Category Archives: sour

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Allagash Vagabond, A Beer for All Those Highbrow Jack Kerouac Ne’er-Do-Wells

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Not unlike the Allagash Ghoulschip, I had been seeking this beer out for quite some time as well, what with its fancy packaging and paper and whozeits and whatsits galore. This beer is a complex hydra and I will attempt to cut off some heads in today’s review.

Vagabond Ale is right, details inside.

Allagash Vagabond Wild Ale, 10% abv,

A: This beer has really charming deep plum and mahogany, the radiant hue invokes melodies rhapsodical and fair. The carbonation is gentle and lackluster, the lacing phones it in and does not show up for work, even though you know it was partying the night before in the bottle. Figures.

At first I was all jazzed based on the appearance and smell, but then-

S: Holy complexity Batman. I get a caramel, plum, merlot, syrah grape, and a mild hint of wet hay funk on the backend. I have no idea how this will taste with an olfactory offering this complex. It’s like the Pontiac Aztek where you don’t know exactly what to do with it.

T: This really pains me to say this, but the taste is really intolerable. I traded big to land this and I want to power through this but I feel that I may have received an off bottle. The initial taste is a light plum crispness like a farmers market- wait, it is passing over my other zones and wow. It goes to a strange place of old halloween Rolos, then finishes with a huge strange salinity like soy sauce. I dont want it to be the case and I respect Allagash immensely but as I sit here waiting for the beer to warm I am left wondering if it is my fault, did I lead the beer on? Was it what I was wearing? You get a deep tartness initially and a red wine aspect that is incredibly pleasurable and then it just goes Thelma and Louise out of nowhere.

In this beer's defense, it is very intredasting.

M: The mouthfeel is light and crisp like biting into a juicy, albeit very salty fruit. The mouthfeel has a bit of acidity on the backend of the palate, but overridingly the taste of weird phenols or something. Again, if this bottle is off, disregard this review but man, this feels like the Aston Kutcher of the beer world punking the shit out of my palate. It reminds me of this one time when I went to Universal Studios and ate grape soda and chili and go too hyphy on the King Kong ride and ended up throwing up in the backseat of my dad’s Cutlass Supreme. The taste in my mouth after throwing up, that is what this reminds me of. Not even mad tho.

D: Well given the foregoing, take a quick guess as to how gung ho I was to knock off a 12.9 oz bottle of this. As it warmed the stakes became higher with more delicious fruit and currant aspects and even more hateful salty aspects. I came into this thinking it would be akin to Consecration or the ilk, but, this was quite different. Not my favorite beer of all time. “But you don’t have to take my word for it” – Reading Rainbow.

You don't fuck with the Wu, and you don't fuck with Vagabond ale.

Narrative: I do not want to cobble together an offensive narrative for this beer because Allagash deserves better than that. Instead, I will provide you with a Lil B’ video. Allagash Aint Got No Felonies, Brews Like Bill Bellamy.

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Allagash Ghoulschip, Zuul is the Gatekeeper of this Ephemeral Brew

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I always seem to miss the boat on these highly sought-after Allagash beers. Just like when Sega Genesis came out with its bad ass BLAST PROCESSSING, my NES wasn’t blast processing shit. Now my liver finally gets the chance to blast process this sour and take the Pepsi challenge and see if these limited beers are worth the hype.

Who you gonna call? Alebusters. ::groans::

Allagash Ghoulschip, American Wild Ale, 6.9% abv

Oak Aged Ale Brewed with pumpkin, toasted pumpkin seeds and molasses.

A: This beer has a nice deep yellow hue that brightens at the edges like a sweet agave nectar. The center has a metallic copper color with GENEROUS carbonation. I had to pour a bit, come back, watch an episode of Battlestar Galactica, come back, learn stoichiometry, and finally it was ready to drink. The lacing for some reason wasn’t making a title starring role appearance, it had a brief cameo and some one liners and then peaced out.

The carbonation was so immense that I was like, quit playin. Srsly quit playin.

S: I was expecting a huge October treat with this one but I was worried it wouldn’t meld with the sour aspects of the beer but, they pulled it off with a precarious balance of the two, ultimately favoring the cobweb and smashed drywall muskiness with only a gentle gourd and nutmeg smell at the very outset. I get a big tart melon and kiwi aspect from this as well, but I think that might just be a byproduct of the acidity. Either way, this rocks the Hannah Montana act of sour/seasonal better than Jem.

T: The taste has a nice tartness with lemon, mild pumpkin, allspice, the acidity is huge and there’s a hint of molasses in the finish but ultimately this rocks an interesting swiss army knife barrage of funk, tartness, and autumn goodness.

I tasted it and at first you get some lambic notes, tartness and then sneaky pumpkin rolls in, wait what?

M: There’s a light lingering sweetness, like that administrative assistant whose name you can never remember but she knows you like the Pentec G2’s, and a huge acerbic tartness, more similar to that woman in payroll whom you can only assume hates you. The drying effect hits hard and leaves a raw sensation in your mouth like making out with a chick with bands/braces, but ultimately it is all worth it. I could have used some more pumpkin, but hey, in the land of beggars, the man with one chooser is king.

D: The drinkability is huge and it didn’t even hurt my tum tum. I really enjoyed the clean, full flavored gourdiness to it and it reminded me of fall in the way that Armand Herfst did, albeit in a completely different way as the beers are both unique. Again, making this beer exceptionally drinkable is the clever Allagash curse, particularly since they made like 1000 bottles of this. I got 99 bottles but this ale ain’t one.

I'm not sure how gracefully this beer will age, but I am sure it will still be a complete bad ass.

Narrative: “Wooooo, woooo, this is the Haunted Pumpkin pattchhh on 3rd and Cedarrrrr” Joe Clemson called to the children whose cold ignoring glances did little for his self esteem. “This is so lame, God why can’t we just pick out our pumpkin without that irritating owner hassling us?” one precocious 9 year old remarked while irritatingly smacking her gum. Joe kicked a pile of hay in front of him and took off his borderline racist “ghost” costume. “Ah shucks Joe, they know this ole lot aint no haunted punkin patch, shoot, 10 months out of the year it serves as an overflow lot for the adult book store across the street!” Joe thought back to the one time he actually did scare a child when one of the wares from that store was discovered in the hay. THEN SUDDENLY JOE HAD IT. “What’s missing from this lot is a sense of danger, that sort of imminent ghoulish sense of demise, dagummit!” The next day, Joe allowed the adult book store to commingle with the children. Authentic zombie looking prostitutes came and solicited candy from all patrons. One homeless man screamed into a Snapple bottle for 3 hours that “he couldn’t make all the DAMS” and the children seemed to believe this sentiment. It was a truly ghoulish Halloween indeed.

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Avery Recolte Sauvage, Oscar Wilde Ale, It is Tart; but Sassier

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Avery keeps rolling out these batches of tiny, super-esoteric batches of beer that people rate extremely highly and I feel like that fat kid pressing his face to the bakery window, just looming on the sweet treats foreboding inside. Finally a friend hooked me up and I gave some Kern River goodness and both parties had tasted the rockies, respectively. This is a beer aged with Cabernet Sauvignon Grapes and then aged in Cabernet Sauvignon barrels. Basically…wine.

An immature palate wanders into the world of wine reviews...


Avery, Recolte Sauvage, Barrel Aged Wild Ale, 11% abv

A: This seriously looks exactly like Juicy Juice. Just straight up grape juice from concentrate. I guess I could make a parallel to some Merlots but really, it looks like a deep purple, no maltiness or carbination, just juice through and through, like Tupac.

There seems to be a bit of a scheme going on here to dupe the beer consumer. Maybe I am the only one.

S: The waft is of a tannic astringency, it goes to the black cherry, then dark grape varietal and lands on an acetyl tartness at the end. It reminds me of a Consecration whose balls have been pressed fully to the wall. If you prefer your testicles wall-mounted, I have a beer for you.

T: Looks like a duck, smells like a duck, wait for it. . .tastes exactly like wine. like a beer that was made with grapes, very little malt and then aged in wine barrels without yeast. Seriously, this is basically a wine with a mild bread profile. I don’t like being tricked into being a mediocre 30 something talking about Nurse Jackie episodes. This shit went Cougartown really quickly. It has a huge acerbic finish not in the cool “oh like a Cantillon St. Lamvinus?” no, like drinking a straight up glass of Kendall Jackson Cab. I look at my one time friend, the beer looking all entreating, tricking me with its vinous foul play.

Above: one of the best RPG's of all time, if you ask me to list the best wines ever, I am at a loss unless Sephiroth is involved.

M: Have you ever tasted Cabernet Sauvignon? Well, shake it up a bit to gain some bubbles and there you go. This is literally 80% wine and 20% hateful potation. The entire glass has a deep violet hue, there’s no lacing, I am way out of my territory here and I fear wineblogs are closing in, airlock is opening, if anyone reads this space station message, just tell them, I have always hated wine. . .in every…way…

D: Well again, this is determined by the nature of your very existence. I feel like I am trapped at an educational mixer with the traditional red wines, those chuckles and heel rocking with the effusive gestures. It is a perpetual “cool” PTA meeting with the notes of tannins that dry a bit and I COULD drink a lot of this, but moreover, I dont want to. It isn’t because it is bad, far from this, it is well executed but…I have the palate of a 21 year old boy. If you give me nice things I will bury them and spike stock certificates in the ground and eat Kraft Macaroni. It is my own shortcoming, not this beer’s.

Ultimately, I have ran out of arguments against wine so I shelter myself with beer to appear more intellectual. This has never happened before.

Narrative: Janice Roth was a recent divorcee, proud in demeanor, light in expression lines, stern in demeanor. Her 6 year-old minx did not trouble her much and she still served respectfully within InGeniDyneDCorp. as a regional semi-vice-personnel overseeing director. A title she held in cold reverence. Janitors would tip their caps in an almost anachronistic reverence of Mrs. Roth and as she piled into her comfy leather highbacked chair she exhaled sharply. “Janey Janey, when did it come to this?” she ruminated to herself as she operated the corkscrew within her desk to open a Chateau Margeaux, not the ’95 the ’96. She sipped the tonic judiciously and looked out the window ingratiatingly upon the foot traffic below. “The man you loved ran away, you have two beautiful girls who adore you, but something feels so wrong-” she knocked the bottle over and watched the crimson liquid gather in stern liquid rivulets. The sum value of her being was collected in this trivial libation. She had been reduced to episodes of the Bachelor and listening to Jason Mraz mixtapes. This was her inherent value after years and years of sacrifice. And then- she gets hit in the crotch or takes a pie in the face to still make this a comedy narrative, right? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? WELL TOO BAD SAD DIVORCEE STORY IS TODAY’S NARRATIVE.

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Duchesse De Bourgogne, The Mistress that Starts Every Man’s Sick Foray into Sours

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This is every man’s gateway drug into sours. Some people use La Folie, but this or Rodenbach is usually the potation that makes them start wiping vinegar on their gums and getting all acetic. Shit is a sad path.

Teach me how to Duchess, teach teach me how to Duchess

Duchesse De Bourgogne – flemish ale, flanders red – 6% abv

A: It looks like a maraschino cherry juice with a bit of amber added to it, a transparent stage blood color with steady cabonation, 11oz bottle pours a formidable 2.5 finger head, off pink in color. I’m not going to go for the predictable Spin Doctors joke here, so don’t ask.

This sour isn't exactly generic, but it's not exactly the best on the market. It just gets the job done like an asian Steve Jobs.

S: theres a tart bitterness to it, almost vinegar in the dryness on the nostrils, with hints of underlying sweetness. You get this juicy cherry note like skittles and a sweetness to the finish like a push pop, dont act like you didn’t mash on those so hard.

T: it starts out tart with a sour cherry note that reminds me of a wine-based jolly rancher, but rounds out to a nice sweet mellowness, no hops present on the finish, the drying effect comes up front but finishes with the sweet so it becomes for another taste. I have met people who have drank bottles of this from the 90’s back when I was in diapers still…my teenage years were…difficult.

This disguises itself as a serious sour but, eventually you will pat its head and look longingly to acetic face melters.

M: mouthfeel is as thin as the appearance connotes, its very light and watery on the palate but the dryness to it adds a bit of complexity to the chewiness, namely your own mouth lining degrading like the sands under tide.

D: It is a good beer, fun to split with someone, but not an all purpose beer. I cant see it being very civilized out of doors, not especially housebroken, but a refined anemic purebred that is for show and posterity only. However, the fleeting joy is like a puppies feet upon your shins, you just wouldn’t welcome 4 or 5 in your home, for obvious reasons.

You know she has a slight harshness to her but, you put up with it for lasting benefits.

Narrative: I didn’t think that this old metal detector would be any use, I mean, come on, what’s the likelihood that someone left GOLD TREASURE underneath the sands of Marina Del Rey? Right. The joke is on them because I found the treasure, and not in the Miramax “your friends are the true treasure” sort of way. I am talking about smoking hot redheaded seacreature treasure. It turns out, obsessively walking the beach day and night makes you pretty attractive to mythical seawomen. Yeah I said it, mermaids, big whoop yawannafightabout it? So I was walkin along minding my business and then suddenly this sweet merbroad comes out of the depths and foam, mumbling something about whozits and watzits galore. So I showed her the boot I found, the bent fork, the book of cliches, you know things you find in the ocean. She was totally stoked and took me to her underground cave lair, which I lamentably could only enjoy for a few moments before blacking out due to depth and lack of oxygen. I tell you this though, she had some PRETTY NICE THINGS. So sure, falling in love with a sweet, elusive redhead is great, but sometimes it takes a lil work ya know? Big whoop

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Bruery Marron Acidifie, This Sour Will Give You Acidife Reflux, But in a Tight GI WAY

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Here’s another oversight from days past. This was an incredible sour that I just assumed would be everywhere, always, forever so I didn’t buy enough and here we are, I am ruminating on beer’s loves past and there’s a Who’s The Boss marathon on. It’s not rock bottom, but it is google mapped on the way.

Stupid sours getting in the way of my cutty Corona pics.

Marron Acidifie – Sour Brown Ale – The Bruery 8.5% abv

A: Deep brown with a ruby hint at the edges, mild carbonation with soft bubbles, just look up there, god damnit, how much can I hand hold you through this process?

This beer is dark, but inviting. But with the hidden alcohol, you know a dark surprise awaits.

S: There is a crisp vinegar/acetic note and the cherry notes start giving your olfactory senses the business, with tart sweetness lingering. You get an imperial grenadine aspect to this dangerous beer.

T: Supremely refreshing bite at the outset which sets into a tart bitterness and cherry tastes that mellow out after swallowing. Great cleanse and finish to the palate, like biting into a crisp sour red apple, if such a thing even exists. It tastes like the sweet blood of a sour patch child.

THIS BEER MAKES ME SO MANY FEELS

M: Thin but unpredictable, this beer doesn’t coat that well but it doesn’t need to, it is too busy avoiding your phone calls after it wrecked your hotel room. The light body with big bite makes this incredibly unbalanced but ridiculously delicious. Give this to someone who “isn’t a beer person” and watch as their conceptions fall to pieces after you forcefully drag them out of Plato’s cave and show them the sour side of life.

D: Absolutely fantastic. Give me this while I am chopping wood, making beef jerky, or snowmobiling and it will be right at home doing MAN STUFF. Alternatively, it is refined enough that you can serve it at the foreign delegate convention and there will not be a dry monocle in the house. All day, every day, I want more please.

It is not only delicious but it holds an endearing quality that you will not forget. No it is not "retarded" like this highhanded comedy above.

Narrative: OH GREAT JUST MY LUCK, THE ONLY JOB INTERVIEW I CAN LAND AND HE’S HERE. It wasn’t the first time that your life dreams had been stifled by Reuben “Ruby” Tartstein. From the spelling bee where he cooly not only spelled every word but gave the entymology as well, to the senior prom where he won both king and queen with his androgynous air. I CAN NEVER SEEM TO SHAKE THIS POISED BASTARD, AND WHO WEARS AN AMBER SUIT TO A JOB INTERVIEW. It seems like this guy can pull anything off, charities, lumberjack competitions, fencing; he does it all. No matter how badly he abuses you, you know he means well and it is just the mark of an eccentric genius. “And it became quite evident why they call it KEYnsian economics at THAT POINT!” The receptionst burst into laughter at his high handed jokes. You cannot compete with this man, but you love him just the same.

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Upright Fantasia, Come Along and Ride on a Fantasia Tick Voyage. Coolio References 50% Off

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Here’s a familiar situation, a small run of rare Oregon beers come out, for two week you sit back and watch everyone ask for Blabaer, Vanilla Dark Lord, Black Note (read: things I have already reviewed on this site) and then after two weeks, the reality sets in and people become more reasonable. This is no exception. I have to thank a super generous trader for hooking me up with this peach gem. Absolute Peach O ring all up in my dome piece.

Plenty of peach sours rolling out these days, life is NOT THE PITS.

Upright Brewing, Fantasia, 5.75% abv

A: This has a golden hue to it, like the wild ale that the Argonauts were seeking out. There’s minimal wispy carbonation that just gets phoned in like 11:30 am orders to Dominos on a Sunday. But hey, this ain’t your first rodeo, you know how wild ales roll, all go and no show homie.

Me complaining about this rare peach beer not being sour enough is the pinnacle of first world problems.

S: There’s an acidic and musky nose to it that reminds me kinda of Stetson cologne but with a huge peach waft to it. It reminds me of puberty, smells like awkward kids who need deodorant and sticky peach o ring hands. I like it, not pubescent kids, peach O rings and drinks derived therefrom.

T: This has a fantastic (ba dum tish) crisp initial sweetness of basically anything made by Haribou, nice peachy tang to it that doesn’t overly dominate on the sour spectrum, but it reminds me that life ain’t all about cash money hoes, all a sour knows. There’s a tartness that resounds into a chardonnay sweet note without the oaky dryness. It almost reminds me of a classy ass energy drink, for those discerning truckers who need to jack off en route, but balance it out with a high brow beverage.

Unlike these generic asshats, I would actually seek this beer out again. This beer will actually make it.

M: The coating on this beer is super crisp like juice and doesn’t coat that well, but it would be weird if it had some malty ass base, syrupy peach goopiness. So not a whole lot to comment here, go sip some peach juice mixed with some grapefruit tartness and you’ll get the drying effect down dead on. I don’t need to pad out each section ok, it’s like this one guy I met from Portland said, oh out of space on to the next section-

D: This is incredibly, edibly drinkable. I could cold clock this bottle like a session sour and it has a strange resemblance to a shitty unblended lambic that I once made, albeit, this is the perfect version. My shit 2000 and late. Another crazy aspect to this is it’s relatively low alcohol content and delicious crisp finish makes me wish that I had a solid case of this to share with the bros at Havasu, me and the brahs just chilling at Coachella cracking sick brews and listening to Arcade Fire, a totally solid band.

This beer tears up my gumline, but I forgive it.

Narrative: In the early 16th century life was devoid of peaches for the most part, and all the canon of musical theory was rigid and predicated largely on ecclesiastic works. Then a tree of divine mystery sprang in a Prussian grove, shattering the rigid contemplative nature of formal music. It was really just rotting peaches, but, when moves into the country they inevitably will eat a lot of peaches. With enough fermenting and pitting, the sugars turned out some majestic works in C minor for the clavichord. Baroque composers were known to beat their mistresses savagely after imbibing the strange succor of peach alcohol. This carried stringent, diaphanous connotations. On one hand, the lithe tones of the Fantasia school created a refreshing lightness, it also meant 16th century wives got pounded on in more than a euphemistic fashion.

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Bruery Filmishmish, Apricot Sour Blonde Ale Aged in Oak, Getting my Vitamin C the Pirate Way

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This is a Bruery Reserve Society exclusive, so the expectations are already high when you had to whore yourself out to Johns on craigslist to scrape together the sheckles for this expensive club, well here were are. It’s an apricot sour, what does that mean? It is an acceptable alternative to Jamba Juice, plain and simple.

The Bruery Filmishmish, for those times when you feel like getting your fill of some mishmish. Ba dum mishmish.

The Bruery, Filmishmish 5.8% abv, Apricot Sour

A: Well, cant fault them for this one, it is a huge bright radiant beer like Ithaca Brute, all radioactive and causing birth defects but in a TIGHT ASS SOUR WAY. It’s like cool high voltage power lines that cause birth defects but you can GRIND THEM. Anyway, not a lot of lacing and carbonation is a lackluster affair like a Diane Keaton movie but you are expecting other great things so you chill out. It is a murky golden radiance and my main squeeze was all like “THAT LOOKS GOOD” and she said that about Hill Farmstead Flora, so she has a serious EYE for beers, just not a tongue for them.

There's a certain debilitating aspect to this beer, but you put up with it for the warm regards and delicious effects.

S: There is a deep wet hay musk with some fresh yard clipping smells and then of course that harsh La Bamba acidity from hoduran tears mixed with Apricots. It’s a communion to pay exorbitant prices for sour beer and bow in solemn reverence for migrant fruit harvesters, except it is inherently insensitive and modern ethical theory has no ready panacea. The label says “tart and fruity with notes of oak and grandma’s homemade jam” but it doesn’t note that g’ma was from the antebellum southern Bolivia, that changes things real quick.

T: The taste is very tart and acidic like an unfocused energy drink, instead of melted skittles however you are treated to a drying peach/apricot dryness. It is no Fou Foune but it is still on point, you get the juice and the citrus pithy acrimonious schpeal, but it doesn’t overstay its welcome. It is a chill old girlfriend who you high five and watch a couple episodes of Cash Cab with and dont call again, but things are still chill. Also your ex-girlfriend is an apricot in this scenario, I hope that is cool.

This beer takes the time worn Fou Foune and Fantasia Model of sours and flips the script to GOD MODE JUICE LEVELS.

M: The mouthfeel is light and watery and then guess what, ACID CITY recent survey indicates your upper intestine is the only resident. The taxes imposed are severe thereto. It finishes with a huge acerbic finish that lingers without a drop of herbs, wood or oak, just straight up acid that somehow works. It’s like a first date where he backhandedly berates you the entire time but somehow balances it out with coy references to Faulkner so you’re down with it, ok, only me? Moving on.

D: This causes huge ulcers and a caustic destruction of the stomach lining, but that being said it is also delicious fruit goodness for people who might not know what an apricot looks like. So for those people, this might be a juice substitute, and more power to them. It has a huge overpowering acidity that you want to embrace but, like a Filipino baby, it is just to offputting that you cant engage it for long periods. You know what I am talking about Niko, yes, I am talking about you Niko.

It may not be what bitches are into, but, then again, far be it for me to speculate as to what bitches are into.

Narrative: Steven Acriberg was born an only child and learned quickly the petulant ropes of vying for the attention of others. It did not necessary need to be positive, just a cold glance in his direction or a suspecting glance down the brow from a neighbor: it made him feel whole. Steven would often sit on the opulent porch peeling peaches and crushing them in his fist and feeling the juices run into his hang nails and watch the neighbors closely. Every person near him was a calfskin tome of secrets and ideas to be reaped. He watched an unfamiliar Edsel chug down the fresh asphalt of his block and he scampered over and placed a note, crudely scrawled, on the windshield “I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING.” It was oblique enough to raise suspicion but vague enough to make the general public avoid him. He was a dour, hateful little man, but he kept everyone lively and aware. His sour countenance came to the penultimate climax when his parents began having clandestine discussions with the locals, turning Steven’s game upon its head. At age 15 he slept with a Derringer under his pillow and fear for the sanctity of his acidic, bitter life.

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Upland Brewing Gilgamesh Flanders Red Sour, Mesopotamian Hot Shit

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This beer had a 2000 bottle run all the way out in Indiana, so I hit up my homie Cam on his two-way and then found out no one has two way pagers, so I chirped his Nextel, and, you see where this is going, antiquated technology jokes and shit. Anyway, he picked these up and shipped them to me so we can get chocolate wasted. That shit cray.

Upland Brewing, Gilgamesh 10.5% abv sour Flanders Red Ale

If you think I will drop some Spencer references or pander to some cliche Enkidu punchlines you can fuck right off.

A: The appearance has a ruddy brownish amber aspect to it with fine microbubbles and generous lacing. It looks like a murky pond water that you know has some single mom bodies hidden in it but, who’s gonna get in there, you know. Oh and it is mildly flirty, you get this beer’s number but you know she wont text you back.

Keep talking shit on sour beers. See what happens.

S: The smell has a sweet vinegar smell to it with cherry, ripe strawberry, mild oak and a faint vanilla. Very pleasant like an aromatic candle from bath and body works.

T: The sweetness initially sets in with a great cherry and grenadine flavor and the sour notes are not too overpowering, it maintains an incredible balance. There is a light note of tannins and grape skin and the bourbon is almost non-existent.

Some people drop feelings all like, why you review rare sours and shit, of 99 problems, that is not one.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and incredibly light and is exceptionally refreshing. I had to look this beast up and it is unbelievable at a crisp 10.5% abv. Holy hell this is so delicious and it tastes like biting into a ripe fuji apple. Amazing fruit character and the bourbon dryness imparts itself when it warms. Shit gets popping off like a Lil B video real quick.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and absolutely frightening how drinkable this is. If you told me it was a 5% lambic I would be all like “that’s chill, you gonna finish those fries?” and we’d mash out on food and secretly get wasted on this baller ass beer. It just washes away clean and doesn’t impart an overly overpowering alcoholic waft or dryness. In sum, this is about as good as Flanders Reds get in my opinion. The sweetness just beckons like a Wonka factory and then you get inside and OH SHIT, it’s a distillery instead. Surprises abound.

I didn't expect much from this brew and then my face was all like-

Narrative: The life of an ice sculptor was a hard one and Michael Chambers accepted his fate with a stern mandible. The variability and volitility of the the raw material presented a dynamic canvas that knew the scope and change only held by a street artist. The goal of art is to make man like God within the ambit of creation, and Michael carved the fuck out of ice. Sometimes he would straddle that block with a pick and get to flexing on the shavings, ruminating on how his life had come to this point. “Jay Z often referenced the fact that there were no clouds within his stones, well, you wont see oxidation impurities in my stones either!” Michael quipped to the ice woman he had carved in his walk-in sub zero studio. Not a single nip was left flaccid at his gallery opening, temperature or otherwise. His recreation of Rodan’s thinker was deemed insubstantial unlit HE LIT THAT SHIT ON FIRE. He was an underappreciated genius who took a mediocre genre to new heights. His installation piece involved dropping a solid ice block off of a North Dakota mountain, just when the critics had dismissed his efforts, in the center of the block was a frozen cure for tuberculosis. Mystical at heart, but fantastic in execution, Michael generated icegasms.

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Cascade Sang Royal, In Oregon they Call Sours a Royale With Cheese, They Have the Metric System.

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When I first started drinking sours, I would go fuck around and try those $20 normal Cascade sours, and they would beat my ass mercilessly. I landed this beer to show it I’m not afraid of it. It’s like Pennywise the Clown, except I’m getting drunk in California instead of Maine. Holy mixed metaphors.

Another gem from Oregon's artisan beer scene. WHERE THEY BE GETTING ALL THE CHERRIES FROM THO.

Cascade Sang Royal, 9.35% abv, Wild Ale

I can’t hype this beer anymore than saying it is a pretty rare sour and here’s what the bottle has to say about itself, unabashedly: “Sang Royal is a big NW Style Sour Red Ale that spends over six months of lactic fermentation and aging in oak wine barrels. Sang Royal is from select stock that is matured an additional six months in Port barrels and refermented on Bing Cherries.” Alright, let’s do this shit.

A: The appearance is a deep murky ruby that looks like a burnt brick color that barely gives up the ruby when you put some light on it. Give a guy some ruby, ya know? It’s got an eggwhite frothy head with microbubbles that dont go anywhere, they just post up in the chill zone and look all light maroon.

When I knew that there was a box with 4 of these gems coming to my house, I looked like this all week, watching for the Fedex man.

S: You get a sour fuji apple smell, tart candy, sour ropes, maraschino cherry, and sour warhead smells. This has a great smell to it and doesn’t introduce a wide bevy of funk to the olfactory aspects. The OLFACTORY IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS. If you agitate it, much like a Django Reinhardt concert, things get mildly funky.

T: This has a huge tart bite at the outset that reminds me of those skittles that used to be covered in sugar and road salt. It pans away to a wide shot of two cherries, both tart to the core acrimoniously discussing the ongoings of the plum factory. Starwipe to the headmaster grape who oversees the entire operation and roll the credits. This isn’t as sour as the lambic and crazy geuze painstrippers overseas but it is a great sour with tons of stone fruit and juiciness to it to compliment the initial sour shock that it presents. It’s like that movie KIDS, where you think it’s just gonna be overwhelming and shock footage but then they reel you in, except this beer doesn’t rape a teenage girl at the end. Oh, spoiler alert.

This beer is a hybrid of something badass and something dirty, but the result is a sick cherry massacre.

M: The mouthfeel is dry, as you can expect from something this juicy and tart, the old gumline deconstruction sets to work hard with those juicy juice notes drilling your soft enamel like pilsbury crescent rolls. AND YOU NEVER GET ENAMEL BACK.

D: This beer becomes more drinkable as it warms because the cherries finally get their shit together and stop letting sour just hit on their chicks and they mobilize an offensive. I could put away a bottle of this, but then the pesky lambic tum tum sets in and you get the bubbleguts due to the crazy acidity so I GUESS you should share this one. For the haters.

A couple bottles of this and I'd be communicating with a bell asking for more sour cherry potations.

Narrative: The broken Stairclimber took on a life of its own at this Winnipeg gym. Carl Delgado sat 10 meters away and just enjoyed the scene, shrewdly sipping his cherry smoothie, enjoying the deeply puckering acidity boosts that he added to it. “So obviously Kaitlyne is THREATENED BY ME-” a frail minx of 19 years prattled on into her iPhone while blindly ascending onto the 5 foot high platform. She was promptly served a platter of shit and swiftly caressed the sweet embrace of the collapsed stairs and recounted the potential for legal action to her equally vapid phone counterpart. Carl nodded and smiled, this was better than the entire CBS lineup. With this endless spring of dark, sour levity, how would he move on to other pursuits? He could watch college undergrads simply fall down all day long. A sip of sour cherry smoothie was all he needed to garner contentment in his soul.

2

Cantillon Blabaer. After An Entire Year of Searching, I Finally Land My White Whale

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FINALLY. After an entire year of searching, countless internet posts, unsolicited mail sent to people all over the place, and Craigslist Casual Sour Encounters that went awry: I finally tried Cantillon Blabaer. This beer is rated #9 on the top 100 beers of all time and it is 2 scissoring bitches to land. This beer is made in cooperation with Jeppe from Olbuttikken in Copenhagen. Jeppe provides the blueberries for the beer,and it is brewed at Cantillon and then shipped back to Copenhagen and only sold at Olbutikken. There are only approximately 400 bottles sold each year, really fucking far away. That shit cray.

2009 vintage 750 ml with berries firing on all cylinders, tasting like escort gumline and Wild Grape Squeezits. THE WHITEST OF WALES.

Cantillon Blabaer, Fruit Lambic, 5% abv

This beer has a perfect 100 score on Beeradvocate and is one of the most sought after beers in the world. Raters gonna rate.

A: This has a murky deep ruby frothiness with a magenta head and deep plum hues. The lacing is minimal and the entire beer crackles with this acidic liveliness and it reminds me of that pit of acid that the Joker got pushed into in Batman, and it reminds me that I will probably never get to try this again. Just a bunch of Blabaerless nights listening to Jason Mraz and watching ABC Family.

With Cantillon you always think they pulled an adjunct jackmove, but no shooops here. All bugs, berries, and bitches.

S: The smell is largely acidic, acetyl, wet grass, morning rain, damp laundry, and really ripe boysenberries. I dont get the archetypical blueberry smell here but, not a single fuck could be located for comment.

T: The taste is fantastically tart and complex. At the outset there is a dry acrimonious funk that sets a nice straw and musky oeuvre that transitions into a boysenberry, tart blackberry, and really hard strawberry, the kind that pucker your face like a gushers commercial. I enjoy the smell more than the taste and it seems almost like Lou Pepe Geuze wearing a thin disguise, but the berries are a chill ass addition to what is already an incredible sour.

I tend to be overly critical with my beer reviews, but with a beer this flawless, reviews get all hard and shit.

M: This scorches and dries in that way that only Cantillon can. It would be tough to take down more than 12oz of this, but the depth of the taste is fulfilling and I enjoy how the fruits opened up as the beer warmed, LIKE YOUR MOM DOES WHEN SHE IS A LAMBIC. Sick burn.

D: How drinkable is this beer considering that it is impossible to land? Interesting question, you hateful interlocutor. But in all seriousness, I really liked this beer but I probably wont seek it out again. People want your entire cellar and a cup full of unmarked jizz for a bottle of this and my unmarked jizz simply is not for barter. I enjoy St. Lamvinus and Fou Foune more and they are (relatively?) easier to land. Again, this is all within the constraints of judging it as the best sour beer in the entire world, so take it with a GRAIN OF BLUEBERRY.

When you're expecting the best treat in the world, you're always setting yourself up for disappointment. Why you feelings.

Narrative: The bed and breakfast was a quaint cottage in rural Montana, which is essentially, redundant. The fields of lavender were verdant and moist with the tears of angels. It was the perfect place for Charles Montague to settle down and work on that UPN pilot he had been harshly instructed to complete. The premise of a family of produce canners that hit it big in the blueberry jam business seemed a bit thin, but Charles needed to air it out and hit the fields, see the shit firsthand. “Chalres, rook ova hai, broobaree brushes!” Ed Lu was the caretaker of the Bed and Breakfast and he spoke with a borderline offensive dialect that was entirely fabricated to make white people feel at home. “Yes Ed, thank you, stop, stop trying to put a blueberry in my mouth.” The pushed his hands into the bushes and communed with the tart fruit. He took a deep breath and simply couldn’t think of anything but Moesha re-runs. “DAMNIT CHARLES THIS IS THE BIGGEST THING YOU’VE EVER TACKLED, focus, or they will know if you phoned it in.” Suddenly Ed slid a yellow memo pad across the wet grass to Charles. “MY GOD, ED-” Ed Lu nodded with his offensive high ponytail and winked emphasizing “BROOBREEREES.” Charles knew that it was unorthodox to make an entire 13 episode arch based upon a reimagining of Blueberries for Sal but, THE NETWORK COULD FUCK ITSELF, this was his personal victory and it was his magnum opus.