Category Archives: sour

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

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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.

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

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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.

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@thebruery Griffon Bruxellois, Adorable Toy Breeds and Banging Tart Cherries

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This beer initially caused a row amongst the land owning barons in the Hoarders Society. The upper class magnates received the opportunity to buy two of these awesome bottles but then THE REGULAR ASS RESERVE SOCIETY MORELOCKS GOT TO BUY A SINGLE BOTTLE. Man that must be what it feels like to watch Firestone Walker release Parabola to all the mealy mouthed masses, them enjoying world class BA stouts without even trading. But in all SRS, this beer is damn good and if you were lucky enough to grab one of these bottles, your cherry has already been popped, leaking all sour on the entryway rug.

OH SHIT INTENTIONALLY ACCIDENTAL HOARDERS CARD CAMEO. like anyone gives a fuck.

OH SHIT INTENTIONALLY ACCIDENTAL HOARDERS CARD CAMEO. like anyone gives a fuck.

The Bruery
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.10% ABV

A: This is not as “dark” as I was expecting from the description, and it isn’t exactly as flat as the sad panda marketing description set forth. If you were in Hoarders, this was the email you got describing it:

We debuted Griffon Bruxellois late in 2012 at a few of our events and it was quite a hit. This dark, sour ale was aged in oak barrels on cherries, giving it an incredible fruit flavor, balanced by the roasted malt and lactic tartness. We must admit, this bottle-conditioned beer didn’t turn out quite as carbonated as we were hoping for, but it is still an incredible beer, 100% worthy of our high standards to be sold, served, shared and enjoyed!

So I was like “oh so like Otiose but flat? Carmen on cherries?” boy was I fucking wrong, this has an amazing deep crimson tone that transitions into fuscia, magenta, Lisa Frank binder pinks and….god damnit…I don’t even want to say it

robey tones.

embrace the delcious cherry hugs, no matter how tart and scratchy they may be

embrace the delcious cherry hugs, no matter how tart and scratchy they may be

S: This has an incredible blast of lactic fruit roll ups, Gushers juice, tart cherry skins, red Fun Dip dust, and a raspberry finish to it. The acidity is there but complimented by a robust fruit profile. Again, this beer exceeded expectations, one of the best Bruery sours that I have had since Filmishmish.

T: This delivers on complexity beyond simple acidity, you get this round tartness at the outset like shocktarts, no acetic vinegar aspects to speak of, a deep dryness on the gumline, raspberry, black cherry, fruit by the foot, tropical skittles, and uncut pom juice, that white brick raw moving hard in the streets. This is kinda like if you cut Sch. Kriek with a more substantial sour like Consecration, really well done and balanced for days.

Bust this out at a bottle share, people be like

Bust this out at a bottle share, people be like

M: This is a bit too dry in some aspects because it is incredibly tart, but if it did not have that aspect it would likely be too sweet from the nice fruit profile so I feel that this is a happy medium that has a tannic finish like a full bodied merlot. Drink water with this and hope those old HSV sores dont be blasting open. wait wut.

D: This is like in movies when a cop is chasing a criminal and he is always like tipping over trashcans and shit, like that is a real obstacle come on. This beer is worth the chase and incredibly drinkable but the dryness and acidity is tossing these tiny obstacles in your way slowing you down slightly from going into 750ml+ levels, but this is a beer that is incredibly easy to take down solo if you have some tums and some Smart Water handy. I wish the allocation was bigger on this so I could freeze it or do some dumb shit, but srs, nicely done beer.

Try to take down a couple bottles of this, be a hero.

Try to take down a couple bottles of this, be a hero.

Narrative: It was not a lively existence sitting in a Chicago highrise apartment all day long. Brixie received the same general care and attention that other dogs in the area received, daily walks, beard combing, and strolls through gentrified areas for defecation. Somehow Brixie felt that she was missing out on something more. The twinge of her heritage pounded in her hindquarters and she constantly looked east over Lake Michigan and wondered just what was happening in Brussels. She felt like an exemplary demonstration of her heritage, yet some short sighted assholes living in a Corn Cob shaped building might fault her for not BEING FROM BELGIUM. It was their loss, her deep amber coat and tart disposition made her a favorite at all of the AKC competitions. Even the most stringent hater had to respect a Griffon with such poise and depth, that did not even shit on the hardwood floors. Brixie was worthy of veneration, no matter what some narrowminded shit head from the 312 area code might think.

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2012 Lost Abbey Cable Car, Bottles Keep Getting Younger and I Stay the Same Ag-…Fuck. Nevermind.

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Alright, in the interest of complete whaling thoroughness I will review this 2012 Cable Car, the old dark horse in the lineup. About 3 months ago, a bunch of shitmouths all went down to Toronado and split a vert of the bottles like 43 ways based on what I saw on Untappd. Anyway, so we have a shitload of Cable Car experts now. Everyone was pushing their dicks into reubens talking about how this beer was chlorine and OMG THE WERST. So, hating that stepchild 2010 CC, I wanted to see what the business was. I dropped the $50 and skulled this shit, like a responsible reviewer.

OH SHIT POSTING THE SAME PIC THREE TIMES FOR ULTRA HITS, dinner is on me.

OH SHIT POSTING THE SAME PIC THREE TIMES FOR ULTRA HITS, dinner is on me.

The Lost Abbey
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.00% ABV

A: The carb on this one lies somewhere in between the 2008 (Keira Knightley flat) and 2010 (Natalie Portman tits.) It is filling cups, but not with excitement. You get some wispy crackling but it remains about a step about Doesjel and some old ass lambics in this regard. I asked for a dirtier glass to boost nucleation levels but they wouldn’t comply. The cling is minimal, the sheeting is non-existent and it kinda looks like a Dortmunder with deep gold hues, the darkest Cable Car I have seen since that cherry afterbirth apotheosis version.

LOL the cat is speaking Belgian! but the cat is secretly American.

LOL the cat is speaking Belgian! but the cat is secretly American.

S: There is a lemon zest, but more akin to super fresh farmers market steeze, like zested on a grater with a slight salinity in the air. You get tangelo, mango, white grape, and hard persimmon. This is all to be appreciated against the backdrop of high acidity that is really more tart than it is straight up Upland Lambic sour. I get a little bit of a muskiness like a gose on the finish that a shiteater might mistake for some kind of chlorine, provided you were completely fucking high on paint fumes, or if you got a sick .9oz pour. Either way.

T: This follows through with that classy musk of Cable Car 2010, light cheesiness, but with that delicious acidity and fruitiness that reminded me of the 2008. Again this is a hybrid of those two years and takes a bit from each and improves upon it, like Mylie Cyrus, a voltron of acrimonious cuntery. That is the name of my acoustic Aphex Twin cover band, Acrimonious Cuntery. Come see us in Connecticut. Anyway, so you get a chardonnay without the drying, a sort of nectarine and tart lychee finish to it, butressed again with this light salinity. I disagree on the chlorine/pool water/salt douche comments that some people were making. If you have banged a few Leipzig hoes you will know all about that light saltiness on your knuckles/wrist.

This beer is refined yet filthy at the same time, like Ke$ha in a pantsuit.

This beer is refined yet filthy at the same time, like Ke$ha in a pantsuit.

M: This is the meanest leanest cleanest (Ciara got sex appeal) mouth feel that I have had in a Cable Car to date. As a result you dont get that lingering dryness, you don’t get the oakiness dryfucking your bitter zones. What you do get is a light juiciness that is incredibly refreshing, closer in execution to a super lactic Berliner, really. This is a welcome spin and would be more at home in hotter weather, migrant worker sweatshops, etc. I need my American Apparrel jeans made in Downtown LA by non-Americans, for unamerican wages, drinking American beers inspired by Belgian styles. SOURS, MIXED RACE MODELS AND HIGH FASHION.

D: This is off the charts drinkable and for the $/oz you are taking it right down the shaft like a chlamydia test. It is seriously disheartening how fast it disappears. You lose a bit on the dryness that reigns this shit in, but as a result it is more approachable and awesome. You know how a Fender Telecaster has that short neck for ladyhands, perfect for playing Wonderwall and getting those EXPRESS thongs off, but you can’t do sick ass shredding. Then again, sometimes you dont want Dragonforce melting your face, sometimes you want a Night Court marathon to relax to. The people who like this Cable Car best are those contrarian assholes who say that JACKIE BROWN WAS TARANTINO’S BEST WORK NUANCED AND MOST PEOPLE DONT GET IT. I get it, this Cable Car is slowly, subtle, and doesn’t blow anyones fucking head off. Better than 2010, but that’s about it. That’s kinda like big leaguing on the kid who lives in Section 8 housing with his aunt though.

Pop open a $50 bottle of world class beer, put on those jammy jams, and get to chillin.

Pop open a $50 bottle of world class beer, put on those jammy jams, and get to chillin.

Narrative: “Ring a clink dernk-” the chimes rang in an off-minor fashion. The city had never approved the financing for the business improvement district and as a result the downtown trolley had fallen into woeful disrepair. It only ran from Fashion Bug to Little Samoa and usually smelled like curry. The seats were all worn and someone spraypainted “NIKO IS A SHITDICK” on the side of the trolly 3 months ago and it was never addressed. To be fair, Niko was a shit dick though. The passengers were supposed to get this whiff of nostalgia, like they were living in the gilded age of oppressive factories and limited social benefits, but instead they lived in the modern times where corporations were just doling out high wages and benefits. It had seen the marks of time and it made some of the Matlock watching passengers smile, but to the average person it was a blemish in the heritage of public transportation and Cable Cars in general. A guy in an ECKO jacket sat in the back row with his clearly underaged girlfriend and rode to the end of the line, Fashion Bug and depression for all riders.

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Cantillon 50 Degrees North 40 Degrees East, Things Are Getting Geographic Real Quick

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Bust out your compasses, we are going wale hunting in today’s review. As if slaying normal loonz isn’t enough, today we have a Cantillon one-off from 2007. The deal behind this beer is Jean Van Roy took his inimitable gueuze and found an incredible Cognac distillery and aged it for 2 years in barrels from that distillery. You know how membranes of a mitochondria fold in upon themselves to generate more ATP? That is what is going on here, except this is churning out purified RAR. Let’s get loonzy in today’s review.

I hope your harpoon is sharp, or your Paypal fishing vessel is well stocked.

Cantillon 50n4e
Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Gueuze | 7.00% ABV

A: The appearance of the beer is an almost tame affair. The golden hues of the normal gueuze are present albeit with a deeper golden aspect to it and minimal lacing. There’s very little carbonation but, at this point, I could give a fuck less about some carb issues. Go buy a Fantome or an Upland lambic and call it even after you clean the beer off your ceiling.

Cantillon one offs? You can only look like a total asshole asking for moar.

S: There’s a strange interplay of elements here, you get the classic musk and lemon zest from the Cantillon gueuze, but there’s a deep sweetness and caramel candy finish to the nose that wraps the two together like a candied granny smith apple with booze. The cognac seems to have faded a bit, but it feels like a more balanced product as a result.

T: The taste is an incredible Chimera of elements going on. At first the beer presents a tart acidity like a freshly cut grapefruit with some blood orange zest, then the e-brake is pulled and this shit flips faster than an Integra being driven by a 17 year old hmong kid. The beer magically turns into this sweet mellow golden aspect with tastes similar to caramel, toffee, macaroons, and a lingering boozy sweetness like brandy, or, more properly, cognac. This whole affair is strange, like making out with a beautiful asian girl and then finding out she is actually a beautiful Bolivian girl. You aren’t even mad, just confused as shit as to what is going on.

At a certain point, I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

M: The mouthfeel is dry and lingers with this swirling interplay of acidity and sweet baked biscuits. While the gueuze is disassembling your gumline, the sweet notes are reapply a sumptuous new ceiling on the roof of your mouth. Ultimately, your mouth becomes a public works project for strange ends.

D: This is not the most drinkable beer, even setting rarity aside. I really enjoyed it, but it is only fair to judge this against those that it shoulders ranks with. I personally enjoy Fou Foune and St. Lam much more than this “interesting” gem. If this Cantillon were on Match.com, all the sections would talk about how it does roller derby and has “such a great personality.” Don’t put a ring on it.

So they took this one thing and added it…to this other….thing….

Narrative: “Why are mommy and daddy fighting?” Baby Cognac wondered as she watched her parents tear apart their small abode. “OH OH OK THIS IS RICH! NOW IT’S….CAN I FINISH? LET ME FINISH!” Papa Gueuze was in one of his booze filled rages after a family outing. It had been chaos since they stepped into that Macaroni Grill and the din of excitement had now reached its sweet fever pitch. “Oh…SURE SURE….revert back to that, let’s focus on THAT ONE TIME AGAIN!” Mama Applezest was brandishing a large cutco knife and threatening no one in particular. Baby Cognac attempted to reconcile this hectic environment with her chaotic upbringing. No one wanted to visit, no one wanted to stay, but little cognac baby still had high hopes for later aging. She would get a pink VW Bug for her birthday to make up for the abuse living in that barrel of a home.

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Cascade Strawberry, Just Kiss Me Through the Phone Strawberry Style

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Oh Cascade, you can be so helpful, or such a difficult minx. Sure, you offer most of your amazing sours online for purchase and that is as awesome as it comes. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER RELEASES? Then I have to actually go and FIND a PERSON to go get them for me. This is one such beer. What will I do when Figaro drops? What will I do then? Anyway, this brewery has a pretty stellar record for knocking out incredible sours like oh I don’t know:

Remember this club banger? Me either.

Anyway, so we have done cherries, we have done apricots, now let’s taste that sweet sticky strawberry. Things are getting sexy up on this page.

Don’t eat the green part of this beer, it makes you pregnant.

Cascade Brewing / Raccoon Lodge & Brewpub
Oregon, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV 7.39%

A: This has a nice radiant glow of deep amber and orange with a slight pinkish hue like rose`, Trey Songs be pouring up cups in the club. There’s minimal lacing and the carbonation is there but doesn’t show off. It posts in the corner just whittling a little wispy white profile.

Age probably won’t change this beer. It will still be strawberries and acidity 15 years from now.

S: This has an incredible berry profile with fresh skins, nice strawberry juiciness, kinda has a stripper scent to it, you know that pink dust that you can never get off of your clothes, I mean, not me, but I have heard. Smells like Bath and Body works meets a Farmer’s Market. The whole endeavor feels exceedingly gentle like a tableshower. You just Googled that shit.

T: This follows the traditional lactic Cascade formula and, while it usually works, this mutes the fruits and makes this come off as a kind of a generic tartness that could be really anything. I love the finish and the dryness but the whole strawberry aspect of this takes a backseat to the abusive acidic boyfriend that tells her what to wear and who she can have in her phone. This isn’t the best Cascade that I have had, but it is still a pretty dank offering. This tastes strangely similar to Sans Pagaie, so you Bruery lovers, just pop that and use your imagination. Feel me.

This is sour.

M: This has a nice prickly acidity that stings and delivers along the gumline but doesn’t take things to the Weyerbacher Riserva levels. It is balanced and pleasant to enjoy. I could see myself reading Parade magazine and drinking this, in about 50 years when my life has become meaningless. There’s a nice chardonnay quality and I am sure you could get a Delta Gamma pretty drilled off of this, but that’s not a feat to record in the annals. No typo.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and doesn’t give me the lambic guts. I enjoy just sitting back, listening to Diplo, mashing on some berries and wasting the night away. Your mileage may vary, you could show this to your friends and they think your dick is small, bent, and dark. Who knows. Final verdict: other Cascades are more accessible, and probably better, but this is still a BERRY GOOD BEER.

Sometimes I think my readers aren’t even strawberrying.

Narrative: Most exotic dancers don’t plan things as far in advance as Jezebel. Well, for starters, her legal name was “Jezebel” and that should show her parents’ limited knowledge of the Old Testament. She was All State in Hurdles and got 5’s on 6 different Advanced Placement tests, this was all a part of her grand design. “But why for you are to be in dancing and not in the college making?” her scarcely bilingual Ukranian co-worker once importuned. “Well you see, the State is broke, the Federal Government wants to offer me high interest loans, and desperate Cuban men pay hard cash immediately that is untaxed and does not need to be amortized,” Jezebel explained. “Oh, I am to like dancing but also would like to be making bakery,” Svetlana insightfully added. Some would look with an ill repute and disdain upon Jezebel’s Keynesian economic theory, but she studied during the day while her clientele were nursing their hangovers and danced at night for cold hard currency that she put in a Roth IRA to drive down her capital gains. Smelling like strawberry lip gloss all the time was not easy, but she was a refined exotic, yet entirely approachable in sum and substance.

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Squatters’ Fifth Element, Bruce Willis is Wilding Out So Hard on this Saison

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At first I saw some stir in the trade boards for this elusive gem and thought nothing of it. THEN I LOOKED DEEPER. It wasn’t the low bottle counts, the sky high ratings, or the fact that it is my particular favorite style of beer; it was a love for Chris Tucker. Ok not really, but this is an amazing farmhouse, so let’s hit the barn hard in today’s review:

This approaches that amazing Fantome ghost level status saison, consumed by Latter Day Saints.

Squatters Pub Brewery
Utah, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.75% ABV

Fifth Element is a delightfully complex and rustic “Old World” style Belgian farmhouse ale. Aged in American oak barrels for a year and bottle conditioned, this artisan Belgian ale is sure to refresh.

A: This has an amazing look to it that is all saison, all funky turbid glowing radioactive hay with substantial foam and lacing. This is what I imagine a Vengaboys concert to look like, potentially Aqua. The hues remind me of glowsticks once your crack them open, straight up radiant.

Wait for the next Squatter’s release? Ain’t nobody got time for that.

S: This is all sharp citrus, lemon zest, l’orange, pomplemousse, nice grapefruit with funky Sunkist zest and a bready cornbread aspect to it. Whip up the Bisquik and start serving saison fiends in the trap.

T: This has an incredibly refreshing light citrus aspect to it with brett, lingering acidity, hay musk, there’s some light pepper and cloves but the citrus and dryness is really what impresses here, it just registered the domain Bomb.edu because it educates you in all things bomb. I really wish the bottle counts on this weren’t so ridiculous because I would hazard a trip to Utah to make this happen. I don’t ski and I drink caffeine so I might not fit in, but i could always buy a Costco membership and a trampoline and fake it. Mormons always get the nicest things.

I need my go go juice sweet saison booboo.

M: This is exceptionally dry but the acidity and light wheat profile makes this an exceptionally well rounded beer that reminds me quite a bit of Fantome Pissenlit and potentially a less dry version of Hill Farmstead E. This beer sits in nice ass company like how Two Chainz ruins every song but gets on tracks with Yay and Darke. Except that this beer is amazing, unlike Two Chainz.

D: I merked this bottle faster than Calvin Broadus, murder was the case this beer gave me. I want more but I feel it gauche to just demand it given the low bottle numbers and hand bottled status. If you open one, you will understand, this just gets drained relentlessly like lipo from Persian housewives in Bev Hills. I WANT TO GET DRAINED A SECOND TIME. Close the Brazzers tab, we spitting real Saison game on the musky tip.

I NED MOAR OF THES SASON. Srlsly guize. Srsly.

Narrative: “Damnit Devin, this Babylon 5 convention has no hot chicks here.” “Well what the hell did you expect?” The two were quite a pair, Devin and Pao. One was complex and foreign, the other was white, bland, and thick. “In the show, there are some sexual overtones but, I don’t think I have ever met a female fan of this series.” Pao ran his fingers through his shiny black hair, the halogen lights reflecting off of his tier 5 press pass. The two scanned the packed convention hall full of middle aged, mouth breathing fan boys. “The Centauri are kinda hot“ Pao offered consolingly. “Oh wait…tits…those are definitely tits.” The ceramic chest piece turned to reveal four prosthetic breasts on a woman whose gender was certainly already questionable absent any alien garb. “Ok, no, this is exotic and fun, but ultimately, a forgettable experience. I just can’t do this anymore.” Devin ran through the double doors. As he left Pao introduced himself to the shows executive producers, two stunning German girls of Conneticutian descent who later invited him back to the Marina Del Rey Sheritan.

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

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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.

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Drie Fountenein Schaerksbaek Kriek, Just Try Pronouncing That Without Sounding Like a Beer DBag (BDB)

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You’ve been to the bottle shop. You’ve seen this Belgian treat for $39.99 and you’ve always wondered if you’re worth it. Let’s pop your Sch. cherry in today’s review. You are worth it to me.

Get ready for some face melting, and I don’t mean from cat dander.

Drie Fountenein Schaerksbaek Kriek
6% abv, kriek, no shit.

A: It glows a transparent crimson hue with magenta notes at the edges. The middle carbonation is unparalleled. It looks like a red champagne, but more refined and people actually buy this. No lacing, no stickiness, just cherry sticky shurikens cast pell mell.

Poured a radioactive cherry beer, my face was like-

S: There is an intense drying of cherry skins and cabernet tannins. It feels a bit vaporous but fulfilling. It smells really dirty, like a cherry locker room, where they engage in all their tawdry cherry muskiness. You know the type, the movies are under your bed as we speak.

T: It just infiltrates and the cherry is clearly the hostage in this drying, hostile currant raid. It is incredibly crisp and it empties the vault of your palate and smashes the glass case within your bitter zones and imparts a mild hopiness that is almost imperceptible to the incredible acidity left behind. It hurts my tum tum, but it tastes like burning in a good way.

Feel that acidity light up your chest, embrace the GI problems.

M: It feels like I am being worked over by the cherry mafia, It is crisp and amazing for a moment, then I feel my gum line recede when the incredible acidic flavors impart their magic. It is worth it. Each swallow is crisp like champagne and beckons for more.

D: This is incredibly drinkable if you have a fortitude for incredibly tart hectoring. I could merk bomber after bomber, but I am not of the everyman opinion. Most will give this an offputting vinegar rating and complain about the tartness while I am shooting it all over my chest like a victorious Nascar entrant. That’s how I roll in the kriek.

Feed lambics to 95 lbs girls, observe results.

Narrative: “I love this Farmer’s Market, but I LOVE YOUR CHERRIES MOST OF ALL FARMER JOB!” he smiled wryly and handed the customer her 2 lbs of organic cherries. “I would KILL for these cherries on the east coast!” She turned on her heel and Farmer Job exhaled “she doesn’t know old boy, take a breather, relax.” He pushed past the back curtain into his back lab. The truth was that his entire cherry empire was fueled on the blood of felled cherry trees. He looked at their mangled forms, bleeding out, their saccharine juices imparting life to his super cherries. “Soon, soon my grafts will impart tartness beyond belief.” “BUT HOW MANY TREES MUST GIVE THEIR LIVES FOR YOU GOALS!” an apparition called from his potted apothecary. Farmer Job fell to his knees not unlike the character whom his name is unabashedly derived. “OH GARDENING TENANTS! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME SO!” At that moment, the most succulent cherry blossom opened in his face. It was at those times that Farmer Job was the weakest, that there was one set of footprints in the cherry soil that the super cherries carried him.