At my core I’m some Blanche DuBois ass sipper who gets hit with the kindness of strangers. I can’t drop seven bills on that minty green, so big thanks to Mr. Jaquay for holding me down like whoa with Bookers Rye. Regular Bookers is my solid work horse and I constantly sing the praises of the age stated cask strength gospel. When they dropped a limited number of teenage spicy rye bebes my mash was instantly soured. $300 a bottle retail means that dudes who still pay HOAs are about to get a sweeet upflip payday. Nose is far more tame than I expected and it’s a bit of wintergreen, arugula, red hots candies, and a touch of that captain crunch spent milk at the end a smattering of heat, staggeringly well integrated and the age is spot welded tightly. Taste brings those Satchel Page heaters high and inside. It’s classic Beam, brash massive and if you had a weapon X experiment to cross breed saz18s grace and polish with the 8th grade sick day jack off session intensity of T H Handy, this would be it. It’s leafy but sweet and fiery a sip lasts almost too long, it just keeps going and running a flanger pedal like some spacey Phish set that compels wristwatch consultation. Finish almost aligns closer to the bourbon sweetness akin to b25, so if you aren’t a rye purist you will enjoy this weird kinda cross over. But is this worth more than shit like saz18, gts? Ehhhh. If anything it’s like a less graceful Mendel pollination of the two and this snap pea is decidedly dominant in its spinner Square alleles. Too much so for most people, it’s how it feels when your liver chews Five gum. It kinda exists in this weird realm of strength and age in ryes that only willett fills. For the money, get a 9-12 year Willett but if you have I dunno $60 kicking around and want to impress your tinder date at a bar, order this and talk about how Kid Cuisine Brownies were always too hot. Downstairs flooding imminent.
If anyone doubts the journalistic integrity of DDB, point them to the time I drank a questionably infected ba stout from a root beer company while listening to Addams Family Whoomp on vinyl. Let’s see the Allstrom Bros dig this deep. But legit this beer is nightmarish in scope and depth, an astringent Cyclopean hell like a Geiger painting for your mouth. It’s sharp and acidic, panting of concurrently extinguished black and milds in a Guinness can, coupled with a sticky sweetness and just crackles with hateful jaw jarring dip cup spit. Nothing redeeming about this, so Sprecher is off to an excellent start. What do people from Wisonconsin drink so much if these are the staples? I can’t even
Crushed black patent malt, bottle wax, and whole hop flowers
The brewer on the barrels, all dressed up in boots with vanilla beans , calling
Beckoning to drink, offering a dream
The ticks were as mystical as fermented tangibles
The circle of trades, the fantomes left the stage
The stout was so tangible I’ll never let it go
Pastry stories handed down, reached secret Florida raffles below.
No one would read DDB.
Wake up in the morning all kumquats no eggs, hit the gym all 🍑 no legs,this is one of those classy ass Bruery holdovers that dips low and stunts low key spitting 🔥 16s in the back, no lactic profile no white wine vinegar just vellus hairs and backpack barrel cyphering. Labias dropping stone fruit grool over degarde peach and this silent stunner is mister steal ur peach. Clean and acidic without warranting a restraining order. Would date again. There’s room for every watered down imitator beer blog so long as there’s room for ddb an me
I been sippin on Noble since citra showers was a big deal and dudes were cranking down over Naughty Sauce. While Monkish was on the front lines tanking and battling everyone in New England for haze supremacy, they were furtively grinding and upgrading their gear. The end result is this fantastic juicer, Donald Duck cloaca fully widened. Admittedly this is on the trubbier side appearance wise and leaves something to be desired but doesn’t fail it’s field sobriety test and stumble into the Hoof Hearted boullion aesthetics. Nose is radiant and has a touch of grassy complexity, guava, POG, Honduran pineapple fruit cart, and yellow Fanta. Could use a little more raked yard trimmings but since this is firmly in the London Ale III realm, it’s no surprise this is squarely a disciple of the dry hopping religion. The taste follows the sun in a can bleached peach linen, mango, and a faintly bitter finish like chard/shallot. It has a touch more heft and residual sweetness than that wispy crackly thermaflu orange body sometimes found in Monkish/veil. In sum, it’s very good, and candidly has been sniping and getting better as an institution if just short of TH and Monkish best. I have no idea how hard they are to acquire but let’s pray the turbid tide floats all trubby boats.absolutely seek this one out.