[update: after a huge mix up, this beer was NOT brewed by Oddside] this beer has some insane story behind it, and the beer itself is just as incredible. So [redacted] made this 5 gallon batch of barrel aged (? Wtf 5g barrel? Chris Klein?) black currants black raspberries and blackberries. On paper it was like some degenerate VSB second cousin.

It was only given to employees but photos surfaced and people started calling Grimm asking about this awesome new Grimace beer with Run the Jewels on the label and Grimm was like what the shit are you guise talking about. Everyone had a good laugh except grimace whose image was appropriated and TTB gives zero fucks about him so all was well. 

The beer itself is god damn delicious and exhibits waves of grape fruit leather, Malbec dryness, a sort of Syrah tannic presence that commutes more acidity than berry but a lip smacking tartness to the finish evokes childhood cankersores resultant from sour ropes. No gurgle guts tho, and the Smuckers profile has been PRESERVED. Because, ah fuck it. 

The affair is complex and layered and I don’t even think this shit went into a barrel. Its like if you added citric acid to a delicate bottle of Rhone juice. You know on Sunny D commercials when the kids eschew the purple drink for the hazy orange juice Neipa, this is what those assholes passed over. I just hope ddb doesn’t get called in to work a shift at [redacted] since I got this employee bottle. Michigan is far AF and that’s where the filmed catfish, half the state is basically a Meadery and the top part is Canada’s Kentucky from what I understand. Notwithstanding, I would suck on Grimace’s swollen violet teets any day tho.

Sunsplit IPA is the Mountie rejoinder to the chowdery hoppy revelry taking place south of the 49th parallel. As you would expect from our brethren north of the wall this beer is gentle, amiable and less offensive than the American iterations: true to form. This drinks closer to American NE Pale Ale, if we are splitting hairs, and the likes of Edward and creaturecomfortsbeer Automatic jump to mind. That is an excellent electron energy level in which to orbit. The nose is greyhound zest, blood orange, conifer and split kindling. Carb is pillowy and bordering on excessive but butresses the cumulus structure that leaves magnificent sheeting in cirrus citrus coils.

Taste is a touch thin with more of a lemony spritzer emphasis that drives up drinkability at the expense of depth. The polar opposite of the likes of “pale ales” like Zombie Dust steeped in alpha acids and crystal malts. If Live Oak hef scissored with Monkish, this would be the lemony smegma on the Radisson sheets. Very tasty stuff.

Given my Doge I had an immediate affinity for the Dustin Hoffman pupabank. As much fun as I have with the 312 beer scene, this brewery and in particular this beer is operating in a weird counter orbit. In a realm steeped in sticky sugars and sigh-laden releases dripping with hype churning, off color stay legit. I already addressed this at length with Eeek! But this further codifies that idea. No promotion, all traction. 

Papillon so hard.

The acidity is masterfully poolchem sauv blanc, a minerality like chalky lime and zested kumquat. I love the hilarious divide between world class and basically the entire world class. A touch dry but oddly white grape skin and baller ass Sierra Mist. If you have had a bottle of Fantome Printemps or a masterful work of Moteuka, you will be ovulating over this gem. 

That butterfly pops harder than a barrel aged p90.

Back when Modern Times dropped Fortunate Island, in the pre-hazeolithic era, cicerones were cleaning the wheaty cream out of their jeans at the prospect of an intensely aromatic grist bomb. Fast forward to the current Oat Age and this gem reinvents the casual IBU cream of wheat paradigm amiably. Mouthfeel is dialed in with residual slickness to the tortillas added to the mash, tons of clementine and guava, swallow is yard trimmings and that cum colored gummi bear. Absurdly drinkable and gone far too soon.

Before someone from Atl Inevitably chimes in, no they do no actually add tortillas to the boil, at least I don’t think they do

Karl Strauss 28th anniversary, quad aged in four roses barrels. I love the way that lacquer and carmelized sugar from BALs can dance and denature the clovey underpinning from that Belgian strain and push it decidedly into the deviant realm of BBBws. Four roses is known for their high eye content mash bills and oddly the translation with a quad decadence comes across more akin to brown sugar wheater as a composite. Less spice, more plum and craisins. Creme brûlée shell meets a marzipan sweetness tempered with medium toast American oak profile. For a brewery you may not give a shit about, this was a decadent foray into Adam from the Wood territory, albeit store brand.

I have no idea why this was on the menu but it’s probably so dumb fucks like me will waste $56 on vintage PERPPY TEN when there is perfectly solid juice that costs exponentially less. 

Don’t get me wrong, it was very tasty and the difference in viscosity and sweet sugar baby drag was there, but like the hype behind shit like these and all the dusty ND and old OGD bottles at present, I simply can’t justify the costs. The extra money spent is essentially a self esteem subsidy, and I suppose at that level in the bourbon game anything to make you feel special and alive is a solid ROI.

Some hoppy treats from north of the wall. These guys overnighted growlers Via UPS from Ottawa. I don’t even want to think how many maplebuxx that cost 🍁 🇨🇦 

Most of these modern day certified beer servers will be too obsessed with JUICY HAZE and vernerler bean underattenuation to care about this old money aviary.

Today is Birdman’s birthday, appropriately enough, put RESPEK on East End’s name

2010 Grat is not only my favorite vintage, but it also happens to be the best non-ba barleywine ever made. Stoked to revisit that.

Put a bird on it.

Ready for your night to end in some Donald Duck orange juice misfortune? We’ll have I got a TIPA for you. In the realm of Biggiex3 and hulking citrus giants comes this svelte imbalanced alpha acid giant striking with one massive whirl pool hop arm like the Tyrant from Umbrella Corp. it is never sticky and feels like it has no bitter hops and I had no idea London ale III would drop this efficient.

 It is dangerous and borderline negligent to release a beer with this crush ability index and citrus profile. It’s like when Sparks came out and Filipino foam parties got way out of hand. this is the logical extension of the sherbert bombs we have been subject to in the year of Oat Domini. 

The mouthfeel has a touch of Fusel that dries counterproductively against the usual creamy grist, like when PtY hits and everyone compliments the balance of this malty Catobelpas. I would ruin my life with these present progressively. Every beer is a gerund phrase of perpetual citrus losses.