Category Archives: stouts

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

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

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

Hill Farmstead Damon, Imperial Stout 10.5% abv

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

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

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

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

This is officially Moar Certified.

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

The proud lineage continues in this beer.

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

This beer blows my mind. Damonception.

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

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

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

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

Southampton Imperial Russian Stout, 10.5% abv

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Deschutes The Abyss Imperial Stout, Total Abyss of the Heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jester King Black Metal Imperial Stout, 10.4% abv

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Oscar Blues Ten Fidy, for Those Times When just Ten Will Not Do

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So amongst that camp that doesn’t seek out crazy rare releases or attend long lines and crazy beer debuts, this is usually mentioned as their whipping boy and constantly brought to battle against the high level Materia from hardcore stout mages. Ultimately, it isn’t a fair fight, but let’s see how this non-BA big boy holds his weight.

Lock Ness Monstah want abotu TEEEEEEIIIN FIDDYYYY.

Oscar Blues Ten Fidy 10.5% abv Imperial Stout

This comes in a can, not sure if that jazzes you up. To finally address the issue, YES, you can age this in a can, for fucks sake can we not have any more threads about this? Fine. Let’s move on.

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.

I dont want to get all 1% on everyone but this is widely available, solid, and enjoyable, but nothing too amazing. It majored in Sociology.

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.

This beer is good but it is only good, I might kill a kitten to get some barrel aging up in this piece.

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.

Oh, well I just opened an Imperial Stout, please, have a seat.

Narrative: It was a one stoplight town in rural Alabama, but it held a simple regal poise. Michael Davidson operated a simple confectionary bake shop with his beautiful wife. Also, the town dentist had intercourse with her just months before Michael met her. He often toiled with the idea of driving to North Haversberg to have his teeth cleaned, but that was clear 90 miles away and they didn’t accept his insurance. Each visit was a toil of patience and self-discipline for Michael, he flipped through the Highlights magazine hurriedly, nervously awaiting Jeffrey Nogales, DDS. The coy way Mr. Nogales removed his latex gloves couldn’t help but augur that hate deep in Michael’s heart to imagine the same latex condom, cast away from his life partner. “So, I see we have some enamel erosion here, TOO MANY SWEETS FROM YOUR SWEET EH MICH-” Michael bit down hard and clenched his bicuspids and stared Dr. Nogales in his eyes and knowingly nodded with a black hateful rage, casting his dental care away for a spiteful pride. Michael spit the tip of Dr. Nogales’s index finger into the rinse bowl and smiled a crimson smile and signed the COBRA paperwork accordingly.

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

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

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

Churchill’s Finest Hour, Imperial Stout 11% abv

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Cigar City Hunahpu’s Imperial Stout, The Sweetest Chocolate Comes from Florida

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Well with the Huna release approaching fast, I thought it would be good to look back on the O.G. 2011 classic. There’s a ton of barrel variants of this but many people opine that this is still the most legit. WE SHALL SEE.

Dark and sweet like a 2 Live Crew video. Lots of hea-

Cigar City Hunahpus, Imperial Stout, 11.5% abv

A: This is the darkest beer that I have ever seen, dethroning the noble Abyss and Black Tuesday’s of the world. It is jet black like spent motor oil and you can see its weight when it hits the glass and coats like chocolate Robitussin. The carbonation is amazing and produces microscopic tan bubbles that are a deep mahogany color. Mama put on the finest wares for the funeral, because this beer slays other stouts WITHOUT A BARREL.

This beer keeps it gangster. But in an amiable way.

S: This is an incredibly multifaceted stout on the nose profile and well worth the hype. It has a cinnamon finish with huge coffee dryness that is mellowed out by great cocoa nibs. There’s a vanilla and toffee that start getting their grope, olfactory overload finish.

T: The front of the beer is a nice sweetness like melted chocolate, the coffee sets up the entire middle of this beer with a boozy dryness. The finish has a cinnamon and nutmeg sort of taste to it. I didn’t think that the booziness was disturbing and can’t really imagine this beer improving over time, but we shall see. Wait no we wont because I will end up drinking every bottle that I get immediately. I love this beer.

This beer is the opposite of what this guy is doing. He is failing in inverse proportion to the win of this beer.

M: This has such incredible coating that hits the palate and just expands with coffee oiliness. I could imagine my teeth having a nice darkness to them not unlike a girl from Arizona State. It lingers with a nice complexity along the gumline that is like ringing a sticky chocolate bell that sets up shop and has no intention of leaving, not unlike a girl from Arizona State.

D: This is huge, complex, and angry; that being said, I would readily request a second bomber right away. It is not exactly refreshing, but it feels like a decadent treat. It almost feels too indulgent with all of the coffee, bourbon, and chocolate going on. If someone walked in on me drinking this to myself I would feel content but a little abashed at going on an Agustus Gloump rampage.

I need more of this stout, always. Because fuck you.

Narrative: “Your excellence, the cocoa provisions are running alarmingly low.” The counsel elder prostrated pleadingly. “At this rate, the tribe will have no sweet treats for the forthcoming Pukami Blessing festival.” Lord Hunahpu lowered his head shamefully, his mouth smeared with chocolate nibs. “THEN THE PUKAMI BLESSING MUST WAIT.” He pushed his thick fingers into the clay pot and pushed another mouthful of the coffee and cocoa bean blend into his gullet. “Myem, and if, the villagers protest, myem, tell them there was a, gulp, crop failure.” His decadence was too much for the rations of the small tribe. Suddenly a black murky puddle seeped out of the tiles within the floor of the palace. “PUKAMI COMETH!” the counsel elder shouted with reticence. The deep oily murkiness fired a milk chocolate beam at Lord Hunahpu for his gluttony and cast him in a solid chocolate shell. The counsel elder ran and was instructed by Pukami not to look back. He turned his head and saw Lord Hunahpu frozen in delicious stasis. He was turned into a pillar of salted chocolate. “PUKAMI CARES NOT FOR YOUR LOT!” echoes through the palace and he melted back into the floor.

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Minnesota Town Hall, Czar Jack, Just Straight Up Czar Jacking It

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This beer is released once a year and only 80 growlers are filled. OH SHIT BRAGGING SESSION COMMENCES. Just kidding, this is another top 100 beer that took me a long time to land and it was well worth it.

People be all like “What you finna do with all that stout, all that stout up in that growl(er)”

DO WHAT I ALWAYS DO, TAKE THIS SHIT TO THE DANGER ZONE.

Nobody reads shit on Saturdays anyway.

If Czar Jack was stuck on a roof, would you help Czar Jack off?

Minnesota Town Hall, Czar Jack, Russian Imperial Stout, 9.3% abv

A: The carbonation just cascades in tiny clusters clinging to the center and edges of the glass like that Ewok village when it is night time, little constellations of potential drunk and disorderly charges, a mocha head of “these cuffs are too tight.”

S: Just wow, the smell is like fresh baked fudge, a light boozy aroma like an aunt who has a secret to tell, nice nutty almond dryness and of course a burnt coffee waft closes the deal. Your pants are off and the hotel bill will reflect the shame of your actions, namely drinking an entire growler.

You crack a 64oz growler of this and shit just goes bananas. B A N A N A N A N A N A N A S. That's how you spell bananas.

T: The coffee taste with mild acidity is the first thing that rolls up with an insouciant swagger oh and he brought two hoes with him, bourbon and dutch chocolate. The taste applies a single Sherman Williams coat and then just goes on its merry way, smashing in tastebuds and giving palate HJs on the way down.

M: The mouthfeel is amongst the lightest that I have ever encountered in the world class stout category. It is almost like an imperial porter in how clean and effortlessly this beer works your tongue over. It coats nicely but doesn’t overstay its welcome. This beer is down for a chocolate one night stand and then peaces out, but makes the bed first. I am ok with that.

There was so much hype surrounding this beer I was a skeptical hippo but, well here we are and I am still riding this brewery's jock so hard.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and dangerous for a beer at this ABV level. It doesn’t get all caught up with emotional coffee baggage, or talk about its daddy chocolate issues. This shit is just down to bang your palate and just be a super chill ryde or die stout. I want more of it, but I heard about their new procedure for landing Czar jack and it sounds fucking hellish lotteries, local rewards, club cards and shit. So this may be the final growler that I enjoy of this elusive potation. BUT THEN AGAIN MAYBE SHE WEEEIIILLLLL.

At first I was excited for 2 liters of this beer, then I was like-

Narrative: Chancellor Billingsley was a charitable man, but in a strange, offputting manner. He has a zest for philanthropy, but in what amounted to a purely hateful manner. “Regis, please assemble the equipage of the 14 stallion carriage, I would like to donate sums to the mealymouthed masses.” He strode sternly to the awaiting carriage and sat sumptuously upon the Gala Coupe` with a large sack of heavy Spanish doubloons. “Now bring the trot to an idle speed-” he said as he cocked his arm back towards the throngs of commoners descending upon his carriage. “AND HERE IS YOUR MONTH’S RENT!” he called as a cast a weighty solid gold coin cascading directly to the temple of an alms seeker with her threadbare hands outstretched. “You see Regis, without the loss of consciousness, they would never embrace the blessing I am bestowing upon them, it takes a complete debilitating blow to show them the honor and glory of my fugue.” One child was seen both simultaneously crying and cheering with a bruised imprint of Queen Isabella knocked deeply into his epidermis.

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Surly Coffee Bender, Finally A Responsible Morning Beverage for Unemployed People and Fashion Students

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A responsible morning beverage for unemployed people.

Surly Coffee Bender, 5.1% abv

A: This beer has a menacingly deep dark countenance with a huge banana republic khaki head, a bit refined for its Midwest heritage which would be acceptable if it didn’t smell like alpha acids an- on to the next section.

Beer in the morning, no time to explain.

S: I couldn’t hold this over, the coffee is overwhelming. The Midwest loves to make beers that just infiltrate the nose, take over your house, wake your girlfriend up: OLFACTORY. That is their game and it is played well. I supposed there is some mild Hershey’s cocoa and bittering elements but overridingly, it is coffee, like elephants, all the way down. All of this is predicated on coffee as its existence.

T: Wait for the spoiler alert: coffee. Seriously. Just coffee for days. Were it not socially reprehensible to just straight up drink brown ale for breakfast, this could replace mocha frappa adjective misusacinnos. Maybe in the Midwest that’s just how they roll, wake up, drink some surly, work, more surly, check redfin.com, attempt to solve property value disparity, call it a day. But just wow, not just coffee, amazing coffee. I don’t want to say barefoot intelligensia level, its not that acidic but it has a definite Coffee Bean feel to it. For my east coast readers, Coffee Bean is the exceptional coffee that we drink while you keep Dunkin Corp. stocks abreast. It tastes like coffee.

This beer is dark and strangely offensive.

M: It is incredibly thin. . .not unlike. . .coffee. If you think I am trying to drive home some form of Nabokovian motif, let’s just put it out there, it is coffee, not sex with minors. Seriously it tastes like an iced coffee. I got this as an extra and I demand to know the price of this temptress. If it is under $3 per can, I have pity on the poor Midwest that unleashed this wraith upon their productivity. Even the siren of Farmville nods at this Amarosa knowingly.

D: If you haven’t gathered from the foregoing: very. I have essentially provided a voucher for drinking this unabashedly for breakfast. I don’t care if you are a crane operator on the new children’s hospital which happens to be occupied early, go ahead, have some coffee bender in the morning, you earned it big guy (or woman, whatever, find me a woman who operates a crane [sic.])

This beer is hard as fuck. But gentle.

Narrative: “I just don’t understand why the early Seinfeld episodes look\ so dated, look at what they are wearing-” Uncle Adam droned on. “Keep it together Jonah, keep it together” he told himself as he clicked the rhythms from Vengaboys songs along his jaw line. He didn’t exactly mean to supplement all of his caffeine habits with coffee alcohol but, such is the way of things. “Jonah are you cold? You’re positively shaking!” Aunt Beatrice exclaimed grabbing an afghan rug. “Yeahbut you know who really- I mean always touching the thermostat? Who says that? Seinfeld, you know what I meanyeahyeah, notevencoldthough seriously.” He attempted to break his repartee into at least dactylic hexameter for his relatives to try and understand. Jonah was a man converted to the alcoholic coffee beast, and now he was dropped as though he should have invented the rain coat.

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Iron Fist Velvet Glove, I knew a guy with a tongue in a velvet sack, it was a Crown Royal bag. Headline unrelated.

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Some people overlook this beer because it’s a strange style (imperial oatmeal stout?) or maybe they are the 99% who can’t afford $11.99 for chocolate coachella in their domepiece. I dont know. That shit cray.

Take an amazing Imperial Oatmeal Stout, now serve it on nitro fresh from the tanks. Serves 1 jelly. You. you jelly.

Iron First Brewing – Velvet Glove 9% stout

A: Murky black with some dark brown notes on the pour, nice 1 inch head with a murky brown foam and tiny bubbles, very little lacing, great coating on the glass. It’s like a Sir Mix a Lot video sponsored by Exxon Valdez.

I wish I could compel people to stop and try this. The stopping power of this beer is not insubstantial. The head brewer is also a super nice guy, if that rattles your customer service cage.

S: Tons of coffee on the nose, I was expecting more chocolate but the coffee dryness is welcome. Actually, it makes sense once you taste it, the rope circle is sprung, you think you’re in for a pedestrian outing and then oh shit it’s a 3 a.m. sort of night. Where are my shoes-

T: The coffee subsides from the nose and the chocolate shines through in a huge way, much like chocolate rain without the heat and big body. Great sweet taste with chewy maltiness and sweet finish that’s supported by a mild hoppy profile. It’s tough to overstate or make jokes about something with such great balance and amazing drinkability. I bet if this was in 12oz servings…it would cost more, fuck that, I must quote my friend D. Garcia “it’s call you man up and you take that bottle to the danger zone.” Take that shit to the danger zone.

"Take your exploding knees to the Danger Zone" - D. Garcia

M: The tiny bubbles deliver an piquant effervescence that carries the chocolate malt delicately. The coating is awesome, not in a thick oppressive way, It carries a huge beer character with the accessibility of a thin middle body to it. I am not sure how they did it but it straddles two worlds without feeling one note.

D: Usually with imperial stouts this is where I make obvious statements about how big the beer is and after one it’s an unwelcome Saturday morning houseguest, but, I simply cannot in this instance. The drink ability is fantastic due to the chocolate profile, tiny bubbles, and fantastic mouthfeel. This ascends to the “wish it was packed in 12oz bottles” category. This would be a great introductory imperial stout to transcend people beyond their Guiness fancies into the world of obfuscating darkness.

At first you feel like you are getting ripped off, then you realize HOW MUCH YOU ARE GETTING.

Narrative: Being an accountant for brigand gypsies didn’t seem like an altogether waste of Jeff Deyoung’s time, it just felt a little misplaced. Well first there was the problem with appraising the value of stolen VCR’s and then amortizing them over a S corp structure. Then he had to figure out a way to write off all Robitussin and knife hits that his company of rogues was imbibing at a breakneck pace. All in all, Jeff was a black hearted scoundrel with the rest, but with a cunning ability to ease his way below the subterfuge. Sure, he might be figuring out ways to liquidate bootleg DVDs, but his coal black hair and khaki suit gave you the air that inspire confidence in his less than scrupulous dealings. If you invited him over for dinner, he would tell your family that he arranged government contracts and owned several mobile unilateral pawn shops. A tongue in a velvet sack, that old Jeff. You can’t quite trust him, but at the same time you feel at ease, until your iPad is gone. Now you need to buy a new iPad.