time.

T:  While no manner of validation can appropriate of enhance the value of anything created, the reverberate chorus can unflinchingly agree that this is delicious.  Perhaps one gets a bitter mandarin orange, kiwi, kaffir mint, muddle mojito lime, and a complex bready profile like sweet cornbread is not for this site to say, maybe you taste chocolate.  Who knows.  This entire endeavor is an exercise of futility and false hubris.

Alright, some Sega Genesis RPG references, baiting the readerbase like usual, keep it coming, phoning in the content, that cynical nostalgia carapace as thin as a Socratic discourse.

Alright, some Sega Genesis RPG references, baiting the readerbase like usual, keep it coming, phoning in the content, that cynical nostalgia carapace as thin as a Socratic discourse.

M:  This finishes dry with an intense lingering of key lime pie and slight yogurty creaminess that is very pleasant.  Reading any website to inform you about endeavors of personal experience is foolhardy from the inception.

D:  What is drinkable and enjoyable is an intensely personal journey and it would be futile to arrange a series of statements to tell you how to feel, you will find your own truth about a lime saison.  I can never raise your perception to the sublime nor can i degrade it from the tragic, I am a mere lifeguard shouting inaudibly from the banks with inconsequential gestures, maybe I throw a lime, who gives a fuck.  The very structure of reviews are inherently flawed and favor the creatives over the regressive.  Lena Dunham snowball loads right in your mouth.

none of this shit matters, just so long as 900 words are there.  Self imposed goals adherent to no one.   Same old bullshit

none of this shit matters, just so long as 900 words are there. Self imposed goals adherent to no one. Same old bullshit

Narrative:

The petulant blogger rests the wanting fingertips upon the worn keys of the laptop, lifeblood of existence.  The most recent offering still resonating upon the jawline, and the concepts attendant thereto, resonant and glaring balking for commentary, at least in the mind of that self important morass. While the lime and yeast danced platitudes, the underpinnings of accomplishment and creation were a secondary back biting from outside commentary. Try as one might, it remained entirely evident that the critic contributes nothing but a murky mirror, distorted and filtered, denaturing true art, pulling apart the seams at the expense of the whole garment. It ultimately draws paralells beyond the unknowable concept of “value” in life pursuits namely “can a critic ever serve a valuable purpose? can reflective criticism ever be art within itself? as the saison alludes, is criticism merely the zero calorie substitute for the danger and peril of actual creation?” The last point cuts the deepest and identifies an undercurrent in the shortcomings and feeling the lack of gravitas to one charged with criticism, namely perpetual commentary. The warmth of the farmhouse ale stands in ever more glaring contrast when the hollow shell of a commentator must contemplate ones own contributions, the attendant failures at countless endeavors, the sheer power of anonymity, the invulnerable shroud of caustic biting at the works of others, perpetual sand castle stomping while lacking the fortitude to ever lift a shovel in a meaningful way.

While cascading foam in unambitious circles, anyone can hammer out word counts to satiate the itch on a daily basis, this amorphous concept that somehow the secondary agent is pushing towards a teleological goal but knowingly remaining at the first pistol shot in true development, concerned with accomplishment but never committing to true meaningful assertion, caressing the easy content and swift praise but well aware that in almost every instance, the act of dissection can rarely rise above creation. Every saison sip a testament to the cold fingertips resting in inaction in a world of perpetual development.  In even the most lackluster brown ale lies the existence and essence predicated therein, no matter how bad, it is paint upon a canvas and there isnt the same true grade of value in acerbic dissection, no matter how knowledgeable.

The menthol smoke draped the tired IKEA furniture around the laptop.  All was still except the carbonation dancing mockingly in the glass.  Art and moreover living a meaningful existence predicated on anything worthwhile is, for most people a topic that is either never broached or properly addressed. The aluminum can, regardless of price, was a satyricon of discontent.  It underscored the nature of “contributions” but inspired concurrently with the gauntlet lain at the feet of all to see the shades and gradations of ability. Those who can do, and those who cant, etc., a million tired epithets, and watching the self reflective perpetual drag of uprising bubbles represented a million vignettes into wasted ability, every bursting c02 bubble a testament to the endless drag of chronology and the futility of commentary.

Advertisements
0

@sudwerkbrew Funke Hop Farm, DRY HOPPED, barrel aged, lacto, BRETT SAISON HNNNGGGG

Alright so I got to the bottom of things.  Before I reviewed anything from Sudwerk I was warned top to bottom from people who had been going to the pub itself for a long time.  The PUB not to be confused with the BOTTLED OFFERINGS, offers an inoffensive standard fare of bar food and the typical lineup you might expect from a local brewpub.  However, underneath the calm veneer of this establishment runs an undercurrent of talent and malignant ability.  These igneous plumes have only began to surface lately and spill their precious magma all over consumers, coating them in sheets of precious barrel aged obsidian.  So these are unlike anything you may have seen on BEERADVOCATE and their wealth of information, and represent the current direction of the brewery at large, so get some hot loads of aggie magma all over those man tits in today’s review.

A ganache barrel aged, dry hopped, brett saison.  Inner thighs pounding so hard about to grow some farmhouse ovaries.

A grenache barrel aged, dry hopped, brett saison. Inner thighs pounding so hard about to grow some farmhouse ovaries.

BA Saison, 6% abv

PLEASE NOTE THIS IS BATCH 2, BATCH ONE COULD GARBLE RABBIT BALLS AND I WOULD HAVE NO IDEA.

Here’s the commercial tug job:

“Brewed with oats and wheat, and fermented out with two strains of saison yeast. It spends about six to nine months in an assortment of barrels-Petite Sirah, Grenache, Chardonnay-while being fermented with Brettanomyces, Lactobacillus, and a house yeast culture from their in-house solera system. It’s then blended with an all-Brett beer that’s barrel-aged separately, bringing in more tropical and guava notes. Oh, and it’s dry-hopped at 1.5 pounds per barrel with Simcoe, Nelson, and Citra.”

A:  Before I even poured this, I was like “this will be dead flat and then I can rip on this shit for being clearly a wild ale, I know how to read words, this will be nothing like a saiso-” and then billowy clouds of frothy carb sat there defiantly, forming upturned middle fingers in the foam, insulting my family line.  It looks murky and unfiltered, if this had a touch of the wheat tarbrush I wouldn’t be surprised.  I can’t parade out my typical NOT TO STYLE bullshit on this one, and that’s sad, those complaints eat up so many words, bringing me to ropey verbal completion so much faster.

you put a saison in an obscure wine barrel, and your name isn't Mystic, then my trap card gets activated so hard.

you put a saison in an obscure wine barrel, and your name isn’t Mystic, then my trap card gets activated so hard.

S:  This is unquestionably the best part of the beer and god damn, is it something to behold.  The triumvirate of the ultra juicy hops, the complete absence of any aserose aspects, the tart yogurt sharpness from the lacto, and dry closer from the brett make this huffable for days.  It is waves of tangerine, sliced clementines, those little Cuties that are wildly overpriced, fresh sliced honeydew and cantaloupe, it just smells radiant like some Ganiere Fructis shampoo.  SORRY IF YOU ARENT UP ON GAME AND STILL USE SUAVE ITS 2015 GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

ganache barrels are usually some divorcee tier component grapes that plastic dragonwomen talk about like "ITS LIKE PINOT AND THAT HOT NEW VINO CALLED MALBEC OMG SO TELL ME ABOUT HOW STAN IS MISTREATING YOU" shit like that

Grenache barrels are usually some divorcee tier component grapes that plastic dragonwomen talk about like “ITS LIKE PINOT NOIR AND THAT HOT NEW VINO CALLED MALBEC OMG SO TELL ME ABOUT HOW STAN IS MISTREATING YOU” shit like that

T:  This follows the foregoing smell but delivers a bit more of dryness and less of the fruit explosion.  It is very dry and crisp like an anjou pear with a manner of arugula grassiness to the closer.  If you enjoyed Dorothy and Alpha King, this will be well ensconced in your house of wheels.  It is refreshing and reminds me of Printemps with more wild ale inclinations.  While this doesn’t step full on into the Side Project sour saison realm, it is rubbing the tip dangerously close to the folds.  It is unquestionably sour but never stops your from drilling the entire bottle and palate fatigue never sets in.  That reminds me, I need to tick Lattice.  GOD DAMNIT THERE IS NOT REST IN THIS SAISON GAME.

M:  This is a touch thinner and drier than I would like, but other may find this to be a more exceptional aspect.  It finishes long and drops bits of tart lemongrass and grapefruit rind that, while awesome, seems to pull it away from that initial nose and the saison roots that made me draw the shades earlier.  Not every Tinder date with a 750ml is gonna hit the sheets ok, some take time, you gotta have that m’lady game, fedora tipping to the wild ale side with GENTLEMANLY RESPECT.

most these 2014 tickers think this BA saison shit is all about soaps and suds, ticker what

most these 2014 tickers think this BA saison shit is all about soaps and suds, ticker what

D:  This is unquestionably crushable.  I drank this while watching the limitlessly sad BITUTIFUL and drilled it while basking in Javier Bardem’s majesty.  You will accidentally the entire bottle, it will happen.  Don’t bother sharing this with anyone, let alone multiple people.  All that will do is generate 8 simultaneous UNTAPPD check ins that say shit like “tastes like farmhouses, is ok I guess, my 2oz pour was fine, not a good siason like Beautification, which was winner of the night.”

Just spare me that shit.

0

BFM (Brasserie des Franches-Montagnes) XV (√225 Saison) – Math nerds cupping them swiss saison racks

I sometimes have to field dumbshit complaints like “you never review beers I have heard of,” or “where is your KBS review? I need to know, plz, DDB captainsaveaho” and then I lol and drop 900 words on another obscure farmhouse beer because, this site ain’t bout that basic bitch shit. We aren’t on doing Frozen “LET IT GO” covers and posting instagram pics of us at Coachella listening to Lorde and shit. Go to another trifling beer site for that, there are plenty.

So today we have an ultra-legit top 50 saison that I have been longing for, ArchEnemy hooked this up. Apparently people in the PNW dont want to drop $30 on a weird looking “18 century ale.” MOAR FOR ME. Today we finna huff that Swiss Mist, tickers be like “SwizzySwizzy when your saison droppin?”

I was gonna chope this bitch up, but then I realized I might not tick this again. BOY WOULD MY FACE BE RED.

I was gonna chope this bitch up, but then I realized I might not tick this again. BOY WOULD MY FACE BE RED.

BFM (Brasserie des Franches-Montagnes)
Switzerland
Style | ABV
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 5.00% ABV

A: This rolls out of the bottle like a broken dishwasher spraying luminous foam all over the place, attenuated as fuck, that 90% strain just working those malts like a laquered floor at Magic City. Those straw red bottoms are clacking at the top of the saison pole and the webbing looks like Peter Parker just re-upped his subscription to Brazzers. The whole affair is turbid like a roll in the hay and the haze looks like someone is smoking dro in a tanning bed. The whole thing is dirty and fulfilling, like watching 3 hours of Nostalgia Critic and lying about it.

Beers like this are strange, but somehow you respect them because you know they mean business.

Beers like this are strange, but somehow you respect them because you know they mean business.

S: This is incredddddibly musky. Holy shit, I can only imagine how this tiny 5% abv ramped up and boosted out this huge acidic cheesy nose. You get some lemongrass, jamba juice rinds, The brett takes top billing and dips hard, accenting the acidity from the wild aspects of this yeast. This is chunky and dry, acidic curds and whey, lemon meringue cornbread cooling on the windowsill, and then you gotta change your Anchor Blue jeans because you just farmhoused so hard.

T: This takes the acidic nose and takes the cheesiness and funk to gruyere levels. The musk is like the Brabantiae of the saison world and I wish I had an old ass bottle of this, top tier farmhouse ale no question. The middle is a touch of breadiness and biscuit, with a sharp cheddar rind dryness and this pithy orange/grapefruit peel finish. It is incredibly dry and leaves a linger herbal creaminess along the gumline like you just sucked off a Shaman, but you are ok with it, because you finna tick. Incredibly complex beer on the nose and the mouth, call an ENT and get some biopsies done.

You pop this beer and a sense of urgency rolls over you.

You pop this beer and a sense of urgency rolls over you.

M: This is creamy not unlike Ete, but imparts an intense dryness from the musk and funk. The FG on this must be like negative platos, anti matter sucking all nether-malts into the void. It is acidic but so balanced in the approach that you can chain these hard, 750ml is a LOL serving size and the 5% abv just gets your all excited and it ends suddenly. You can guzzle this, the carb doesn’t slow you down, the acidity doesn’t dry you out, the musk isn’t cloying, and the thin body isn’t substantial enough to fill you up. THIS IS A ROBOT SAISON THAT CANNOT BE REASONED WITH. I don’t know if Wallonia would give this a full nod, farms all on the sides of the alps like Snowboarder Kids [fn1 – N64] but in the end it is just fucking delicious and if this was a true 18th century ale, I would not have gotten jack shit harvested or planted. I would have been all swerved in Zurich chopping up Roussean flows; what were we even talking about-

D: See above and make a quick inference whether this is exceptionally drinkable. This is a top tier saison for sure and I wish it would either 1) be more available or 2) dipshit tickers who secretly love AWA would leave beers like this alone. My site isn’t helping my cause by exposing saisons on the reg to stoutmouthed masses. It is a double edged sword, I want to show the world the new way i found out how to touch myself but then everyone steals my bit. So if you like wild ales and ultra acidic lambics, go drink those and leave us poor farmhouse drillers to our provincial toil. I can’t have it both ways, I can’t both praise beers like this and then continually rip on people who seek out KBS and black note like they are whales. The plaintive truth is that the second the 2013 wave of tickers moves to the next evolution of their palates they are gonna babyboom the fuck out of the farmhouse world. Draining our resources, not paying into the system, you know. Let’s just hope these newbz still think saisons are all Red Barn and Hennepin for the time being. Let us pray.

Tired of hearing dipshits argue over stout values? Drink saisons. It's basically like calling Social Services for your liver.

Tired of hearing dipshits argue over stout values? Drink saisons. It’s basically like calling Social Services for your liver.

Narrative: Jacob Donalds surveyed the contents of his spacious “cellar” and nodded in calm approval. The northwest corner of his parent’s basement in northern Ohio was his palatial estate, racks upon racks of IKEA shelves with bottles upon bottles of stouts and porters distributed nationwide. While submitting resumes on Monster.com he would take brief breaks to run his finger along his collection of Stone IRS bombers, lovingly caressing the cardboard boxes from each of his Parabola mainstays, kept in perpetual slumber. There was seldom a time that he did not mention his age when presenting this opulent stash, “NOT BAD FOR A 24 YEAR OLD RIGHT?” he would importune to his uncaring friends. Still, when the sun would dip low across the insubstantial horizon, he felt a panging and a hollow emptiness that perhaps he was not the most knowledgeable person in the entire world. His self image was affirmed regularly by his 134 person Facebook group and the accolades that followed upon posting photos of 2 bottles of Abyss were not insubstantial. Still, while running his fingertips over bottles and bottler of BCBS there was a vision of a higher calling, a more perfect style, as high as the Swiss alps, as refreshing as a kumquat harvest, running barefoot across fields in northern france. For now he would content himself to chocolates and coffees, for to embrace the unknown was to lay prostrate to a tradition of history whose power lay not in starting platos, but finish gravity.

0

@tiredhandsbeer Tired Hands, The Emptiness is Eternal; the void in my farmhouse jeans is eternally filled.

Tired Hands and I have a turbid history with their bottled offerings. They released one of the best saisons of recent memory but then they also release intensely strange beers brewed with esargot shells. Thankfully this falls well within the realm of the latter and even goes beyond all prior iterations and offerings.

If we are going to use something in the realm of Blue Label Arthur as a benchmark, this hits real close to the pin and is one of the best American saisons of recent memory. Take that Cask 200 swagger, add some Lil Lobster on the Prairie, and you get the idea of what Kobe shit we are addressing. This farmhouse puts up 83 on those haters.

Workin them persimmons, clacking those red bottoms, putting itself through saison college.

Workin them persimmons, clacking those red bottoms, putting itself through saison college.

Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States

Style | ABV
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 7.00% ABV

Notes/Commercial Description:
The Emptiness is Eternal is an oak barrel fermented Saison conditioned on a copious amount of Hachiya persimmons grown by our dear friend Tom Culton at his family farm in Lancaster, Pa. We produced 400 bottles of this beautiful Saison.

A: At the outset you get this intensely radiant beer that just LOOKS bone fucking dry. They golden notes look like radioactive hay like it came from some locally sourced Chernobyl farm. There is a mild turbidity to it with frothy thin bubbles that crackle and toss up some wispy stacks and let them rain. The lacing is decent but cling isn’t this beers mainstay, it’s all about that yellow ringpop glow. Marcellus Wallace briefcase shit.

Get your mouth on this golden treat ASAP

Get your mouth on this golden treat ASAP

S: This is acidic but not in that Side Project/borderline AWA realm, it has a tangerine and white grape waft, since this is a 400 bottle release you get serious rare notes at the outset the sublimate into a sort of “unobtainable” and dissipate. The persimmons are light and, as a side note, as a complete bitch to capture in the flavor profile, come through lovingly in the waft. You get some sour skittles acidity and faintly brackish aspect but again the whole thing comes across as a tropical fruit stand with a faint biscuit underpinning. Drank this in bed and had to change the sheets, got that horse blankie all dirty.

T: This is more acidic in the taste than the persimmon sweetness of the nose would indicate and it imparts a riesling dryness upon swallow. The middle is all clementine and orange zest, intensely drinkable, but never going overboard on the acidity and maintaining its wheat backbone enough to paint the ph canvas. Admittedly this is not the most complex beer in taste execution, but it really doesn’t need to be. If you strip down a Datsun 240z and drop an acidic 350 in it, it will get the job done without complexity or panache. This shit drops Molly all in your champagne and people be fuxxin after you pop one of these.

Some people can't handle the farmhouse lifestyle, do u even rustic

Some people can’t handle the farmhouse lifestyle, do u even rustic

M: This is on the dryer side of the farmhouse realm and doesn’t provide a lingering creaminess for the gumline, but again, it never loses its identity within the folds of that ATP acidity, Kreb’s citric acid cycle kept all in check. You can drill this and wont be left with gerd or cankersores. It exits with a white wine oakiness that is almost drowned out from the fruit notes, but when you see them sparklers in the club, you forget all about the minor details.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and you can lay these down racksonracksonracks, well, relative to the 2 per person allocation I guess. If ever a 7% beer needed to be in a 750ml, this is it. THe 500ml is like a full release massage where you never get to flip over. I want more and will tip up, but the opportunity is over all too soon. This isn’t some musky complex banger, but it is awesome in the 3 tricks it does turn out. I can safely recommend this to anyone, stretch marked Cicerones or size zero BEBE dress wearing ASU students alike. This beer goes in.

borderline wild, but domesticated enough for you to fall in love

borderline wild, but domesticated enough for you to fall in love

Narrative: Billy was commonly known as one of the Double Dragon brothers, but there was so much more to Mr. Lee. While some would protest that an industrial garage was an uncomely location for a citrus garden, he still pressed on diligently. He had a small plot of land in the year 19XX and tilled the soil arduously in between rescuing his girlfriend from local thugs. He would pack a few tangerines in his pocket and then proceed to strike a woman armed with a whip directly in the face. There was a simplicity to his agrarian existence, romantic in his goals, and a Roussean nature to his exploits. Billy pushed a huge bald man off of a conveyor belt and peeled a clementine and watched Abobo fall to his death, another day for an industrial farmer caught in the grips of modern existence.

0

@santeadairius Bernice

So I guess this is one of those “regular” SARA offerings, that is kinda like saying “oh that is one of those Kuhnhenn REGULAR RELEASES, you know 52 bottles in the middle of Arctic Tundra.” That sorta thing. I don’t know if this is the base beer for West Ashley but either way, Thank you Based God. I have my suspicions and until one of the portmanteau components of that Sante Adairius chimes in, old DDB will have to grind it out like a 7th grade dance. I put on Tony Rich Project and shit got sexy real quick with that octogenarian Bernice. I spelled that shit without spell check, this is gonna be a legit review.

Cupertino muggy and mean muggin on that radiant sesh.

Cupertino muggy and mean muggin on that radiant sesh.

Sante Adairius Rustic Ales
California, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.50% ABV

I was told that I am drinking batch 2. Like you give a fuck.

A: In journalism an auto-correct error is called a “Cupertino.” This is because when the software was first developed there were several instances of changing the word “cooperation” without the hyphen, to “Cupertino.” Why should you give a fuck? This beer is the Cupertino error of subbing in straight saison for what should be “American Wild Ale.” Just look at this glowy ass ho straight emitting free radicals and lasers from its core engaging in cold fusion without remorse. This looks really similar to West Ashley and again, the investigation continues.

Yeah, Twista was sippin Sante Adairius in the Source and tickers offering Abyss.  Do they even Outlaw?

Yeah, Twista was sippin Sante Adairius in the Source and tickers offering Abyss. Do they even Outlaw?

S: This doesn’t have the ripe apricot or complexity of the tannins but plays more of the river cards in embracing the lightly lactic nectarine acidity that is coupled with a faint gorgonzola aspect to it at higher temps. At cold cold cold temps in them 45 degree range I was kinda crestfallen, this was seriously like Pineapple Fanta or what old ass people would call THE OLD EGG PHOSPHATE maneuver. Let this open up to them mid 50’s like your favorite librarian and then work it hard, without remorse for its cats or estranged children. The light acidity takes a backseat to this Siren call of bubble bath refreshment. This is Bath and Body works nose fucking you and the 18 year old cashier is wanting. Legit.

T: This beer enters with a gentle ester that really needs higher temps to showcase and complexity in the residual sugar vs. enzymes battlefield. That is not its strongest suit. The Brett C profile is present but again, this is not the Chad Crooked Stave water on bugs refreshment either. This executes like somewhat of a hybrid between Crooked Stave Vielle and Seizoen bretta in that it is incredibly light, drops some lemon, tangelo, nectarine, and some clementine but isn’t acidic enough to warrant some comparison to say Beatification or that realm. The whole experience is like being tucked into some lemony 500ct sheets. Most of you still sleep with an unfolded sleeping bag or a FUBU sheet set from Walmart so I can’t explain it that well to you degenerates but, splurge and buy some dryer sheets next month when you wash your mountain of black screen print shirts. It is like that.

I got two boxes full of Sante Adairius shit this week, the Fedex truck be all like-

I got two boxes full of Sante Adairius shit this week, the Fedex truck be all like-

M: This is incredibly light, to the point of being insubstantial almost. The acidity adds some dryness that remedies things to add a lingering that is kinda like a power chord versus the fully fleshed out 3 additional notes of a major chord, but something feels too simplistic and transparent in the splishy finish. The West Ashley had an apricot walker to lean upon to add strata to the silt but this is a simple affair like a Misfits album that is satisfying for exactly what is immediately presented. There are no lactic/brett C/barrel solos that run on for bars and bars, you get a punch of lemon, water, light musk, and it is over. You want another sip immediately because that tart smooch with the latter day saint of the saison world just teases you hard.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and you feel bad about the rate in which you can slay a 750ml. Your mother in law will look at you like a UPS driver, straight alcoholic, when you drill this shit like a dental assistant. You will be able to put this down triple double no assist. This is like when you drive a Honda until the 99999 odometer turns to 000000. I love how drinkable this is but it almost pisses me off how fast this disappeared, but that is largely the fault of my heaving back tits, deep bellybutton and insatiable liver. I wreck bottles and lives.

Florida traders suddenly lost their wind to this Farmhouse upstart.  Watch them offer up some MZ shit and reap the lulz.

Florida traders suddenly lost their wind to this Farmhouse upstart. Watch them offer up some MZ shit and reap the lulz.

Narrative: Berenice ran her fingers through the fine Byzantine textiles and looked at the Gregorian calendar wondering what the nature of the Roman Silver age could hold. Her golden locks were held simply but there was a certain piquant complexity to here demeanor. No woman seeks to be a thrice divorced woman during the Flavian dynasty, but such was her Lot. No pun intended. The cool acidity of her treatment and interaction of the servants showed a poise that predated the Justinian morality laws. Any servant could approach her and take in her refreshing nature, the cool perspiration of Judea bathing salts and desert air made her a breathtaking site to all who sought her company. The only harshness that she ever exhibited was a harsh hand exhibited during the Jewish rebellion, but even in trying times the afflicted sought her clemency. Later her empire would be replaced with apricot groves and a new empire would replace her gentle feudalism. No seed germinates everlasting in the chosen land, not even Berenice.

0

@santeadairius West Ashley, This Beers Gets More Tickers off Than Cochran

Alright so changing gears from a Vermont 300 bottle release, let’s peep game on this 300 bottle pre-wale from the west coast Hill Farmstead. Sante Adairius is a hot new brewery running the trap, slanging farmhouse ales, and dropping low bottle count beatdowns on the trade boards. Also, their product is 99.3% pure, that all blue Jesse Pinkman blend. So in today’s review we have a rare+saison+apricot+wildale+unzip pounding things out without remorse. Bay area kids were hella stoked on this and clutch them for good reason, this beer sets my apricots ablaze with careless abandon.

No filter. Srs.  Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace's briefcase.

No filter. Srs. Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace’s briefcase.

Sante Adairius Rustic Ales
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.30% ABV

A: This is that goon shit, mess up your whole afternoon shit. Just take a look at that burning fireball above, it is like looking directly into Beatrice while in paradiso. That isn’t a play on words because Beatrice may or may not be the base beer for this, it is just that radiant and melts your impure soul to take in those bright orange/tangerine/pure sunlight. The wispy carbonation crackles away like a piccolo pete and leaves no real lacing to speak of, but who is really speaking of lacing anyway? If you said grade A microcock beer nerds, you are correct.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

S: This reminds me of Logsdon Oak Aged Bretta scissoring Beatification’s thighs raw with a musky funk, tart apricot meets Fou Foune’s effeminate brother. The acidity doesn’t get in the way and you get this watery dog groomer’s air about it that the fruit supports nodding in the background on a 2/4 beat. There isn’t a ton of cheesiness or elements in the way of Cantillon/De Cam/Boon, nor is the acidity as harsh, but this is its own jam. Selfmade millionaire wild ale poppin that .45 acidity at haterzzz.

T: This is the absolute perfect beer for summertime. Take that floral/tart aspect from Ithaca Brute and add some apricot tannins and you have a massively drinkable beer that doubles as titty elixir for Yacht parties since this beer is balling outrageous. The tartness doesn’t go overboard and instead serves to compliment the hay/leather dryness, it wilds the fuck out like Bobby Bouchet. The fruit again is just mindblowing and links arms in the same realm as Fantasia (batch 1, not that brett bomb b2) Peche n Brett, Persica, and to a lesser extent, Fou Foune.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

M: This is drying at the outset with the apricot leading first but it has this murky waterines to it that washes so clean it leaves a sweet apricot life saver flavor that lingers and not unlike a Brazzer’s actor, you gotta get your mouth on it once more. I could crush these without remorse, the apricot jury would deem me an unsympathetic Ashley mass murderer. I love the careful tartness because it allows the underlying saison elements (which are fantastic) to show off in a manner more approachable and ultimately satisfying than say, Upland Peach, which is the acidity show in execution.

D: To double down on everything else that I have mentioned, this is scary drinkable and the ABV is not only present but this beer straight up feels GOOD for you. Like you conscience wouldn’t kick in drinking this before a funeral or a classy bris. The jamba juiciness keeps things lively but the oaky dryness lets you know the refined MILF will also enjoy this as well, inbetween her sips of Yellow Tail Moscato. Get this, actually dont, I need more, so don’t seek this out. Don’t ruin this shit for the rest of me.

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

Narrative: Life at the Behr paint supply store was a mile a minute. Sure there was the time that they accidentally mixed turpentine with the eggshell, making the ignominious muted halogen color, completely off style but mindblowing nonetheless. Yes sir, Ashley West had seen it all in her duties as overseer of the interior vibrant tones division of Behr paints. It was her sworn duty to ensure that no paint scheme stood as too far fetched or offputting. Nothing escaped her trained penchant for searingly bright colors. If she saw a mild yellow that struck hier as too explosive, she’d be the first one to take it down a couple notches to a sublimely genial canary tone. For Ashley, life was all about the Golden Mean, in the Arisotelian sense, the paradigm of good taste. “Miss, do these sandstone swatches look appro-” “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Look at this, I’m sorry, where are we the Luxor casino? You need to mute these down to C11H14 palate, we don’t run some kind of funhouse, you can take these monstrocities down to Tempera paints Mr. Jackson Pollack if you feel like expressing yourself on my KHAKI WATCH!” Another solid day of work for Ashley West.

1

Ale Apothecary Sahalie, Thanatos Has Assembled all of the Saison Gems and Your World Is About To End

It is not a well guarded secret that I love me some saisons. Shit, didn’t we do something like 34 days in a row of saison reviews? That’s what I thought. Anyway, this banger started some serious buzz on the top saison lists and at first I dismissed it as some farmhouse chicanery, but batch after batch it kept creeping higher and higher until I buckled and sought out this elusive farmhorse. Some people got their tampax all sideways when I said that this was rare, apparently 55 wants 4 gots wasnt rare enough for them. But landing this is kinda a bitch, so take that for what you will. Plus this bottle was like $30 or something, so you gotta ball outrageous to fucks with this. Let’s get to it.

As wit hmany of my other saison reviews, I swear  I didn't pour this like a dicktouch. These saisons come out like broken washing machines.

As with many of my other saison reviews, I swear I didn’t pour this like a dicktouch. These saisons come out like broken washing machines.

The Ale Apothecary
Oregon, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 11% ABV (Jan 2013 release)

A: This is just outright beautiful and pours a hazy turbid orange with bright gold hues at the edges. The cabonation is ridiculous and almost to the point of being obnoxious i.e. Upland Lambic steeze. The soapy bubbles keep on coming and its like bath time for the farm hands. The lacing is also pretty ridiculous making the inside of your glass looking like a Baroque sex party, lace and frills all over the place.

If you think you are a saison expert, you probably are a raging pussy.  I should know, I am a saison expert and no one can beat my ass.

If you think you are a saison expert, you probably are a raging pussy. I should know, I am a saison expert and no one can beat my ass.

S: This has an incredible nose to it at low temperatures. In fact, let me condition this entire review by noting that at 45 degrees and 60+ degrees this beer is an entirely different experience. When very cold you get this light acidity, pears, melon, lemon grass, floral hibiscus sort of earthiness but a big juiciness to it. As it warms, this thing pulls out its 11% dick and pounds your nosehole with careless abandon. It gets this really offputting fusel and astringent quality and reminds me of pissing off the saison Hulk. You wont like this beer when it is angry.

T: Again, when this beer is cold, it is mindblowingly good and absolutely world class. If you have had Handfarm, think of that but a juiced up imperial version. If you had Clos Preal batch 1 then you will know exactly the high abv saison beat I am talking about. This presents apricot, acidity almost like a musky beatification with less tartness, apple skin, honeydew, lemon and a sorta of parmesan cheese musk that lingers with the juiciness after you swallow. This is just phenomenal. When this beer gets warm, watch out because shit gets real pretty quickly. It gets this heat to it like an imbalaned Belgian Tripel with this boozy pineapple meets gin ester that is really offputting. It is incredible that a beer can be both world class and hateful at the same time. A truly bipolar bitch.

With an 11% saison, part of me things someone pulled a nasty trick on me.  BUT I LIKE IT.

With an 11% saison, part of me thinks someone pulled a nasty trick on me. BUT I LIKE IT.

M: This maintains a nice lip smacking dryness with a lingering oakiness to it not unlike fresh Temptation. The acidity is restrained and the abv is masked in a way that is staggering. IF you have a sorority girl you want to put to sleep, this beer will do the trick. “Date rape jokes are not funny” I agree, but we can all agree that having a quiet DG is a vast improvement in any situation. This is exceptionally refreshing at low temps and just starts flipping over card tables if you dont watch your glass at higher temperatures.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable as long as you get to it fast and dont let those sticky alcoholic tones spread their wings. If you sit on this its like a colony of zergling eggs that just need some incubation. You go from exceptional funk and musk, light lemons to face melting pineapple liqueur in a matter for 25 minutes. Again, take all of this under the caveat that you cannot just take Sahalie out to a seafood dinner and expect to hit the sheets. You have to put that saison time in and really enjoy this under the right conditions, otherwise things get out of hand really quickly. It is like “This is the best beer I have had in a long ti- OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME THATS WHERE I POOP FROM-” and the kid is pointing out what the saison did to you on a doll in pretrial proceedings.

Tell me how easy this beer is to land. I don't give a fuck.

Tell me how easy this beer is to land. I don’t give a fuck.

Narrative: Dwayne Johnson was a mild mannered tier of the rural Texas community within the pleasant town of Elderton. His tan Grecian form lumbered to the mailbox and he waved to the mailman with an inviting smile. “Hey Big D!” Thomas Norse, the local postal officer waived to the monster of a human from across the street. As he walked inside he reviewed his Verizon bill and felt his traps pulse with a taut anger. “I…I am on the unlimited PLANNNN-” he thought angrily and clenched his jaw. Dwayne exhaled slowly and regained his cool composure and sat down to his usual breakfast of 2 eggs, 10 oz filet and oatmeal. “I dont see why they would charge me with OVERAGES WHEN I HAVE UNLIMITED ACCESS” he gripped his melon and fiercely bit into an apricot. He rounded the foyer of his house only to see that someone had writted “TOO FAST TOO FAGGOT” on the side of his tasteful raised Bronco. “THAT IS TOO MUCH!” he roared and tore away his tiny tank top revealing his massive frame. He was a gentle soul, but if you got him hot, his genial aspect converted quickly into a 250 lbs wrecking ball that even the most patient DMV employee could not console.