It would be easy to characterize Almanac as enjoying a parabolic arc of quality and hype.  From the humble initial 750ml stumblings that were expensive Biere De Gardes and large format Golden Gate Gose, came the ashes from the phoenix, the incredible Farmer’s Reserve 1-4 and subsequent fruited offerings.

However it would be a bit of a canard to say that Almanac is back from somethin, if they back from something then it’s ticks you owe them.  They have silently been improving and enjoying the relative calm of not having their doors kicked in by speculative cargo short wearing dipshits reeking of bay area entitlement. Capitola gets picked limb from limb like Storage Wars the second then even hint at doing a bottle release, but Alamanac, unlike SARA, will pop rounds from the weeds and silently get MVP in rounds, camping in safety.

So let’s review some of their recent shit, those baller ass Costco bottles that self-assured tickers forego for like, trading for Upland Lambics.

Almanac Dogpatch Grand Cru

If you recall, Regular Dogpatch was a cherry poppin daddy back in the day so this 10.5% beast should be a flawless ramped up version of that right? Well, kinda.  First and foremost, ramping up Flanders Reds sometimes leads to a quick trip to an acetic korean nail salon.  That isnt the case here, but it isn’t the super approachable juicy juice jammer that its baby sibling was either.  According to Jesse Friedman or whomever it is writing their copy that is not DDB:
“Dogpatch Grand Cru blends a Flanders red-style sour ale with red wine grapes to craft something truly unique. We layered California-grown Zinfandel, Syrah, Tannat, Petite Sirah, and Tempranillo grapes with a special imperial version of our Dogpatch Sour ale, combining the best characteristics of the beer and wine worlds.”

So here’s the good news: this doesn’t fall into an Oud Bruin tiger trap of cloying aquanet hairspray notes.  This retains a massive tannic presence with dry earthy malbec skins, almost like a more massive version of Rodenbach Vin Du Cereal. WHAT IS THAT? Dont worry, when Rodenbach re-releases Alexander next year plenty of 2014 dumbfucks will become Flanders Red experts overnight.  Vin Du Cereale is a ballsy massive red that does not fuck around, either does Dogpatch Grand Cru.  So does this justify the butthole puckering $27.99 price tag? I don’t know, I don’t buy my barrel aged sours with a fucking EBT card.  If you want to crush Duchess and discuss “Value” then maybe ticking beers isn’t your ideal hobby.

It is very tasty, a touch cloying and too acidic at 60+ temps, but well worth the cost of entry due to the magnificent fruit massaging alone.

ALMANAC FARMER’S RESERVE BLUEBERRY

Oh great, a fucking blueberry sour, here comes a truckload of myopic Blabaer comparisons.  This is wildly different from the typical tired entries in this realm where a brewer makes a sub 3.0ph beer and then tries to ratchet it back with tannic jammy berries (C:/Run_Cascade.exe.)  This is the opposite in fact and is all dry white wine and a riesling with almost brackish blueberry skins in the swallow that is long and fulfilling, like finishing Gravity’s Rainbow and telling no one about it. If you remember That 300 bottle Allagash release “LIL SAL” it is like that, subtle, highly drinkable, and this really needs to be in 750mls because you can roll through this on accident during a single episode of Rick and Morty.  Your gumline remains intact and the whole affair demonstrates restraint and poise.

FARMER’S RESERVE GRAND CRU

Naming anything after your most well-received beer of all time is always a dicey proposition. I loved FR3 and FR4 and when I saw this version pumped full of WAGH (wild ale growth hormone) I was skeptical.  This is my absolute favorite from all the Almanac offerings of recent memory, if the Dogpatch was a “should buy” this is a “MUST BUY.”  This is almost like the way that Bruery Borgonone Blanc was a white wineification, this executes that riesling meets lemon zest, ultra long dry chardonnay oak, touch of buttery creaminess in the grist like diacetyl with a shock collar,

The beer integrates this muscat profile without going to Moscato territory.  It has the produce, the aging, and the base beer that seamlessly integrates that hefty 10.2% abv amiably. This was slept on hard and I bet most people bought only the Dogpatch GC, but this shines in the way that Peche N Brett improves in a lumbering massive way over Seizoen Bretta.  Stop freebasing sub-500 count bottles for a moment and go buy this.  The act of sobriety might make you kick your teeth grinding Fedex addiction.

WAKATU SOUR

This shit however, was pretty disappointing. Not even the inimitable Hot Boys could pull this hopped diacetyl bomb back from the railing before it went tumbling ass over teakettle into the murky acidic depths below. If you went into this expecting some offbrand JUICY, then it was all a dream.  This fronts with an odd melon/cantaloupe/vinegar nose to it that isn’t a hop bomb or a refined wild ale either. The worst issue is at higher temps this thing is riddled with diacetyl wrestling with almost a butyric acid profile.  I would give this one a solid Jim Cramer DONT BUY.

“He upgraded Bluth stock from sell to “dont buy!”

So in sum, Almanac is silently releasing some awesome stuff.  Don’t fuck this up for us.  If I see a single ISO for Almanac, I swear to tits-

  
Seems legit.

  
Brooklyn Black ops shares a special place in the nascent beer trader realm. It isn’t a common tick in the grandest sense, but at a certain point every level 1 cicerone attempts to scoff at it like the way you shake your head at photos of your ex gf and still secretly toss a beat sesh to them.

The parabolic arc for trying black ops usually looks like this:

First trades for two hearted, “what’s black ops? Oh I like stouts”

Second tier trades for huna/dark lord “ah yes, I need to try that”

Third tier trades for HF and beyond “I just hope someone extras me one, I am not trading for that, I am a beer expert, my BJ is certified”

So that’s what happened to old DDB. Once I got my palate degree, I secretly just hoped someone would extra me this $30 bottle, and then Years passed. At a certain point I wasn’t going to actively TRADE for it, bc ciceronemaster tastes AMIRITE. So finally I landed one, and we can address this old chestnut from years past.

The pour is dialed in, highly attenuated, nice sandstone lacing with clean legs like when u taping up that ankle for Zumba. The body is jet black, I see no ops, pre or post. 

The nose is where the backend starts to slide out a little bit. If you were raised in the post Huna common era this would seem oddly not sweet enough. But understand Garrett Oliver is an author and businessman who doesn’t cast malt in the air to read the caprices of croc-wearing Untapprs. The nose has a sort of fudge and metallic aspect like if you pushed a batch of brownies through a coin star. There is a mineral and light roast to it that almost comes across as tobacco in the synergy. Most dipshits will allege that, as a result of merely using champagne yeast, they can actively smell sparkling white wine, because that makes sense right? Maybe they can, I get more of a Hershey’s meets morel earthiness that is weird but, someone had to make a massive oyster stout I guess.

  
In an age where everything is eerily similar, this at least tries to bend the mold, for better or worse. The whopping 4 months of bourbon aging really only underscores the dryness of this beer with the oak casting a spotlight on the brownie batter and alkaline profile. I will take a bone dry stout over some underattenuated DME mess nine times out of ten. In the realm of level one cicerones you can do a lot worse than this classic gem, ask anyone about losing their virginity to a Dark Lord and they will provide you with the same four tired adjectives.

So does this stand the test of time? Yes and no. It isn’t in that classic canon with the likes of Parabola and base Bourbon County, but it also isn’t some wacky aberrant beer where you wonder why they keep making it. The truth that most NY people know by now is that Brooklyn shines where they have always shone: in their solid year round lineup. Shit, even a bottle of Monster with a year on it is noting to sneeze at.

Like Darkness and Kate the Great and Sexual Chocolate: this is a beer you simply must try, if only for calibration sake and reflecting on the whimsy of days when beer traders would run through the heathers locked arm in arm.  

I served my nickel, you come take me.

I drank all six of the bourbon county offerings last night and shit got out of hand pretty quickly. Old DDB already gave you a PREVIEW REVIEW of the regular ass bcbs and dat bee bee dubya, but what about the other deviants? Let’s rank them from shittiest to ultra trill:

  Last place: propyshyturds

This beer was arguably the hardest to land of this entire lineup and since the stellar coconut glory days of 2013, it seems that Icarus has flown a bit too close to the sun. Let me clarify that this is by no means bad in a global sense, compared to most stouts it is actually very well done, but in the canon of world class bcbs deviants, this is like a family full of doctors with a kid who is the manager of a Sizzler. It’s respectable, but no one is swiping right and fucking this beer with the lights on.

The real issue here is not the chilis, which were tastefully understated like a high neckline. The problem was the cloyingly sweet maple which dominated any sense of fun or whimsy the base beer once had. It is sticky sweet ihop extravaganza, got the syrup but not the lean. Given what it takes to land this, I can’t in clear conscience recommend giving up a VR/Puga Royale/Black Tuesday Reserve or some shit to pull it.

Second most trifling: Roor

  In a way I feel bad for any beer that has to step forward with the “Rare” cognomen. Not only does it inherently get needled on the playground for asserting its inaccessibility in a gauche manner (I know it refers to the aging not the availability, calm your tits, entry level cicerone) But it also has to fill the shoes of arguably the best stout ever made. Couple that with a “$60” price tag, the hype that new dipshits covet, and a box that is the packaging equivalent of wearing a vest and bow tie to the club: there’s gonna be unrest.

This is a tasty stout, to be sure, but it falls below regular bcbs in my estimation. The whole touted TWO YEARS IN A THIRTY FIVE YEAR LLD BARREL THATS 70 BARREL UNITS actually gave it a lacquer and deep wood aspect that reminded me of the overOaked diageo releases like Old Blowhard. Some people claim to love that, and those are the same master palates who will tell you pappy van winkle 23 is the best bc most agings. Don’t trust an Esquire magazine palate. You can land the far better Puga25 for much less and get back to your model train collection. The water tower looks nice.

Almost the best: raygel 

I winced at the description of this and ptsd from backyard and brambles past had me jaded from the outset. Thankfully the cherry and sea salt was subtle and never turned into a robitussin lutjens sucrets nightmare. The jamminess worked beautifully with the brownie batter and toll house cookie underpinnings of the base beer and barrel treatment. Absolutely seek this out even if fruited stouts are not your thing, this is arguably the best berry/chocolate execution I have ever encountered and pulls rank on the likes of Cigar City’s Life is Like. Wayne Wambles all up in the brambles.

This seems to be commanding less than its pay grade at this point and you would be remiss to skip this excellent beer.

THE BEST DOE:  

 God damn, the coffee this year is offering very little in terms of around-fucking. The index could be defined at zero. Not since the 2012 Tortuga masterpiece has bcbcs been this good. The roast and silky acidity works flawlessly with the Skor bar and whoppers in the base beer. [note for Sts fans, this beer actually contains coffee, it does not contain whoppers or Skor bar.]

This is third to only 2010 Rare and the inimitable vanilla rye as the best bourbon county ever made. IMMA LET U FINISH BUT THIS IS THE BEST EVER. If you have had a maleticulously crafted single origin v60/chemex pour over then you know that delicate balance that never overpowers or becomes one dimensional but underscores the roasted malt. 
Drink this now, or wait three years and get one from a dude in Indiana who will assure that the bell pepper notes are how it always tasted and the coffee never fades. Your choice.

So in summary: nice things aren’t worth it, accessible things are pretty much just as good except not all the time and the kinda premium things can sometimes be the nicest things.

  
Psyche. It’s actually shittier than regular world class parabola, that is to say it’s low tier of the world class stouts.

Get your shit together Firestone barely making the best stouts in the entire world, I feel bad for your hinge account.

  
But knob creek neat is one of those timeless grocery store deals that always delivers. The single barrel version is also a criminally overlooked, ultra accessible heater in the two seater.

  
An unfortunate holdover from the dark phenolic days of 2012. Tire fire and dentist glove, smashed sharpies and melted rubber.

All in the tome game. Merry xmas.

  
Ah the holidays, when your shaky teeth grinding step dad escapes to take silent pulls of mouthwash while concurrently examining your choice of obtaining an Art School degree. It is a magical time.

Luckily there’s wholly inaccessible bourbons to help pass the time, which between knife hits and oily dabs, the Christmas responsibilities pile up quickly. This is the 2014 four roses small batch limited edition offering from last year, a melange of choice casks from Jim Rutledge in his quest to give you that RutGut.

While your aunt drones on about the rising cost of cobra payments and your cousin with three kids opines that Obama is to blame for his inability to find decent work, you can take a deep pull from the cinnamon, red hots, toasted marshmallow and lathed wood in the nose. The experience is not unlike the oesk 2012 single barrel LE offering that was stellar. At some point, a distant relative will place his hand on your shoulder and in the pools of tepid Cooks champagne in his eyes will reveal that you look exactly like his deceased wife. That’s when you take a sip.

The taste has an awesome tempered 110pf profile that hits a perfect integration of substantial heat without feeling watery. A friend of a friend is explaining that she only has a single nipple pierced in case she wants to breastfeed with her children. In between the flora expanse of the mouthfeel you wonder what a suicide girl looks like with that epidermal ravaging of maternities past. The waves of leather and nutmeg rush along your bicuspids and the drag is like the allspice lacquer of crushed Xanax, medicinal and soothing.

No one told you what it would like to have a new step grandma and yet, there she is. You patiently allow the heat from big red gum subside as you savor the oak profile and rye content. Perhaps predicating your self esteem on allegedly valued libations is your own bulwark against that inevitable truth that you are derived from the same sour mash bill as these rickhouse anomalies. That power and position and packaging may be the only circumstantial devices separating you from the latent condescension of the yellow label counterparts. Maybe your blend isn’t worthy of attention, either.

Four roses presents the ultimate drink for solemn contemplation of your own shortcomings in the past year, and the ever receding horizon of emptied barrels floating you into the future. On a long enough timeline, everything becomes limited edition. Perhaps the falsely buttressed succor of a highly sought after whiskey can stave off the images of those Rick houses reduced to dust and your own crooked staves shattered by time, without content or meaning.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM DDB!

So I was trying to not drink like 7 drinks every day, and the second old subbydoo tries to give the liver some shut eye, all these donation boxes show up:

  
Thanks to the magnanimous fellas at Good Beer Hunting for this rad package, gonna be cranked out and double filter this Shit through an aero press.

  
Thanks Maldonado for more Hoofjuice to round out the upcoming review and dank Ohio Drew Caret certified club jams.

  
Thanks to [anonymous party redacted] for the wutang aged fap residue, and I thought he was joking about a blueberry coffee our bruin. I WROTE IT DOWN IN MY JOURNAL.

  
Thanks to my own cellar for providing me with this shit, Arthur about to bust a mag off in that NoeNoe.

There’s really no substance to this post, just a few photos and braggadocio bullshit, whipping up site traffic, other beer blogs pass this off as original content so what the fuck, right?

Be on the lookout for DDB’s holiday pairing guide, with the same predictable shit arranged on a piece of wood with DSLR photos of arbitrary foods coupled with widely accessible beers. 

Peppermint bark and Black Ops, who gives a shit.
  

  
I feel like Cured Oak was some wonky BTEC that they decided to relabel for phat lootz. It’s got the same character of regular affordable ass EHT small batch, with a cloyingly odd sherry/port/prune type of finish akin to Angels Envy cask, Corti Bros, or any other nonstandard secondary casking. Interesting to try but holy fuck I feel bad for people who went in hard on these expecting it to be the next Tornado.

If you paid $375 for this secondary, you need to push a soldering iron in ur pisshole. For the cost of this pour I coulda got an entire bottle of this: 

 WHO THE FUCK EVEN DRINKS JOHNNY DRUM AMIRITE