Category Archives: stouts

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Bell’s Black Note Imperial Stout, the panacea of Michigan winters.

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Oh shit, Black Note strip tease:

You dirty stouttease.

I'm no picture, dont leave me hanging.

It's like that scene where they open the Ark of the Covenant.

I can’t hype this beer anymore than the beer community already has so I will let the brewery tell you what this little asshole is:

“One of the most sought-after stouts in Bell’s history, Black Note Stout blends the complex aromatics of Expedition Stout with the velvety smooth texture of Double Cream Stout and ages the combination in freshly retired oak bourbon barrels for months. The resulting harmony of flavors captures the finest features of all three components: malty notes of dark chocolate, espresso & dried fruits, all buoyed by the warmth and fragrance of the bourbon barrel. Aimed squarely at the stout and bourbon aficionados, Black Note makes a grand statement about the art of the dark. ”

So yeah, I had to pull some tawdry Craigslist endeavors to land that tiny 8oz bottle. Dont ask.

A: Deep, jet black motor oil with low viscosity. This has some mild carbonation, but, I obtained this bottle from less than official means, so that carbonation might be lacking due to transit and/or transfer, notwithstanding the bubbles are a deep coffee brown with nice Yuban coating.

MOAR.

S: There are fantastic notes of coffee, light whiskey, bourbon, oak, huge chocolate, a mild vanilla that fades into toffee. Overall there is a mild heat that is wrapped in a great sweetness. The end of the nose is almost like a bourbon quad with deep pitted fruits and figs. The whole bouquet is one of the best that I have ever come across, no punchlines here.

T: This is a world-class stout. The heat is present and comes first with a warming dryness to the sweet zones, it subsides into a light hoppiness that is hand and hand with the coffee and sweet milk chocolate notes. It is incredibly pleasant throughout and doesn’t overpower on any one aspect and the coating is such that the taste lingers but doesn’t aggressively overstay its welcome. It’s really difficult to come across jokes to describe what is clearly such an incredible stout, BUT I WILL TRY.

It took a lot of activation energy to land this beer, but I feel like a noble gas having had it.

M: The mouthfeel is impressive and doesn’t wipe out your palate on either an alcohol basis or sweetening basis. The balance is like those dubious 13 year old chinese gymnasts. While the carbonation was lacking, it didn’t detract from the overall experience because the beer is simply meant to be sipped and savored so the minimal crackling on the lips is forgiveable, like Jehova’s Witness pamphlets during the last two minutes of your NFL game.

D: This is dangerously drinkable for 11.5% abv stout, and not just for my jaded ass palate. I am sure the average Tri-Delt could put away a few of these if cajoled with enough peer pressures (read: cocaine.) But seriously, getting murdered for just 8oz is particularly cruel when the end product is not a let down. The whole beer is a libation that lives and dies in the winter realm, just warms me up and lights a fire in the hearth of my heart. It’s a little chocolate Lord Byron for me to caress and whisper pre-enlightenment phrases to. SHIT IS BOMB.

Is this stout dope all up in my domepiece? I am positive.

Narrative: To the rest of the world, Max Davidoff was a mild mannered high school chemist. Sure his Ford Focus was nothing to look at, and his wry stoiciometry humor was nothing to write home about, but his basement held wonders that would suspend all disbelief. After years and years of testing, he had finally identified what could only be identified as the Chocoromeda Strain in his tattered notebooks. The neighbors stared in disbelief as the hazmat crews cleared the home and brandished geiger counters with solemn reverence. It was simply not man’s place to tamper with the substrata of the chocolate world. The makeup of chocolate was too dear to be trifled with, but Mr. Davidoff would not listen. The chocolate detonation took place at 11:51 p.m. on Wednesday April 24, 2010. The neighbors ran from their KB track homes to find a murky current of liquid mahogany bubbling from the foundation of the home. The air was redolent of chocolate not unlike a single 42 year old secretary’s home while watching the latest Kutcher offering. The chocomatrix had torn Mr. Davidoff’s frame limb from limb, but leaving him in conscious control of the deep heat and bubbly stratum. A series of unsolved bank robberies evidenced that the perpetrator clearly liked chocolate, but would the local police every believe that the robber HIMSELF WAS CHOCOLATE. “Say cheese and die motherfucker,” Mr. Davidoff quipped a dusty R.L. Stein reference just before he claimed his final victim, the school superintendent. Those new microscopes were pretty fucking important and summarily denied. But revenge is a dish best served like chocolate fondue.

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Alesmith 100% Barrel Aged Speedway Stout, Modding out my Integra So Hard Right now.

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Ok, if you are in a store and for some reason they have the 750 bottle release on the right, just remember it is worth 15 times as much as the one on the left.

Alesmith, Speedway Stout 100% Barrel Aged, 2009, 12% abv, some more top 100 beer bullshit, just another day in the life of a god damn middle manager.

A: This has a slick BP disaster look to it, without all the deceased marine life. It isn’t pitch black but imparts some nice deep mahogany notes to the edges, like a hardened cop with a heart of gold you somehow impart a sense of trust in this stout that despite his over character flaw evidenced 14 minutes in, he will make it all right after 90 minutes in your life. Also, nice lacing, tiny bubbles, coffee stickiness, and other things people don’t read.

S: This is coffee acidity, to a huge degree. Also entering the fray is a serious boozy profile that apparently hasn’t had the shithead weathered out of it after 2 years in an oak barrel. It isn’t as recalcitrant as the new Dark Lords, but it still is rambunctious enough to be bothersome. However, some nice bourbon and oak notes finalize the experience and you give it an approving nod into your club, aka YOUR MOUTH, where all the action takes place infra.

Coffee so hard, all up in my nosepiece.

T: Fast forward 3 seconds from the smell to the tasting, first one to show up to your sick rager is coffee, oh wait but he brought, acidity, and then, his other boy coffee, and then toffee. You don’t judge but things seem a little unbalanced in here, oh wait then his crazy friend chocolate shows up doing magic tricks and making observational comedy references. Everyone is put at east with a nice coffee walnut finish: your BA speedway house party is officially underway.

M: This coasts like a bucket of Sherwin Williams. I don’t mean in the way when you hire day laborers either. It coats like if people who cared painted your mouth with coffee and bourbon. We all know how much that costs IN REAL LIFE so this is a welcome reprieve.

I had to trade 7 bottles to land this one stupid ass bottle. Then I shared it with 7 people. So the butthurt is flowing so hard.

D: As much as I want to hometown and keep the drive strong for this amazing beer, this is certainly its weakest point. I can’t in good faith say that I would crack 2009 BA stouts all day while at Havasu doing sick broesque things. Then again, is that the target market? Notwithstanding, this tires a bit after a solid 12oz just due to the complexity and rampaging coffee and toffee double team on your bitter and sweet zones. Enough is enough the tongue declares insouciantly.

Narrative: Kicked out of the racing academy. Well, at least that is what he told his parents that his tuition checks were going to. The truth is that Chase Worthington was never attending a racing school in Temecula. He accepted “tuition” checks from his parents every 5 months and even in the summer session for modding his sick 2001 Mercury Cougar for drag racing or “Straight up Dragging it” as he abrasively referred to it, much to the chagrin of his friends, when present. His friends told him that running the mean streets of San Diego was not to be trifled with, that is, unless one were content to life his life “a quarter mile at a time.” This seemed to be a deafeningly infinitesimal stretch for a racer like himself. Cold air intake, cat back exhaust, chipped, sick body kit; all of the accoutrements were present however he forgot a single thing: his car had only 189 horse power and people grew tired of its inky discharge, regardless of the speeds that it allegedly traveled. This speedway pun was a speedway pun for the racing pun speedway pun, and in the end, they all learned speedway pun, racing.

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Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv, BX straight put a choc. gem on them.

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Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, mad wallear for this skully cap

While not swimming in the Hudson river, smashing glass bottles at abandoned train yards, or contemplating traveling to better places, people in Brooklyn make chocolate beers.

Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv

A: Spoiler alert, this big stout has a deep black finish to it like a matte black that you see douchebags downgrade their Range Rovers with. The lacing is beautiful, it tells your future and, oh wait, whats that Brooklyn, sticky chocolate and schmeboygahs? I am listening.

S: This is very simple, it has a roasted barley and a deep chocolate finish to it. I hate it when beers are this direct but it is like a Madden character with all the points stacked on one attribute. In this game, this is an obese secretary who LOVES. CHOCOLATE. If this were an X-Man, its mutant ability would be reminding people to buy lotions from Bath and Body works and then visiting Godiva. BUT WILL SHE USE HER POWERS FOR GOOD OR EVIL?

I love stouts, I love chocolate. I mash on this beer not unlike an elated turtle.

T: This just continues with the simple oat and chocolate rigamarole with a deep silky finish. There is a bit of coffee but the main attraction here is clearly the chocolate, if this redundant ass review wasn’t evident. There’s some sweet hookah cocoa beans and a bit of tobacco but seriously, how else can I say this? It is like a negligent ass Willy Wonka creation.

M: Surprisingly, the mouthfeel is out faster than a dead beat father. It just imparts the chocolate like a drunk uncle, and then stumbles out the door with a silky oat finish. There’s a bit of coffee that dries it out at the end but wow, this really makes me want to try Black Ops if this beer is this good.

With 20 years on this, it will be even better, I aint even mad.

D: This is scary drinkable and amazing through and though. I hope that these are either expensive or sold in really small formats because, wow, I can’t believe how easy it is to put this away. Stouts this big usually have a huge drying effect or a filling expansive nature. NOT THIS ONE. This is that silent old standby busser that always shows up for its shifts and does a great job, no questions asked. Thank God I dont live in Brooklyn so I can avoid amazing inexpensive be- ah shit.

Narrative: Prilly looked out intently upon the icy vanilla slopes, past the polar bears enjoying Coca-Cola, past the ice cream mountain, and blinding white pillars of creamy goodness. This wasn’t the life he dreamed of and he knew it. Vanillalopolis was a humble community of artisans and yeomen farmers, however, something never felt quite right to Prilly. He longer for a deep, thick succor. That ambrosial decadence that could only be found in succulent cacoa beans. The ongoings of Vanillalopolis just seemed so pedestrian by contrast. He tossed a vanilla snowball at a passing marshmellow bunny and watched it scamper away, leaving flakes of pure white coconut. “Someday Prilly, for really,” he mused to himself. Just as he was raking the vanillacones from the recent harvest he struck deep into the ground and, up from the snow white soil came a bubbling crude. Mahongany gold, Alabama tea. He dipped an index infger into the gurgling pool and tasted that deep chocolatey decadence that he longer for. The news reports reported that the septic explosion was completely unforseeable and Prilly’s family received a substantial settlement from the Wrongful Death case.

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Olde Rabbit’s Foot, North Carolina Changes the Game, Kinda I GUESS.

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No Rabbits Were Harmed in the Making of this Shitty Joke.

NORTH CAROLINA WEEK IS UPON US. For no particular reason, those old Tarheels dont get the cred they deserve so, here goes nothing.

Olde Rabbits Foot, Imperial Stout, 10.13% abv

This beer is a blend between Duck Rabbit, Foothill, and Olde Hickory, the portmanteau is the name OH SHIT JUST USED PORTMANTEAU IN A LEGITIMATE WAY.

A: The beer pours with a slick deep black inky cola look to it. Epigrams and entendres aside, the head is my favorite part. The thick whipped mocha head looks like a barista was all up in this bitch. Nice lacing with dotted Polynesian islands on the glass. Samoan people will love this beer if they ever discover North Carolina. Doubtful.

S: There’s an intense milk chocolate and frosting sweetness with almost no bitter from roasted malts. This isn’t a dessert beer, but it could be served at Red Robin with a Cookie Bramblecake or whateverthefuck.

At first when I thought about drinking all NC brews, I was all like dis. then I was it was pretty chill. super chill, even.

T: The taste maintains the sweetness and adds a bit of anise (that’s GED+ talk for licorice) and finishes with a coffee flavor that would make sense since people from North Carolina, bus drivers, truckers alike could drink this with their 3400 calorie breakfasts.

M: The mouthfeel has a nice prickly heat from the bourbon but it doesn’t get all up in your business and tell you how to do your job. It lets you wear the amount of flair that you desire, nice maltiness that isn’t too expansive and is respectful throughout the proceedings. The coffee doesn’t dry out the gumline too much and the result is a sweet booziness that you can doff your cap to in the street while pitching pennies. that sorta shit.

In North Carolina, even the turtles are wasted for a majority of their lives.

D: This is a swift nimble North Carolina aboriginal stout, poised and refined from a land of latent racism and excellent college basketball. Too bad most of the population is probably merking Natty Ice they could- well actually I think the bottle run on this was like 2500 or something so, I dont care if they missed out on it.

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Bruery Burly Gourd, oh my gourd, it’s so burly

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This has a nice welcoming baby stout look to it. Lacing that is like a lazy eastern European government, not too oppressive. It smells like a nutmeg bomb went off and the taste is like a watered down punkin pie.

You want to believe Immortals is gonna be good but you have to face the truth, there’s some high moments and a lot of filler. it’s like Thanksgiving leftovers, but nostalgic and tasty.

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Mikkeller Black Hole, scotch whisky barrel aged, the worst beer of the year. A winrar is this.

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This beer is horrible, avoid at all costs. Finally a beer to adequately represent this website. Do not drink this beer.

It tastes like giving a smooch to your drunk old highlander grandpa. The bubbles are a vile scorching oak taste like popov and nair on your mouth. It’s a scorching oral douche that has no place outside of the hateful island from whence it came.

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Seriously, I can safely say that, with the aroma, taste, and mouthfeel of this abomination, it doesn’t matter what style that this beer is, it is a chimera of testicle assaults. Ok, so I open it up, it smells like peat, dirt, home depot fertilizer, a rented van, Okla-, well, just horrible. It looks nice enough until she opens her mouth, just petulant candor and despicable things. The foam alone tastes like someone took a swig of Cutty Sark while smoking a cigar and spit it in your mouth.

I can’t underscore this enough, do not pay the $12.99 for this 12oz bottle, dont let anyone buy this for you, this is seriously the absolute worst beer that I have ever tasted.

My face was all like this after only 5oz.

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Total Eclipse of the Stout, 50/50 Imperial Eclipse Stout, Evan Williams’ -bals

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A Total Eclipse of the Stout

Astronomy getting all twisted like a bag of ropes.

Imperial Eclipse 50/50 Brewing Co, Imperial Stout, 9.5% abv, aged in Evan Williams Barrels

A: Not the hardest convict on the block, nice oiliness but not unapproachable. It has a good carbonation that flees cell block 50/50 immediately. There is a nice lacing that sticks around looking all like Mervyn’s cargo shorts.

S: Holy hell, the bourbon has still not settled down at all. This smells like whiskey, oak and raisins all the way down. This doesn’t come across like those tame ass raisins in barley wines either. I mean angry California Raisins after years of being portrayed as a racist demagogues. That sort of pissed.

T: The bourbon shows up immediately and opens the door for a series of cronies, each one more hateful than the last. Filing in succession we get coffee, wearing an eye patch, raisin, brandishing a switchblade, and the mute, fig, silent but deadly with the sais. What a band of rogues this barrel assembled for my palate.

M: It is not overly filling but it is still intimidating given the panoply of items being presented. I don’t feel like I need to sign over the title deed to my tongue, but it certainly is implied. The coating is nice and similar to a breakfast stout until bourbon comes rolling in and busting up the place. If my tongue owned a PS3, he would be smashing it. Now where am I gonna find another copy of bourbon barrel Katamari Damasi on such short notice?

D: Well given the fact that my mouth feels like an oil refinery, I would say “not very.” This feels like a barrel crude oil and not in that cool Abyss ‘09 way. This just feels dangerous like I shouldn’t smoke around it. I don’t care about the different versions, there is something inherently insane about this beer. Some might opine “oh this cousin cuts himself LESS” but that doesn’t matter, it is still patently insane. Usually I would complain about the abv but here it is just the execution. It is like someone with ADD was in charge of the secondaries and my palate is a proximate victim. Coffee splash damage +24.

Narrative: The life of an oil refinerist was not glamorous, hell, it wasn’t even recognized by Google as a legitimate profession. That didn’t stop Slick Crudework. His parents almost named him knowing his future prospects, but that is a story for another time. He had been the overseer at the Mobil platform #42 in Long Beach for as long as he could remember but he didn’t mind it at all. Slick would come into the local AMPM covered in sludge and the recalcitrant Korean man would yell at him but, hey, if not for Slick, would those pumps be pushing out overpriced unleaded for Mini Cooper owners to feel good about themselves? Probably not. “A 211, some henny, and some Listerine strips.” The truth was that Slick did not even want these items, he had heard E40 order these items in a song and wanted to seem relevant. The Korean shop keep presented them to him balefully. He followed his own mucky steps out to his car. Sure everyone thought he was a drunk and overpowering, but who really was the crude boss in this bossocracy? That’s what I thought.

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1/2 Idjit! Porter, Dugges Ale, Sweden Only Rocks 1/2 a Idjit

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For those who can't take a full Idjit, here's just a 1/2 Idjit. The size of the porter isn't everything.

A: The appearance is dark and murky with deep iced tea browns at the edges. It looks like the repository water at your favorite water park. It has pretty mild carbonation and comes off as lackluster as a Deer Tick album, it just doesn’t care if you enjoy it or not. Which is strange because I thought Sweden was all into helping its citizens and giving away everything for free.

Meanwhile in Sweden. . .

S: The smell is like a chocolate ashtray, burnt malts, like a scorched boil happened or someone was abusing cocoa beans something fierce. There’s also a deep coffee smell and a sort of tobacco finish. I’m not stoked to drink this and the $14.00 price tag didn’t help matters much. I was probably just subsidizing the health care of those poor Swedish brewers.

T: This is burnt malt at first and then the smoky notes sheepishly show up slowly. The whole Racine tragedy unfolds as the triangle love interest is completed with stale coffee as the virgin martyr. This might be a compelling one man monologue but the whole thing just takes way too long and has no fulfilling finish, it’s like Kurt Russell in a glass.

This is my life if I never had Idjit again, full or half.

M: the mouthfeel is thin and swift, imparting burnt cigar and chocolate dust along my teeth. I dont think my teeth whitening was worth the offshading that this beer imparts but, it is dead on for the genre so I guess we can’t knock it for giving the old college try. The old second string noseguard for
Kent State sort of try.

D: Overall, I dont smoke and I dont make out with people who smell like American Spirits. So I guess, no, not very drinkable and I am not stoked to drop a ton of MAD COIN on this Swedish meatball again.

Oh no, I just drank the whole bottle. Oh yes, that was a waste of money and calories.

Narrative: Torgny stabbed the arctic sheeting lightly and stared off into the distance. “TORGNY! You are must to be making the sheets faster! LARGER!” his supervisor called out to him. Life was rough on the ice farm. What with the whole, making the ice, waiting til the 9 month winter season and harvesting it; life was rough and cold. Torgny would complain, however, every morning at the crest of 12:45 p.m. when the sun was rising, he would see his old classmates pile out of the brewery. Each looked comically like a Victorian era oil prospector, smoking an oversized cigar, eating Toblerones with careless abandon. “That life is not for me to be having,” he thought in broken English and shook his head. Sure his hands would split with terrible cold and his ice sheets would only be made into Formula 50 Smart Water, but there could be nothing less fulfilling than making chocolate tobacco water that no one liked. “TORGNY, is the timing for the lunching RESPITE!” MMM sweet huskmankolst and tasty pitepolt.

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Luscious, Russian Imperial Stout, The Alchemist, Vermont Gets Twisted Like a Bag of Ropes

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As Tender As A Tennyson Novel, But DARKER THAN DEMI MOORE'S RAGE

Vermont has been killing it lately. It seems like I can’t go anywhere without hearing about that damn state and its environmental citizens. Protip: Dont move there, just enjoy their beer.

This is the OTHER beer, that was saved from the flood that destroyed the brewery last month. This is the OTHER 700 bottle release that was saved. Unlike the Heretic, this beer is amazing, not a soggy sack of Honduran yard clippings.

A: This beer has a slick deep angry pallor that pours BP thick. Deep black inkiness with mahogany coating on the glass. The head looks amazing with dark cocoa bubbles like frothed chocolate milk. The Quik rabbit was not fucking around when he whipped up with batch, the kids are on one. I mean, just scroll up, there it is, what more can I say, it is an evil libation, fit for despots and overlords alike.

S: This is out of this world complex and amazing. I love the cocoa and chocolate notes up front, supported by some nicely acidic coffee at the back. The waft of subtle vanilla and toffee alcohol makes this all too inviting. It is dark but alcoholic at the same time, like Seal when he isn’t busy copping kisses from roses.

T: It packs all of the foregoing into a multilevel experience that I have to delve into like strata. The sweetness is swift and supported by a great coffee acidic dryness. The sweetness returns in an alcoholic waft that is like if chocolate rain, parabola, and GI Rare had a love child. It has the sweetness from one, the nice coffee notes from the other, and a prickly warmth from the latter. Alcoholic, dark, and brooding, this beer is like Michael Lohan’s parenting skills, only this didnt end up a complete disaster.

M: Great coating without being overly expansive. The taste just lingers and you can truly sip on this judiciously. It gets even better when it warms up, just outrageous top to bottom. I just want to get my mouth all on it. INCOMING SEXIST STATEMENT: both sexes will equally enjoy this statement. I mean that in a genial sense that it has universal appeal beyond the ambit of what is usually deemed an off-putting style. Not just for lumberjacks and beef jerk connoisseurs, this beer is approachable. You know what I mean, I dont want to come off all like I am up in this club:

D: This is an incredible beer. Of course, it has to be one of the only 700 bottles saved from that jerk Irene. Thank god I obtained 2 bottles, this is something that I will savor later on in life, like when I pass the postal exam or break 200 in a game of bowling, you know. Life Monuments. Problem is, I want more of this and my desire remains unslagged. Right when I finish this beer, it feels like this:

Narrative: Raven Simone cast her leather satchel upon the smooth teak floor and fell languidly into her baroque throne. “Another day within this miserable sphere of tween affairs,” she ruminated to herself as her necromage servant poured her a tepid snifter of what appeared to be the life force of a 9 year old child. “How long Levinicus? How long must I endure this curse? The cumulus nimbus clouds of misfortune forever obscuring my greatness with Nick! and ABC Family side projects,” she sipped deeply, “never to come to true recognition?” She looked into her cloudy gazing orb as it recalled flashes from her tawdry past. Raven knew the gravity of the deal that she signed with the Lord of Darkness to obtain the contract for Hangin’ With Mr. Cooper. It stayed with her like a deep oily wound. The terms of her Faustian agreement bound her to tween programming indefinitely, sweet but deeply dark. To buy further time from the underlords, she was the Commander of that dark cadre Cheetah Girls, wholly misunderstanding that she would not be transmutated into a cheetah woman at all. “RAVEN! MAKE UP! TIME FOR THE FOOD FIGHT SCENE!” her dark lord beckoned, a call to fulfill the bilateral contract of evil. She exhaled deeply, swirled her glass and began preparing for the malevolent groin shots that would ensue.