Category Archives: stouts

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Minneapolis Town Hall Brewery, Three Hour Tour, For People Who Like to Drink Milk Stouts While Shipwrecked

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Another 2 liter, draft only adventure? That’s how we do it on this site, always on the grizzy. Anyway, this little gem pops its head up once a month on the top 100 and has consistently solid ratings so what’s a ticker to do, for every thousand I rate, another relative sues. Someone told me that they only filled 50 growlers of this, so guess we have another draft only rarity on our hands. Just another day on this site, I know. A gracious CO local hooked up this MN growler and I gave it the business and was left with a sticky sweet milk stout mustache. Does my body good.

I would need more than just 2 liters of beer if I was going on a Three Hour Tour. Step up your oceanic mariner game, Minnesota.

Three Hour Tour
Minneapolis Town Hall Brewery
Minnesota, United States
Milk / Sweet Stout | 6.10% ABV

A: This is going to be a huge shocker, it is a lightly frothy baby stout with wispy carbonation and playful little baby duck carbonation that bobs in the quay. Just look at it, it is too adorable to finish an entire growler of. After taking down 20% beers, a 6% stout feels like something you drink in between racquetball sets or during a crossfit workout. It has dark hues at the center and light mocha at the edges, adorable all around.

This beer reminds you of sweet things from your childhood, only…different…

S: This is sweeeet. Maybe even more “e”‘s are warranted. There’s definitely the lactose element and it comes across as a achingly decadent milk chocolate like those janky chocolate rabbits you get at easter time. Shit gets Cadburry real quick with a mild coconut and vanilla batter aspect. This doesn’t scream stout, it calls out cocoa liqueur.

T: This is light and again, just a diabetic’s worst nightmare, sticky cavity inducing sugars through and through. The sweetness came off as a bit synthetic with this sort of oiliness in the finish that just seemed out of place for a milk stout at 6% abv. You get the chocolate and the Nestle Quik thing going on and the finish is like an Almond Joy that went through the wash, crumpled up in your JNCO jeans.

I find myself questioning the authenticity of the coconut in earnest.

M: This is incredibly light but at the same time spraypaints a line of glucose all the way down your throat so that you aren’t super stoked to take the next shockingly sweet sip. I can handle sweet stouts, I take 50/50 Eclipse to the face like a Brazzer’s video, but when you don’t have a solid malt base to level things out, it comes across like chocolate Kool-Aid with far too many residual sugars. I dislike char in general, but this needed something to level the 6-4 frame out to keep on rolling on those 808 drums.

D: This would be exceptionally drinkable in every aspect if not for the cloying sweetness. You know those was bottles with the juice in them? The juice is great, but you dont need all this pageantry when you just want juice. Similarly, if you stripped out this adjunct coconut aspect, you would have a solid porter, and I would be fine with that. This was just too much for my childish palate and reminded me of Darklord 64.

Tickers be so quick to upload beer complaints. I will upload my beer diploma never.

Narrative: “Dr. Ira? The Kensington boy is waiting for you in bay 4,” the dental technician called and pulled the x-rays for Dr. Ira to review. “God. Damnit,” Ira stated to himself as he looked upon the monochrome disaster. It was like this every 6 months, the tattered enamel looking more porous and similar to a drive by shooting in an MS13 neighborhood. “Well Brayden, I don’t need to tell you anything you don’t know. Have you been using ACT as we discussed?” Brayden folded his arms and wiped a streak of milk chocolate from his stained lips. He looked as though he ate a box of Milk Duds just prior to walking into the office. “Well Brayden, you see, your teeth, you have them for your entire life and that means-” as he continued Brayden pulled out a Fundip and began judiciously applying coats of powdered sugar to his teeth as the fluoride was washing away. “This child has no regard for his dental well being, he cares only for the sweet decadence of mandibular destruction!” Dr. Ira called out in a strangely effusive manner to the other Chatsworth Dental patients.

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Ballast Point Sea Monster Imperial Stout, Drowning you in Chocolate and Dark Malts

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Call me Ishmael, constantly seeking stoutwales but coming across langoliers.

Sea monster
Ballast Point Brewing Company
California, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 10.00% ABV

A: Sleek, ink black, with a little transparency. Not an exceptional amount of carbonation, just a menacing lacing sitting on top of the rim, warning the latent power lurking below. Nice lacing, sticky and antagonistic.

When a stout this big hits you, you feel it.

S: There is a toffee/sour finish with an incredible amount of coffee and wood notes. There is a whiskey and bourbon note that wafts above the thick head like an ice cube sitting upon a glass of gin. As a side note, the version of this aged on whiskey chips is amazing, seek it out immediately. Call Ballast Point and demand it.

T: There is a noteworthy chocolate and anise/licorice profile. This beer is as black as Satan’s magic, a thick chocolate milk head imparts its flavor, then oak jumps into the fray with its drying effects. Nice coffee notes resound and add drying effects. Its effect remains throughout the proceedings.

For the uninitiated, a stout this big might not fit their palate amiably. Get used to it.

M: The mouthfeel coats in a huge way. There is a oily thick particulate effect to the stout. The coffee and burnt raisins just coat and linger, making up a remarkable base camp with occasional visits from smokiness and chocolate. Strangely the body isn’t exceptionally thick but it has sticky coating. Which is unusual given the strange balance.

D: Despite the crazy nature of this beer, it remains exceptionally drinkable for the style. While it coats in a huge way and certainly wouldn’t feel at home in a 6 pack, it has a great disposition that makes you want to take another sip. Most people would shy away due to an unfamiliarity with style or an aversion to the menacing black character, however, for those tried and true, this is certainly worth the outing, maybe even 2 bombers.

This isn’t a milk stout, but it still delivers extreme satisfaction. Not a shelf wale, a shelf Monster.

Narrative: Skip was born jet black, without a white belly. His inky black eyes showed permeable anger, the other Emperor Penguins mocking him. His beak clenched watching the others feed upon cephalopods. “Look at them, their proud plumage, mocking me like sneetches without stars upon thars, I will show them.” Skip was advanced for his age and, despite his lack of opposable thumbs, has fashioned an ice shiv from the shearing of an errant glacier. “I will show them the true darkness of their ways.” No one would mate with Skip and rumored his jet black eggs that would result. He had a sweet core and a lighthearted personality, but no one would give him the benefit of the doubt. Skip burned with the rage of a Patagonia summer. We will see whose cold is imparted this winter, that of my black coat, or that of black death. He gripped his shiv knowingly, awaiting the grip of the winter.

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Oscar Blues Ten Fidy, I Gave That Loch Ness Monster About Ten Fidy

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This is the best stout that comes in a can, that is until Peg’s G.O.O.D. Rare D.O.S. gets its canning line up and running this fall [fn1 – citation not found.] But having the best canned beer is kinda like being the hottest camp counselor at D.A.R.E. camp, you really didn’t accomplish much. Let’s look beyond that cold metallic exterior at the heart of this dark beast in today’s review

God. Damn. Loch Ness MONSTAHHHHH

Ted Fidy, Imperial Stout
Oscar Blues, 10.5% ABV

A: This has a pretty viscous appearance to it with nice coating and sticky mahogany carbonation. However, contrary to what most people think, this is not the most viscous used motor oilesque beer that I have ever seen. Rare, Parabola, Abyss, and particularly Hunapuhs are all thicker and exhibit better coating. That is not to say this beer isn’t as black as Satan’s magic, it is. It has tiny bubbles and isolated dots of lacing.

Canned beer: changing the face of the United States, can by can.

S: There is a bit of coffee and some black licorice. You can smell the roasted malts and a sort of burnt turbinado sugar. The bouquet is a bit flat and unremarkable, pretty standard for the genre and style.

T: It has a huge bitter chocolate sweetness at the outset that subsides into deep chocolate malts and finishes with a drying effect. This is a very solid offering especially for the non-barrel aged crowd that can be seen as so pedestrian. Everyone just shaking their heads, “tisking” to their heart’s desire, knowing that a baller version exists out there.

An amazing stout from a can? Well then-

M: The mouth feel has a great stickiness that lingers for about 25 seconds after you swallow it. The mouthfeel is thick but not oppressively so. For the huge gravity and alcohol of this beer, it doesn’t come off as overly filling. I enjoy the interplay of sweet and very bitter elements.

D: Strangely, this is a very delicious and drinkable stout, despite its shortcomings in the aroma and taste aspects. This is not a session beer, but the cans make it very versatile and I can finally take a huge thick stout to the beach. All of my dreams finally come true, my tossing a Frisbee around care free, swishing in the tide with stained khaki teeth.

Beer in a can, works every time.

Narrative: “Don’t do it Sarah, don’t send that tweet,” the former Vice President nominee told herself with waning confidence. “Just stay out of it, people don’t need to know your opinion of Chick-Fil-A, just put the phone down.” Suddenly, the opulent den of her Alaskan parlor was filled with a deep gaseous spirit, murky and black, flowing like crushed linen. “Yesshhhh Miss Palinnn, tell themmm, let them knowww you schiinkkkk that CHICK FILLL EHHH isss a good businessss” this petulant black demon had been her ill advising counsel on more than one occasion. Five years ago she was trekking through the Alaskan tundra and found a small Inuit artifact with warning inscriptions on it, and the rest is pretty heavily implied. “Annnddd thennn once they know how you feeeelllll, you should thennn startttt talking about GUNNN CONNTROLLL and vvviiiiideeeoooo game VIOLLLEEENNNCEEE, tie it in to REECEENT EVENNNTSS.” She nodded with stern contemplation and sent a series of tweets the pundits could only call “completely par for the course.”

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Darkhorse Brewing Plead the 5th, For Those Nights When You Are Going to Self-Incriminate

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It’s no secret that I absolutely love the Bourbon Barrel version of this beer, but what about the original source of all the majesty? Is this the magnificent seed from which the 14% abv monster was begotten? We shall see in today’s review. If things get heated, step down from this review and plead that fif.

I lost my picture of the beer, somehow after hundreds of reviews, got feided like Tyga. So if this is yours, enjoys its notoriety on my site.

Dark Horse, Plead the 5th
Imperial Stout, 12% abv

A: This is another deep, angry stout, and it delivers on the appearance in a huge way. The inky blackness spills out as from a pressed squid, delivering no splashiness, just dropped heavy and thick into the glass with little rebound. This is incredibly viscous and lets no light escape its dark pallor. Nice mocha chocolate foamy head that subsides at its own pace.

This is not as amazing as the barrel aged bretheren, but I regret nothing.

S: This has huge acidic coffee notes, bitter chocolate, burnt caramel, and smoked raisins present. Very nice smell, this beer has nice roast and a great cocoa finish. No jokes to be made here, pretty by the numbers, much like an episode of Home Improvement.

T: This tastes very similar to Event Horizon, but with more of a coffee bitterness to it in place of the sweet notes. This delivers a great sweet chocolate note for a moment then starts going to town on the haunches of your bitter zones almost taking your mouth to a tobacco no-no zone where daddy keeps his secret things. The most pleasant part of this beer is the swallow which is, trout cleaning, firewood gathering, man all the way though. It is a deep bitter smokiness with hints of cigar. Tough enough.

This is how it feels to sip pt5. For rls.

M: This isn’t a malt bomb, despite the huge flavor profile, it has a moderately fleeting taste that allows the taster to reel a bit but return wanting more and not carrying it around all day like a pengiun with a salmon in his backpack. It imparts huge charred notes and then gets on down to the liver where the matter of payment is directly at hand.

D: This isn’t exactly drinkable, but for the same reasons that make it great. A Dodge Viper would be a great car for Sunday drives where you take pictures of local children at parks with a high power lens, but not an everyday experience. It is just too imbalanced and aggressive to really invite over to dinner or have on a long car ride. Somehow, I get the impression that this beer doesn’t care what I have to say about it. If a beer had a dismissive brow, this is it, it stares down it scornfully waiting for me to complete my order uncaring of my tastes.

I dont know if pleading this fifth will protect you from anything, but the stories will be amazing.

Narrative: “But, if I don’t testify, the record will remain incomplete and all those people will think that I RAPED THAT GIRL!” William Colgate pleaded with his attorney entreatingly. His counsel, Bruce Levinson sighed audibly and rested both palms on the cool metal table in between them. “GOD DAMNIT WILL. If you DO TESTIFY, they will find out that you RAPED HER DOG.” There was a tense silence between them for a moment and William sipped his water pensively. “I ain’t no human raper. I don’t get off on that SICK SHIT” he noted emphatically. “Well quite the catch-22 we have here, your alibi make it seem as though you raped the dog sitter, but GUESS WHAT, you aren’t charged with raping her, you are on trial for animal abuse” Bruce ejaculated and slid a packet toward William. “You have to plead the Fifth, we can’t have you testify, human raper or no.” William sighed and shook his head in disbelief, “well, if that’s the way of it, I guess Scylla of sexual assault is no better than the Charybdis of dog sex.” Both parties looked at one another in cool reverence.

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Evil Twin Brewing, Imperial Biscotti Break, It’s a Coffee Drink for Hipsters that Weight More than 135 lbs.

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Man, if I were a hophead in my degenerate beer development, I would be pissed off at this site. What with Wale Week- NO IPAS, then two stouts, it’s like, man what’s a guy gotta do to get his hop cones blasted? Well suffer through, today’s gem is a decadent coffee treat from Evil Twin, not YOUR evil twin, he doesn’t brew beer, he is just barred from coming within 1000 feet of schools and parks.

Phase one: take your eharmony girlfriend out for coffee, phase two: present this libation, phase three: Babylon 5 Marathon.
Let her explain that to her pretentious friends.

Evil Twin Brewing
Denmark
American Double / Imperial Stout | 11.50% ABV

A: The appearance takes the coffee note to new levels of Seattle hysteria, deep frothy mocha whip no shot side of upside down malt caramel, is the most concise description of the pour. The darkness is deep and complex like Alan Thicke’s character on Growing Pains. The lacing is whimsical and adorns the glass with streamers for the coffee baby shower.

This beer is dark, but adorable, complex, but dangerous. Best enjoyed young.

S: There’s a deep coffee note with a sweetness on the backend that, as the eponymous beer notes, is like deconstructed biscotti. For those of you who in the south who do not have biscotti, it is a stale bread that pretentious people dunk into overpriced coffee. Think Dunkin Donuts, and then the converse. There’s a sweet vanilla, sticky almond meets hazelnut, acidic coffee with a mocha finish that imparts a sort of cocoa dryness. I am a bit wary on the sweet notes but, hey, I once ate an entire Sbarro pizza and fell asleep on some Macy’s beds, so moderation is hardly my strong suit.

T: There is a fantastic interplay between the coffee and the rise to power of the almond armada. The warring factions represent different fealty to the overriding crown of the Church of Stout. Surprisingly, this war of attrition results in savage interbreeding between coffee and vanilla, the nutty aspects couple nicely with the acidic finish from the coffee, and the sweet chocolate and baker’s chocolate nod approvingly at the new feudal stout empire.

Coffee and high alcohol content? This may take me to places that I am not ready for.

M: The mouthfeel coats aggressively and toes the line that Huna and Abyss so admonishingly drew into the sand. I would say medicinal in its sheeting, however, this would be medicine for someone like the person who works the Customer Service desk at Walmart: not quite legitimate medicine. The sweetness eventually overpowers as this thing warms and, while watching the Bachelorette, the sweetness was overriding and unpalatable, also the beer became undrinkable BA ZING!

D: As long as you keep this below 55 degrees, it washes away nicely and imparts huge flavor, however, once the Torani syrup demons are awakened from their century long slumber, this biscotti turns into Bicotivrex, vile libation destroyer and sorrow harvester of palates from the netherrealm. So, serve…serve it cold is basically…that’s what I am trying to say.

If someone can’t find a beer, here’s usually how the discussion goes. I was lucky to have someone in Washington who cares about me help me out. CARING, pass it on.

Narrative: Maxwell House stock had been in a freefall ever since meth hit the market. It wasn’t that people didn’t want Maxwell House, they didn’t, and never really did. The problem was that the poorest of the poor, riddled with vice and an abysmal view of the future, now simply smoked crank to wake up for their degrading jobs. “How can we recover from this newest batch, Jennings?” Wilfred Maxwell IV asked the boardroom as he stared out over the Tarrytown, New York skyline. “Well, the Samoan spiker vanilla blend has been covering the spread in-” “NO JENNINGS, the newest batch of meth. Maxwell House can’t take another potency renovation, people know that we have never been good to the last drop, must less the first, they just want to get high-” he surveyed the hopeful faces surrounding the rich mahogany table, sipping bourbon, enjoying biscotti at their leisure in Brooks Brothers suits. “THEY JUST WANT TO GET HIGH!” Mr. Maxwell IV exclaimed. Jennings rocked back in his supple calfskin leather chair and nodded knowingly. The chemists began cooking down the horrible beans into synthetic caffeine crystals. The dank sticky shards broke like brown stained glass after the first batch was completed. Guillermo, the local day porter of the facility, was asked to try the new product. Ironically, Guillermo was already on meth to face his horrible employment prospects. The coffee glass burned deep and hard like almond and vanilla shards, but it could be worse, he could have been a P’zolo tester.

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Peg’s Cantina G.O.O.D. Rare D.O.S., C:/run_DOSwhale.rar IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE

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For anyone watching at home that isn’t familiar with this big fat cetacean beast, this is the initmitable Rare D.O.S. I am sure that the RareR was amazing, but this is the unassailable O.G. of the stout world. I am hesitant to toss around definitive titles but this may be the best stout that I have ever had. I said it. What your stout got to do with me? I ain’t trying to hear that see.

This may have been the mostly costly stout that I have ever landed, excepting a certain black whale that is forthcoming.

Peg’s Cantina & Brewpub
Florida, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | ABV ?

This has never been bottled. This has never been growlered. It took some seriously shady maneuvers to lock this one down, enjoy the fruits of my efforts.

A: This came from a 15oz swingtop so at the outset I figured that this would be flatter than Keira Knightley but it actually still came through with a huge viscosity, deep sheeting like Bed Bath and Beyond. The lacing still arranged mocha foam streamers like some barista baby shower. The deep mahogany pool reflects my failures like the portal at Delphi.

I hope you tried plenty of great bourbon barrel stouts before this one, because this beer will end that shit pretty quickly.

S: God damn this smells so good. This is like the discarded uniforms of the employees from See’s Candy. There is a nice charred molasses and baker’s chocolate that feels like a Sequoia and Willy Wonka scrapped it up hard. There’s also muted marshmallow foam and vanilla bean on the backend. It is an extremely well balanced and delicious smell. It takes the ultimate Voltron aspects of my favorite stouts and composes this beast mode Power Ranger amalgamate for a crazy hybrid stout.

T: This is the best tasting stout that I have ever encountered with the tight reigns of Goose Island Rare pulled close. To think that this second hand handbottle approached the throne of the best stouts that I have ever had and comfortably sits upon the throne. I can only imagine this fresh off the tap, but that would require a trip to Florida, a prospect that seems like slamming my cock in a bourbon barrel aged car door. Alas I digress, this beer tastes amazing and I can’t honestly rattle off the traditional cadre of adjectives because it killed my palate in such an inventive way that it seems like a series of serial murders that remains unrequited to date.

I dream of a world where everyone can enjoy beers like this, without having their handbottles questioned.

M: The mouthfeel has a coating somewhere inbetween Huna and Abyss but delivers much longer lasting satisfaction on the sweet coffee notes that just resonates like an Adele wail. You didn’t even have to get dumped by a chubby chaser to enjoy this beer. The sheeting coasts like a bourbon SeaDoo kicking up a noteworthy vanilla froth.

D: If you have ever seen some crazy shit on AMC that you can’t explain to anyone that approaches brilliance, you will know how it feels to try this. It was like a fleeting phantom that I opened alone like a complete asshole on a Tuesday night and I sat looking at the wall like an apparition in Plato’s cave. I have had other stouts that approach this archetype but this particular little gem from a certain unnamed source rocked my conception of what bourbon stouts could be. If you have seen my site, I have had a few within the genre. I could easily merk a growler of this and smile under the dialysis machine.

My face was all like this when the bottle was gone, but I was too lost in the moment for a fuck to spare.

Narrative: It was the day of the MCATs and Jordan Belzer felt a tinge of panic in his brow but knowingly patted the inside of his jacket. The sweet caress of the cool 15oz bottle gave him the assurance that he needed to pull through this endeavor. “At the sound of the alarm, you may begin the examination” the proctor announced and Jordan spit out a chocolate candy from his gumline with khaki stained teeth and grinned to himself. The alarm sounded and Jordan took a deep pull from his medicinal bottle within his Kill City jacket and felt the sweet elixit run through his veins, edifying everything that he had known before and after, all synapses blasting on full bourbon glory. Jordan was technically intoxicated while completing each section, but it was a lightning fast panache, and the brew/apothecary in Koreatown did not lie. Whether it was the tiger penis or the phen phen in the chocolately solution, he achieved the peaks of greatness he would never know again. “BZZZZZZ!!!!” the final alarm buzzed and Jordan awoke to find the entire test completed. He staggered out into the afternoon sun and squinted at the prospect of medical school and gripped his empty glass container. The swingtop clipped back and forth jovially, almost calling him to the apex of greatness that the liquid blessing just imposed upon him. Jordan spit a deep vanilla black expiration upon the asphalt and watched it glimmer in the summer sun. He had just approached the edge of greatness and blacked out to tell about it.

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2010 Portsmouth Kate the Great, Katherine Sure Was Great, Until She Went All Small On Us.

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Ah the venerable Katherine the Great, I know her intimately as Kate, but the rest of you who don’t know her closely likely press your face up against the ebay glass and hold the silken glove of oppressive royalty in reverence. I can open this review with a quote from economist/philosopher, Dan Olson, “That shit didn’t even go into a barrel” is the purest sentiment that is usually cast upon this decadent gem. However, before we depose this matriarch, let’s see if she can swim with the big baltic whales in today’s review.

You may notice that this bottle is twice the size of the bottles that you are accustomed to. It also may come to your attention that the label doesn’t look like a Thomas Nast outtake. That’s fine, stay with me and go Google Thomas Nast like you were about to.

Portsmouth Brewery
New Hampshire, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 12.00% ABV

Today we class it up with a representative allegory, oh shit, street knowledge takes a back seat ONE MO GIN’

A: This stately old woman is a firecracker but maintains her slim figure and delicately splashes into the glass like a size 4 woman into a wading pool. There’s a gentle mocha whip to the poise and sticky lacing that clings to the glass like those texts you wish you could avoid from Jdate. The color is light cola at the edges and lets you know that this playful minx isn’t here to ruin your night, but to get it started. You are expecting more of a boisterous presentation, but the subtle glove of a caring Katherine is only one of her nuanced gentle charms.

Kate’s court was severe but loving at the same time, and you are edified as a result.

S: There is a sweetness that rivals bayou Sundays after church. Mammy brought home some milk chocolate and bottles of Portugese wine. Those porties are famous for their wines and Russians sure know how to cultivate cacao in their icy hateful tundra. The court begins a delightful scherzo and lovely Kate guides you amiably and you can feel the coffee mantua bounce with surprising acidity as you look across the deep plum overtones from the walls ordained with imported Rococo crown molding that buttressed the vaulted deep fruit ceiling with ornate care.

T: The dance picks up with a chocolate Bourrée or wait, is that a port wine gavotte? The steps are so thin and quick that it is difficult to discern where Katherine is leading you. Countess and courtesan has fallen beneath her tender anise toe steps but she will pick you up, despite the power in her 12% offset steps. A mahogany deep fruit rag wipes the drops of sweat from your ascot and the Court looks on lovingly as Kate performs her signature molasses menuet that exercises grace and poise, the likes of which make the boorish Count Van De Stone IRS look clumsy by contrast. It was a once in a lifetime tryst that lasted scarcely the frame of a Handel opera.

The short stays that are endured with Kate are enjoyable and opulent in the fashion of the finest repose.

M: Katherine leads you deftly out to the outside terrace and the grace of her chiffon mahogany dress peels lightly from your lips and, despite your unworthiness, you retract knowing another touch of pinot grigio and chocolate vapors will come shortly. She is a cruel mistress of terse demeanor, but you can only seem an aggressive Ivan, terrible by juxtaposition in light of her diaphanous dress and light airy nature. It takes little equipage to prepare such a rare specimen of beauty, the dressing would only weigh down such a figure of balance, coffee and port, chocolate and roast, the newly discovered Americas coupled with a deep baltic tradition. In a strange manner, she reminds you of a strong female porter you met on a Scandinavian whale hunting journey in how capriciously she could handle both the blade and warming blanket in a loving fashion.

D: The night had passed in a way beyond comprehension and you found yourself wishing for just a single measure of additional contact. Alas, the 22 beats are gone, the band has retired to a gentle repose on the balustrade and you have returned to a lowly barrister class. You seek another court, another tryst, but to your chagrin the sweet succor of this caliber should only be enjoyed in short bursts. Little would you know that a smattering of inferior short dances would follow this, with a series of imposters all claiming the be Kate’s equal. Nothing will rival that coffee and port soaked evening in the greenery.

Despite the gentle scherzo, the 3/4 step was completed all too soon.

Narrative: If you seriously expect me to write a narrative after all that, you are an asshole.

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2008 Narke Stormaktsporter, The Calm Before the Stormaktsporter

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Let’s just address this right away: these little 8oz Swedes are a pain in the ass to lock down. It’s a weird feeling to ship away a huge box of beer and receive…this tiny dwarf in return. Sure, this isn’t a Kaggen! But beergers can’t be choosales. Let’s take a look at this tiny bottle complex in today’s review.

It was a narke and stormy night. Wakka wakka wakka.

Närke Kulturbryggeri AB
Sweden
Russian Imperial Stout | 9.00% ABV

A: This beer is incredibly thin and splashes playfully into the glass with capricious glee. The carbonation has held up well over the years, the incredible journey considered. The lacing is pretty minimal but still makes a solid effort, like the Miami Dolphins, deep down you know they are trying.

This beer reminds me of plenty of other beers, but that doesn’t mean it is any less good.

S: This seems pretty par for the course with some light char, nice roasty smoked almond and coffee notes, a light chocolate on the backend. Again, this isn’t something you would lose your shit over if you didn’t know what it was, it could hide comfortably amongst the ranks of several non-barrel aged stouts and no one WOULD BE THE WISER. The Swedes ran the Baltic like a steady handed pimp in the post-renaissance/reformation years so they should know how to keep it cutty on the stout front.

T: This is thin on the palate with chocolate notes at the outset that subside into a subtle coffee acidity. The alcohol is non-existent and you could serve this to Swedish orphans for breakfast without a single complaint at the Ice Farm. There’s an interesting sweetness that is similar to fudge batter and bruised figs. NOT REGULAR: BRUISED. The entire experience is gentle and makes you forget the forced labor in the fields of halogen white snow.

When you give up 4 bottles for a 8oz gem, you can expect some residual anger notes in the taste.

M: This seemed pretty light and tame to me, however, everyone else had different impressions with regard to the coating. I drank this on new years alongside Black Tuesday so maybe I had bottleshock at how MASSIVE THE BLACK TUESDAY WAS. The sheer girth, etc. fill in oblique penis entendres. But seriously, it was an incredibly refreshing stout, which is a strange coupling of traits. It reminded me quite a bit of Czar Jack in a favorable way. Nothing else quite unites that old chocolate meets waterpark feeling like this lil guy.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I would highly recommend this to anyone who doesn’t have to give up the farm to land it. Maybe Sweden needs to step up its distribution game, make more of this, tame its draconian beer legislation and start getting Americans chocolate wasted. How about that foreign policy plan?

Sure, it is small, but incredibly refined and, ultimately, pretty uplifting.

Narrative: The Wilkins family did not personally investigate their new Akron, Ohio home prior to moving in. James Wilkins was transferred from Nestle Co. to the new operations facility and he had little time to adjust to his thrilling new environment. One night while surveying the basement, he found a tiny lamp with Scandinavian writing on it. As he examined the tiny lamp, the spout shot out a tiny impish figure dripping with oily discharge. “Hur mår du?” he exclaimed with childish glee. The basement reeked of sticky chocolate and cocoa beans. “Något nytt på gång?” he inquired lovingly and gripped the leg of James’s Dockers, staining his khakis with black sludge. Mr. Wilkins neither spoke Swedish nor was familiar with Norse gods of chocolate. The impetuous being was placed in the lamp for being too puckish, now all of Ohio would feel his tiny wrath. For a state still reeling from Lebron James separation anxiety, a sweet chocolate demon was just what the people needed.

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Cigar City Bourbon Barrel Hunahpu’s Stout, Get Swallowed by Stoutstro the Whale

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After months of hunting on the open seas, the harpoons finally entered the hide of this elusive beast. So there were something like 200 of these made and the feeding frenzy at the event reached a fever pitch of beer nerds when you had to PICK A LINE. Massive swaps ensued, people were trying to figure out which was the best, and when the neckbeard sweat cleared: A WINRAR WAS THIS. This is a legit top 100 bruiser that runs the yard. Enough pussy footing, let’s get that Hell Yeah Fucking Right HYFR review in today’s sesh:

Grab ye harpoons, t’day we be heeding the cetacean call and slaying Ishmael grade walez.

Cigar City Brewing
Florida, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 11.50% ABV

A: This looks pretty similar to the original Huna but lacked that epic carbonation that made the 2011 so fun. Frothy tan bubbles all up in the mix like a Costa Rican foam party, not present in this one. This pours raven black with a sheer that coats like Paddington Bear’s jacket, deep and thick. The sheeting is like a convict on PCP and shows the power beneath. It’s the liquid form of cyber sex, you aren’t sure what you are in for but it is likely dangerous in some capacity.

This poised beast will blow you away. ZJs for everyone.

S: This has a nice sweet tone at the outset like figs, deep chocolate, the peppers and chilis are muted and the bourbon takes center stage making that cinnamon follow him around holding his pocket. I kinda wanted some coffee but this continental breakfast is serving nothing but bourbon AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

T: Holy hell, the taste takes that crazy manticor that was Huna and adds another series of heads and flaming tails. You get the chocolate, pulling a red rider wagon full of dark fruits and oak in tow with nice vanilla stickiness for all the kids and then OH SHIT OLD MAN BARRELBOR JUST SAW YOU ON HIS PROPERTY and things turn very bourbon, very quickly. The four roses barrel imparts more of a sweetness, per usual, but it works well given the crazy complexity of the base beer. This is like a Mars Volta solo that just goes on and continues to ruin undergrad educations.

OUT OF NOWHERE: Bourbon Huna blast to your periodic tabledome.

M: The coating is straight up Sherwin Williams and blacks out like an overweight person on Supermarket Sweep. The glass is permanently stained and looks like it was dropped into the Hudson river, filthy and decadent. If you drink this at lunch, just go home from work. You are done for the day and those kids can find their own way home from school.

D: Well, I guess this depends on how gluttonous you are. Can you tank a series of Home Run Pies? Do you sigh when Marie Callendars give you the “small” slice of chocolate mousse pie? This is for you. I had a solid pour and enjoyed it as it warmed but I didn’t draw hearts around its name nad wonder when we would meet again. It was a one night tryst, but you can brag to all your friends how you…ok well…no you can’t brag about shit without some serious ridicule and derision.

I feel bad for the countries that SHOULD be enjoying Russian Imperial Stouts, Florida doesn’t even need big stouts. They need OFF! and government subsidized showers.

Narrative: After several months at sea, even Jericho had lost faith in the elusive ebony whale. It was rumored that the crew of the HMS ISO:FT was taken down in a swift blow once the majestic chocolate mammal burst upon the scene. After months of scanning the horizon with little more than guppies and schools of cuttlefish, he had all but lost hope. Suddenly on the starboard bow, a jstof inky black spew fired into the air, cutting the murky clouds with a frothy cocoa mist. “THAR SHE BE! Grip ye threadbare poles and prepare for a series of REJECTION MY MEN!” The Hunt was on. The beast dove deep, demanding much of the crew, pulling them left and right with their tiny vessel and cellar in tow. Bixby James, a belgian longshoreman with unnerving superstitions jumped down from the flying jib and rubbed tart lychee upon the tip of his blade and watched the coffee shadow underneathe them. “For them the sour inside shall SLAY THE BITTER BELOW!” He cast his acidic spear deep and aimed for the monster’s rare weak point, striking a critical blow. The men sampled the decadent oil from the blowhole with khaki stained teeth, one of the remaining 189 beasts had been laid to rest in solemn reverence.

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Southern Tier Mokah, Why Brew Coffee When You Can Brew Beer? Oh, DUIs.

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Southern Tier rolled out a whole line of these imperial stout monsters that tasted like other things, creme brulee, mokah, jahva, all kinds of things. You don’t see that in other formats, I have never seen a baker making cupcakes that taste like an imperial stout, I guess it’s a one way street for people with things to take care of. Anyway, let’s get coffee wasted and start cupping in today’s review.

I can’t be bothered to sort all these damn imperial stout pictures, but this one tasted like coffee. Big shocker.

Guess what, this tasted exactly like creme brulee and the girls lost their shit over it. I thought it was sweeter than the end of a Nicholas Sparks movie, but then again I have that XY chromosomal order.

Spoiler alert, this beer, called Choklat, tasted like a sweet kiss from Johnny Depp, psyche, it tasted like fucking chocolate. Duh, next beer.

I completely forgot what the fuck we were talking about. Oh yeah, this beer, which is TOTALLY DIFFERENT THAN ALL THAT OTHER SHIT. Just kidding, they are all awesome, haters gonna hate.

Southern Tier, Mokah 11.2% abv, Imperial Stout

A: Deep dark oily hues, not so black as Satan’s magic or straight up Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, but, still pretty black. Mild tiny bubbles, tiny carbonation, tiny everything. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Most people can’t afford to take down a series of Southern Tier dank ass stouts, pic related.

S: Very sweet milk notes, not unlike their crème brulee, with a solid coffee waft as the backbone. I am very intrigued by this penumbra between the two elements. “Oh wait, he is intrigued?” not a single fuck was given today, I know. But seriously, the dichotomy is amazing.

T: The taste is a spot on rendition between a sweet stout and a deep coffee stout. It is just amazing on both polar ends. At the outset you get an amazing caramel milky sweetness that subsides into a drying coffee dryness. It feels like a cuvee between a milk stout and a coffee stout. Again, just amazing on all fronts.

I love you forever Southern Tier, even though you put my nice things in the toilet.

M: This imperial stout is not overbearing but is incredible in the mouth feel. It coats and imparts some great sweet and bitter notes and fades quickly, not overstaying its welcome. The whole endeavor just smacks of value. This beer has a great breakfast stout character to it without any barrel aging, very impressive.

D: Very drinkable, incredibly silky in its body with a great mouthfeel and coating to it. I cannot believe that this is a simple off shelf beer and again, when it comes to stouts, the east coast is spoiled beyond belief. I feel like I just spoil this category but I seriously could drink this stout for days on end, it has an incredible balance. For reals.

Unlike facebook, I never rage at Southern Tier stouts, because they are sweet and amazing.

Narrative: Do you ever feel like someone is just controlling your every movement? Like Truman show? No like literally hedging every single one of your clips and turns. In what way? Ok, I don’t want to invoke the old deontological chestnut where we discuss pre-destination relative to a divine plan, I mean, in this earthly world, some people are destined to encounter some conflict and resolution, purely on the basis of man’s plight and have it resolved by the same anomalous factors. Well sometimes, like a flat tire and a serendipitous tow truck? That sort of thing? Exactly and now what those conflicting elements interplay so succinctly? Well usually something bad happens and then something pretty cool happens. The bitter and the sweet. Well, yeah. So who determines this balance, if it is determined, the interplay should be fairly evenly divided but who is the wholesale recipient of a load of bitter while others receive nothing but sweet. Well, to that I cannot say? It feels arbitrary and totally unfocused but at the same time, it is uplifting knowing that at any given moment a blast of splenda or carmelized sugar could come my way, sure it could be in the form of strippers or Magic: the Gathering cards, but the treats are nonetheless sweet. Well, I guess I feel you, but I can’t help feeling that this entire discussion was a paper thin pretense for both deontology and simple aromatics in food. Well, basically. Those two are pretty aligned.