Category Archives: tiny runs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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De Struise Five Squared, 130 euro bottle + 25% abv = Gucci Mane

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Well let’s give a little background to those who missed the boat on this elusive, massive beast of a beer. De Struise took their Quad X and ice distilled it several times until it was 25% alcohol by volume. They made 240 of these, I understand that 216 of them were released to the public at the Alvinne Beer Festival to benefit a brewery expansion. This bottle was 130 euros and still had to be shipped from Belgium so, here we are. It finally ended its journey up in Kernville with Kyle and Eric from Kern River Brewing. What a life it led.

I usually hate on small pours from other janky beer blogs, at 25% abv, my 8oz pour was plenty.

De Struise Brouwers
Belgium
Belgian Strong Pale Ale | 25.00% ABV

A: First I have to say this bottle took the wax game to a whole new level. There were about 5-6 layers of what can only be described as Crayola wax. After that wax shattered everywhere and made a huge mess I got the cap off to find a CORK as well. The old Cantillon/Fantome Belgian trick keeping things gully. So the onlookers at Kern River thought I was a huge prick for bringing this elaborate beer to a Citra release, but I got it open. It was actually carbed pretty nicely for the body with gentle microbubbles and this huge sheeting of alcohol that looked like clear solvent that left relentless clear curtains on the glass. The beer was ruby to amber in hue with a lightly hazy aspect to it. Very pretty, all in all.

Ice distilled? 25%? 200 American dollars? Let’s do this shit. I doesn’t afraid of anything.

S: The smell at low temperatures was turbinado sugars and some dark fruits but as it opened up it exuded this delicious boozy tiramisu, toasted marshmellow, caramel, butterscotch, and sweet brandy aspect to it. The whole affair felt like if Scrooge McDuck had a sweets cellar that you got to rifle through. Super decadent and over the top. The type of thing a 4th grader enjoys just before being tossed in an Econoline van.

T: While cold, this beer is pretty tame with some light toffee and aspects of red grape and plums, but when this beer neared room temperature the throttle was torn open and this went NoS foggers pretty quickly. There is a huge aspect of red grape, butterscotch, molasses, caramel, and figs. This is an incredibly complex beer that just lingers and provides a boozy warmth on the finish. All present were amazed that it was 25% alcohol, so if you were an eccentric millionaire, you could play some hilarious pranks on your friends with a few bottles of this.

This beer is strange, unforgettable, and you sure as shit will have a hell of a story to tell if you live through the experience.

M: This is the heaviest, stickiest, most coating I have ever experienced. This is not like Hunaphu’s where you go “wow that’s chewy” and swallow, I mean your teeth are coated in this sticky decadence. They don’t know what to do. It’s like melted caramel that lingers on and on with a boozy warmth. It is incredible and the perfect beer to share for when you finish Skyrim, kiss your first real girl, you know, epic moments.

D: This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but how drinkable do you think that an intensely heavy, 25% abv beer is? You aren’t exactly ordering a pint of this and tossing darts. This is more of the type of beer you watch while watching Millionaire Matchmaker so you can just black out everything you are taking in. I guess you CAN drink a lot of this, if you have the time. This is delicious and could be savored like a delicious brandy or fine bourbon, but most people aren’t drinking 16oz of neat bourbon and playing shuffleboard, at least not outside of Kentucky. I am not here to tell you how to live your life.

Hey bro, try this Belgian Pale Ale, it is 25% abv. Wait wat-

Narrative: Karl Venderberg lumbered slowly through the cafeteria wiping the sweat from his brow, despite the fact that it was a cool 47 degrees outside. “Hey Karl! You big Belgian teddybear!” Kandyss Lamont called to him and gave him a loving hug, attempting to get her arms over the sheets of alabaster folds that were his shoulders. “Herghhh KERNDESSS, I got, you this….flow….flowerrrr” he exhaled roughly and produced a crumpled lilac from his wet pocket. “OH I SAY KARL, you are the sweetest person with a thyroid problem that I HAVE EVER MET!” She kissed the uneven terrain of his skin and he smelled the Dr. Pepper lipgloss and immediately craved a Mr. Pibb. “I do not fucking get it” Chase Marks, local waterpolo all-pro, semi-regional champion quipped, “look at him, he is fat as fuck. I do not buy this Thyroid Problem, look he is eating a sandwich with brownies as bread and dipping it in tartar sauce. WHAT! Come on, now he is giving Kaelynn a mix CD he made?!” Karl wheezed and looked at Kaelynn’s impeccable bilateral bicuspids and azure blue eyes. He was the sweetest, most morbidly obese, most decadent student at Struise High School, and the ladies flocked to him. The thyroid problem was bullshit, but he got mad messages written in dust on his sick ride by the the stacked dimes at SHS.

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Hill Farmstead Fear and Trembling Cabernet/Bourbon Blend, Infinite Resignation is the Last Stage of Fatih

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Believe it or not, I have actually been trying to ratchet back my reviews of all these HF gems lately. No, it is not due to the confusion surrounding the Ephraim release, and no it is not due to my latent bitterness being unable to land an Ann (her?) I simply cannot forego reviewing some of these old school (relative to Hill Farmstead lifespan) treats.

This porter is suspending my universal beliefs for my individual understanding of what a porter can be.

Hill Farmstead Brewery visit their website
Vermont, United States
Baltic Porter | 9.30% ABV

A: Just like all well-done porters, this has that signature thin bodied nature to it that splashes into the glass without heft or massive sheeting. The carbonation is generous and looks like a Coffee Bean drink with khaki foam and microbubbles smaller than 3J’s role in Family Matters.

At a certain point you should at least try to mask your affection for something.

S: This is a bit smokier than I would have liked but imparts a nice char, super Charizard if you will. Then again I am not a fan of char in the first place so I guess take that with a grain of char limits. There’s chocolate, a slight red grape aspect that is more of a tannic dryness, and a bitter coffee aspect. I could have used a bit more of the refreshing porter aspects to this instead of toeing the imperial stout line but, you mess with the Baltic, you get the horns.

T: Thankfully this campfire session eschews the roasted wood and goes a ‘smore route with a deep chocolate, cocoa, vanilla and a touch of mallow foam. The dryness from the oak is present but doesn’t put both hands in your malt bowl, just enough to be noticed. There’s some plum and stone fruit aspects and a smoky finish at the verrrrry end that sneaks in like the littlest roast puppy in the litter. There’s a great complexity and it’s tough to knock any of the three variants of this beer.

If you don’t enjoy dark beer I could always serve you a baby sloth in a chalice, your decision.

M: The mouthfeel is slick and light, dead on to porter, but not quite going into an overweight stout territory. The carbonation is fine and feels like 700 thread count sheets, a sateen duvet in your mouth. But you drink beer so you probably have that Walmart all-in-one bedsheet that single moms love to tolerate. I liked this better as it warmed and the barrel characteristics became more pronounced. You want that deep dark fruit, go get it.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and masks its ABV very well. The light body and huge flavor profile is a haymaker that clears your glass pretty effortlessly. I would say the imperial porters from Hill Farmstead are improving steadily as I would rank them as follows:

Birth of Tragedy > BA Everett > Fear and Trembling

For anyone who gives a shit about bottles that are nearly impossible to obtain. Me recommending a 300 bottle run of something limited beyond belief is kinda like polishing an apple on my shirt and talking about which of my Ornithopters is my favorite.

Some people think imperial porters are just stouts in disguise, haters gonna hate.

Narrative: “And go, take your last bottle, first born in your cellar and cast it into the Fedex truck, for a return blessing shall be forthcoming.” The anonymous message seemed suspicious, yet highly credible to Mark Wallerstein. He had been trading beer online for years, but never before had he received such a divine command. “Is this some kind of LIF or someth-” he thought and suddenly a message appeared “NO, this is not a lottery it forward, only when you sacrifice your most precious bottle can you obtain that which is truly worthwhile.” This was a bit creepy but Mark began solemly wrapping his 2007 Cable Car in bubble tape, aware of the intense burden laid at his doorstep. He was to suspend all belief in bartering and give up his most precious to become elevated to a state of fear and trembling. He would exchange rationalism for hope in the ultimate gesture of beer bonhomie. Just as Mark was about to ship his final and only Cable Car, a UPS worker stopped him. “You see Mark, only by knowing that you could give up this sick wale, could you demonstrate your right to receive this:” and on that very site, his bottle was spared and he was given a bottle of Dirty Horse, unblended, 1983. A divine blessing indeed.

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Crooked Stave Blackberry Petite Sour, Like Jamba Juice, For Fitness Buffs with Alcohol Problems

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What else is there left to be said about this plucky upstart, Crooked Stave. It uses the fabled Rocky Mountain water that we have heard to much about in a different context. Every batch seems to hover around 1000ish bottles which is the sweet spot for breweries these days, as we all know, ask any kid holding onto a Black Note, he will tell you. So lotsa juicy treats popping up in the spring, let’s see if this one puts forward a good foot, or GETS TANGLED IN THE VINES.

In between all the malt calories, who has time for fresh fruit? Crooked Stave has a solution for you.

Crooked Stave Artisan Beer Project
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV ?

BOTTLE NUMBER 424 of 857, mad points for .RAR skillz

This of course, was aged in wine barrels with blackberries added. Blackberries are so damn expensive that using that as an adjunct alone is a feat in itself. I guess all those membership fees are going to good produce use. These brewers must mash out at Farmers Markets like Belle in the intro sequence of BntB (slang.) Anyway, as you can see, this beer almost comes across like something that could be good for you and the color is downright pretty. There are all kinds of deep fuschia, purple, maroon, and ruby hues that makes you feel like Lisa Frank brewed this one up with unicorn blood.

DAMN YOU ELUSIVE SOUR GEMS, your unavailability is megabusting my balls.

The lacing is minimal and I am glad, get that shit out of the way, this is sour territory and I don’t have time for you expansive nature and lacing, lambics don’t fuck around and this wild ale gets right down to business. The bubbles are super fine and put together some nice floorboards for the acidic tannins from the blackberries to gracefully pirouette upon. The taste is exactly what you’d expect, juicy, drying blackberries all up in your dome piece. The oak and tannins go hard in the paint not unlike Wacka Flocka Flame, leaving your mouth all satisfied and dry with residual tastes of jams and preserves. Mammy let you lick the pie tin because you are a good boy.

Gary Soto once wrote a story about how he ganked this pie and felt like a shithead for it, and I kinda feel bad as well, receiving a beer like this so far from its native Colorado home. Kevin P. is a solid bro for kicking this tart gem into my mix. The drinkability, despite the nice acidic finish is kept in check by the sweet aspects of the berries, so it’s like when two girls are jocking you at the same party, an efficient gradient of acrimonious intent levels shit out. Never happened to you? Drink more sours homie.

I will have to disagree with the label’s bossy tone, telling you to serve it around 45 degrees, yeah maybe if you are afraid of amazing delicious fruit notes, then go be a scaredy cat and enjoy the limited profile of this gem. It reminds me of a more brash version of St. Lamvinus, like St. Lam’s brother that is all into magic tricks or the Eagle Scouts. Ultimately this beer is like getting a sloppy smooch from the Smuckers’ curator, and you are edified as a result.

At first I was all like, I ain't drinking no sissy girl colored sour beer, but when it turned into a robot teradactyl and decimated a gigantic monster, it had my attention.

Narrative: What the post-Platonic school of thought never contemplated was that, for every being in the aether, for every corresponding form of each berry ever made, there is a berry heaven. While not sentient, each blackberry in 300 b.c. Macedonia exerted a Will and Representation and, upon consumption, filled a nothingness with each other berry. Michael Park was a total asshole in his life. He would take the last slice, borrow your boardshorts and never give them back, and constantly talk about how amazing the shitty ass Miami Dolphins were. But now he is dead. He awoke in a field with his blackberry Virgil and accompanied him through chamber after chamber of descending berry sins, each one more acerbic than the last. Finally he came to the acidic Lapapa Berry, crushed in three stills for all eternity for its endlessly sour nature, for crimes against palates. “What the fuck is this? Seriously, there’s juice everywhere and it stings my eyes, why have I been brought here?” Michael wiped the sticky pulp without the slightest sense of reverence to the clear parallel to Judas or clever analogs to Italian literature. “Blerghh slergghhh YOUUU AREE A SOURRR ASSHHHOOLLEEEE” Virgilberry gurgled out and pushed him into the press, the iron and oxygen from his mangled body adding a calcium boost to the hellberry slurry.

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Central Waters Bourbon Barrel Barleywine, OH WAIT, STOP THE PRESSES ANOTHER AMAZING BARLEYWINE-

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But in all seriousness, I have wanted to tap that Wisconsin mana pool so hard. I am assuming they play Red/White deck for plains and mountains, but, hell maybe there are Islands and Swamps there, the fuck would I know. I love English barleywines, especially when aged in American Bourbon. However, this is that disagreeable hoppy variant, the old AMERICAN BARLEYWINE. Which I don’t dislike but, you just want the toffee and not the grapefruit, myeh, let’s begrudgingly review an amazing beer. So here we go, two of my vices coupled together in sweet harmony. Kisses all around. Also, thanks to Tmoney for this bottle, real talk.

Usually when I am looking for BB BW, I go to craigslist, not Wisconsin, but, same difference.

Central Waters Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States

American Barleywine | 11.50% ABV

A: This has a beautiful ruby hue to it and minimal lacing, it’s like a Fast and Furious prop car that you know will tear your shit up but looks awesome at the same time. The wispy head leaves and attends to other business, but you don’t miss it after staring into that gemstone center that has a cut not unlike a 14 year old living in Wisconsin. Self mutilation jokes, we’re going there now.

Even this dude would feel like Ryan Gosling after drinking a couple of these BBW's.

S: God. Damnit. Well I guess, that needs a glaring asterix. This is, in fact, a dead on BB AMERICAN barleywine, but I am a fan of the more pale varietal with horrible dentistry. Notwithstanding, there’s a nice juniper and herbal aspect to this beer that sits on top of the bourbon waft like a platelet on top of a CELL THAT ACTUALLY CONTAINS DNA. I don’t get pissed about the hops but it’s more like, YOUR MOM SERIOUSLY HAS TO VISIT RIGHT NOW? SERIOUSLY?

T: Despite my bitchy impressions, the taste is awesome in the way that 3J is way more awesome than Richie. It is tart initially with a raisin front, nice pitted dates going on, almost a quad aspect, and you know how cutty quads get. The hops ease their way in like a barbershop quartet, but as Murder by Death opines, it is sweet Kentucky Bourbon for me. I ride out the foregoing until the bourbon shows up, wasted like Haymitch and the games are not at all hungry. I love the resonant interplay between the hops and the sticky barleywine prisoner left hostage to the hoppy abuse.

M: This has a significant amount of coating and drying at the same time that I would be a hater and knock it for but, wait a second, the mediator, delicious bourbon and butterscotch showed up as the mortar to this strange relationship. The bourbon acts as a MFT to this rocky relationship and smoothes out the jetty currents. It washes away clean and you wonder what all the fuss was about, then you realize, oh shit 11.5% and wait what, who left a Pizza Pocket in the microwave and why is the hallway all wet?

D: Alright you have a tug of war going on here between the drying hoppy aspects and the delivish bourbon that tells you to do bad things. I don’t know what ethical theory that you embrace, notwithstanding, you end up 1) drinking more than you should and 2) the small format makes you feel not even bad at all for selling your child’s Legos to obtain more Central Waters products. I am not saying an escort would accept this beer as payment but, with some artful presentation, bartering could be accomplished. It is that good and god damnit if you don’t convert some of the masses.

After a few of these bad boys, even the most outspoken Communication majors will be all up in Pan's Labyrinth.

Narrative:

I am leaving this narrative up for grabs if someone has 1) tried this beer and 2) is funnier than Kevin James. If you feel like writing a 250 word piece, go for it, see if I care, you can’t get less zero bitches, you cant owe people bitches. Spin the black circle.

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Peg’s Cantina, Batch 100 Barrel Aged Old Ale, If This Growler is a Batch; Better Make That Batch Your Wife

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Florida is the king of tiny bottle releases. Wait, let me rephrase that. Florida has the tiniest bottles released in numbers. Fuck. Misplaced modifiers galore, the breweries in Florida, while releasing normal sized bottles, choose to release small numbers of said bottles, and enjoy having sex with the children in the house. The last ambiguous clause was for the parents out there.

I got 99 bottles but this aint batch one.

Peg’s Cantina, Batch 100, Barrel Aged Old Ale, Abv (go ask those 3 dudes who brewed this?)

Growler #19 out of 25, off the scale rare taste factor brah.

A: Looks like a fairly pedestrian old ale outing, some maroon and deep mahonagany tones, a nice chocolate sheen like those baller ass rugs at Pottery Barn, and some spotty little constellational lacing. Spell check it telling me that isn’t a real word, haters gonna hate.

When these 25 growlers came out, I was all sad and thought I would never get one, and then, through a series of misadventures and a 90 minute plot arch I realized that I had Batch 100 in me all along.

S: Sweet sassy molassey, there’s a nice maple presence, with some sweet cream of wheat brown sugar like a 70’s blackspoitation film, with a nice wood profile rounding out the backend like a prosthetic butt cheek.

T: Man, these guys are sadistic for only releasing 25 of these. The taste is 5/5 Amazon would recommend to a friend would read again 1,435 others found this beer helpful territory. The sweetness comes through like a 24th fret hammeron and resonates with a ringing maple sweetness throughout, some harmonic bourbon notes with sticky sweet vanilla and rolo shine through and start shredding, finally the double bass kick drum of the barrel and dry oak lay the finishing groundwork. This is a perfect sipper and perhaps the best Old Ale I have ever had. Not that those ranks are bustling shoulder to shoulder in terms of style, but still, that’s just like my opinion, man.

This beer has an amazing bourbon and sweet molasses character to it and- oh shit an owl riding a skateboard.

M: The mouthfeel has this fantastic prickly alcoholic twinge to it that crackles and zips dusting the gumline with oakiness and very faint peat notes. The actual residual sugars don’t wreck your shit, they just head straight to the back and leave your shit unmolested. The alcohol however, sees it fit to chat it up with your gumline, the bouncer, and starts name dropping bourbons, passing out flyers for the booze it has tried. It isn’t offensive but it lingers a bit too long and is offputting to the rest of the patrons, namely my incisors.

D: This is fantastic and complex but, it isn’t exactly fair to talk about the drinkability of a bold old ale. How sessionable are old people? I can watch maybe an episode of Matlock and have my fill of old people for a month without ever actually interacting with one. The complexity and genius kinda makes this beer like an amazing savant that has bourbon autism. It is enjoyable in small doses to wow the palate’s imagination, but eventually the constant counting, clicking, brushing of its bourbon hair, gets out of control. “That’s fucked up to denigrate a handic-” oh I’m sorry? Anthropomorphized bourbon isn’t here to defend itself against my completely fictional personification, SORRY.

At a certain point it's hard to underscore how good this beer is so- oh shit a mouse riding a skateboard.

Narrative: “Billingsley please, hold my calls and correspondence and allow me to ruminate on this dewy tundra for a moment.” Pitbull, well more properly, Armando Perez was a historian, economist, and epistemological philosopher, but the world could not seem to see through the lenses of his prescription Tom Ford sunglasses. “Ah Armando, A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love, Yeats was so true.” He exhaled and through his consternation he watched his breath make symbols on the pane of the Rococo glass. “Mr. BULL! Er…PIT! These bitches are wildin out, we need you!” Skeezy Bird called through the thick paneled door. In between writing his treatise on constellation alignment and a nested proof invalidating Dyanetics, Mr. Perez had found the time to write a new single for the Men in Black soundtrack, and the bitches were subsequently wilding. “MISSA TREE O FIVE!” he called to the throngs of Forever Twenty One clothes inhabited by vapid bodies. Before hitting the swisher sweet, he ruminated on the passings of winters past, and “GAYYOOOOOCHOOOOO!!!!!” It was brash, yet civilized within the same breath.