Such hops, mmm two row, oh shit is that magnum, crystal, honey in the secondary, IBUs off the charts

I hate porch destruction stories but. This is ridiculous. Darren Nanni lit me the fuck up, making me feel like some Hefeweizen charity case.

The trade was literally for that 11oz sherry chode and then all this shit drops from the sky like lone star Lakitu destruction. Six growlers, I am gonna go take a bath in Live Oak hef brb.

No one can smoke my car

No one can beat my ass

No me tells me what to drink on what days

To drive down intentional clickbuxxx tactics, I try to wrangle posts into some sort of thematic order so that people aren’t constantly dealing with an IV trickle of annoying 300 word write ups.  People don’t want to come to DDB any more than I like writing it, so let’s get some of these recent ticks out of the way in a completely shotgun fashion, buckshot in the side of that Honda Prelude.

Burnt Hickory Brewing, Killboy Powerhead.  I hope so badly that this is an Offspring reference, but it prolly isn’t.  Alright so this is one of those “Food transmuted into beer” offerings that the South is so enamoured with.  It is an IPA base, specifically the Didjits which I wasn’t a huge fan of, but get this: this beer is much better than the constitution of its base.  The orange and vanilla hit the marks exactly as advertised and it tastes dead on like a 50/50 Dreamsicle with a creamy lipid oiliness to the watery swallow.  The worst part of this beer is the hoppy underpinning from the Didjits, contributing some needless french pressed Christmas wreath and chard sort of tones.  It’s like taking grand marnier and dumping a shot of Fernet Branca into it.  If this were a tripel base or a belgian golden, shit would be creamy dreams, not Wes Craven alpha acid nightmare on Hop Street.  In sum, a pretty legit beer that is tasty albeit flawed.

WOOD YA HONEY. At the perfect nexus of “taste” and “should I open a Fedex account” lies this economical masterpiece.  Not unlike the other silently amazing Jackie O’s offerings, this winsome wheat wine has a deep barleywine meets old ale pump with a sticky sweet agave/honeycomb profile that makes it absolutely remarkable.  The likes of Surly SYXXX, Bruery manifestations and Helldorado have subverted the expectations from this style and god damn if this isn’t a honey redeemer with a flaming Azrael sword.

You get the sweetness you’d anticipate, buttery biscuit and brown sugar, but the barrel profile and relatively thin body make this a swift and nimble experience without letting fusel notes grab the reins.  This might be just the thing to suggest to your baby palate friends who only drink stouts and eschew the majesty of the barleywine master race.  It is redoubling that this beer is usually in a trade list of “PICK THREE OR FOUR JO OFFERINGS” and I am content with people overlooking these, all day long.

I don’t know who to give “credit” for this one, Other Half? It certainly is their frothy body and massive carb that is present and accounted for.  Tired Hands? the apeshit white chocolate surely wasn’t an NYC invention, that greasy PA nibs profile pangs of Ardmore. Omnipollo? This odd palate mash up sure seems European, adding mango to his mishmosh, human centipeding flavor profiles together in a clunky, first tinder date sort of way.  At the bottom of this madness is a solid IPA, you can reach through the pile of used syringes and find the antidote.  However after suffering so many pricks from sickly sweet white chocolate and mango, you leave far more infected than you began. Both mango and chocolate vie for stage time and upstage the mosaic/pineapple/natural bounty of the tangerine underneath.  It feels like a less exact version of what Killboy Powerhead did better, supra. All of these brewers individually make great things, but uniting great minds can result in things like Howard the Duck.

If you follow DDB, you know that I have a serious soft spot for this Louisiana brewery that is criminally overlooked: Great Raft.  The label to this beer confused the shit out of me and I didn’t know how to take it, is this a wild ale? A saison racked to chardonnay, but then brett is added but then Mayhaws are added but then citra is added.  What in the actual shit. The takeaway is surprisingly simple: this is off-label Cable Car in many ways.  I know, many people have an axe to grind with the retail/secondary cost of CC, I get it.  But this tastes so goddam similar to CC10/12 that it is hard not to draw a Shasta/RC Cola parallel.  This has the grist and light sweetness attendant to some of the other Cable Cars, it has a faint acidity as though there was a bit of Flanders Red componently blended, presumably from those Mayhaws. There is an awesome Brett C unpinning this like brie rind with old newspaper. The swallow is like POG juice, never hitting the gumline and remaining restrained and crushable with the foregoing depth and nuance.  No one will care about this beer, but Pepperidge Farm remembers.

Fear not: Other Half is still turning out world-fucking-class DIPAs when you strip them down to the NYC Emperor’s new clothes.  The carb is their signature silky egg whip froth, there’s blasts of mango dipped in vape oil, shallot and clementines, and this weird upfront carb that immediately pays deference and lays down for max crushability.

JUST LOOK AT THAT COME ON.

You remember how inspector gadget had that minivan that would turn into a Countache? that is how this rolls, intense fruit that converts into drippy cones and crystals without being cloying at any point.  Brooklyn hipsters already are bridge and tunneling the fuck out of this beer, so the less I say the better.  Suffice it to say, there has been no dip in quality in the core offerings from Other Half, just avoid the OTHER other half nomsayin.

Trillum/Omnipollo Outside the lines.

On paper this looks urethral shattering: Trillium, Omnipollo, coffee, vanilla, OHLAWD. The fine print needs to read: also v. imp. Cardamom.  A dash of Downey dryer sheets go a long way and this beer would absolutely benefit from barrel aging to temper some of the absurd spice notes.  The base beer is also novel in a continental European sort of way because it embraces that black patent malt with the deeeep roast that may be offensive to the American brownie-mouthed sensibilities.  As a result you get tobacco, and blackstrap molasses akin to Abyss, with coffee and vanilla being narrowed out of the iris.  This is by no means a bad beer, but it is an unfocused ensemble cast that fails to wow.  Patiently awaiting a BA version, like so many people tapping their foot for Halflife 3.

Abnormal Brewing, Quinquenio, Imperial Stout w/ Ethiopian Cacao Nibs, Vanilla, Cinnamon, Ancho Chilies, and Piloncillo.

I had to look up wtf piloncillo is, and I am pretty sure it is just cooking sugar like Panela. Thankfully, sugar is not something this beer exhibits in any meaningful way.  With the frothy elegant panache that Mexican Cake’s body exhibits, with a chili ooompf akin to Grande Negro Voodoo Papi lies this huna-stomper. It has a decadent mole approach that follows with a bakers chocolate finish that never hits a syrupy realm or Cinnamon Toastfucks your mouth with spice.  If anything the chilis could use some slight ratcheting in, but I know there are some deviant sting-ring lovers who will embrace with will full O-ring. These guys have been doing magnificent adjunct forward creations so it follows that this would be a most restrained and dialed in version of the Floridian oeuvre.  I love that hot on the heels of Mexican Speedway, their SD neighbors stomp that beer without any barrels.  Great things coming down the pipeline from these guys, although I would like to see some more straightforward offerings before I give full papal-DDB clemency to the Abnormal crew.  We shall see.

Wicked Weed Cerise Morte

Wicked Weed is a one trick pony of sorts, but holy shit is that AWA trick an impressive dressage.  I have this next to CFP Cherry and, while it wasn’t quite as refined as the Casey offering, it blew me away how much this brewery has developed since I checked in with them a year ago.  The cherry is radiant and hits like fruit leather and home run pies, dried out in the sun with this awesome gristy underpinning that never became too acidic and straddled a fruited wild masterfully.  In the way that New Glarus is a fruit profile master, this beer does a great job with it without pushing for the depth of some of the absolute greats.  Is this as good as Balaton? Absolutely.  Is this as good as Montmorency vs. Balaton? Hold your horses. Complain about their price points all you want, this is worth the cost of entry all day long.

Highland Park Barrel Aged Griffith J. Griffith, batch 2

Speaking of slept on, world class gems: holy fuck this beer.  Let’s be honest and admit that batch one of this beer was tepid, low carb, low body, coffee bomb with no real barrel interplay.  I will concede that all day long and my expectations for the HPB “big beer” segment were tapered.  Then this, entirely different, butthole shattering beer comes out.  It literally has nothing in common with batch 1: it has a massive heft to it akin to something in the Side Project lineup, the coffee is intense but allows the mallow and vanilla from the barrel to shine, it coats and has this lingering delicious marshmallow dipped in espresso swallow to it that is on par with Rum BA Caffe Americano.  I wanted this beer to suck, but, holy shit this review became a lot more complicated to write once I opened this defiant, petulant reiteration.  In cinema parlance I don’t know if this is a spiritual successor or a reboot of the franchise, but Chris Paul, this is a franchise nonetheless.  Absolutely seek this out, seriously, I would be shocked if you found this disappointing.  At 2pp, 800 bottles you can probably land one for like half a can of Treehouse.  CA traders, the Red Cross of the beer trading world.  Where will they send a thankless proxy aid box to next?

Alright this post is long enough. Most people just come here for the pics and stay for the tittyfucking jokes anyway.  At 1600 words my Goosebump-tier readerbase needs a chapter break, or at least put the font in Arial for them.

EDIT: I will do the PNW beers together, I have too much to say about Fremont and Holy Mountain’s new stuff in this meager post.

I try to keep myself abreast with what’s going on in the saison game, ubiquitously.  That means perpetually white washing a shit stained fence with neighborhood traders who are always tryna destroy DDB’s curb appeal with mudslinging and endlessly hunting down bottles that cost hundreds of dollars.  Perpetual tantalus, thirst ever unsated. Let’s look at four beers today while I try my fucking best to lock down a Maman or a Tete sometime before they are vials of Honduran breakdancer cardboard.  A man can dream.

Balaton

I love getting the talking points with the press sheets, compete with pronunciations. Some beer reps def need 2 brush up on thems.

It’s basically all of Texas right. Sans some Live Oak or some Hops and Grain, like, look at all this shit.

At the outset let’s just acknowledge that these “reviews” are limited impressions predicated upon 5oz pours.  The very model upon which I heave derision is now being leveraged for content, I get it.  Let’s just grit our teeth and suffer through these quotidian appraisals. The pics are out of focus and the reviews, more so. I get it.  I don’t like what DDB is doing either. Let’s get today’s review over with, you get what you pay for on this tirefire of a wordpress site.

Let’s start with this bluebell and jasmine fastball served right over the plate.  Juice and produce crushed into left field. Holy fuck this is good, and I daresay that I prefer this to the stonefruit iterations.  That is wildly contradictory to all prevailing impressions, and blueberries can be divisive, but this is unquestionably tasty.  The best part of this is the yogurty Naked juice type of execution that, while acidic, never goes overboard and maintains both the juice and tannins of the blueberry which can be recalcitrant in almost every iteration this side of Lil Sal. The real star here is that whipped creamy mouthfeel, just look at it, it’s a god damn produce aisle parfait of Yoplait goodness. Get ur Chobani on, dont be a bitch about the synonyms.

Goose Island BA Dark Crusader.  If Cthulu was a parabola analogue that cost way way more to acquire, then this is a shittier riff on that model.  The body of this feels less substantial than the other Clybourn bottles, and the biggest issue is the crackle of pure fusel heat that needs leathering and a rubber band to form your palate.  It is a bucking bronco of oak and rye type of spice like pumpernickle bread and watery brownie batter. It’s hard to give this a pass when regular ass/non-infected BCBS is far superior. Bash Goose Island for having a canon stocked with OTHER world class stouts. That’s life.

I wish I had more to say about these adjunct fests from Side Note.  Read the label, then imagine that it is dialed in beyond your comfort zone and try to embrace that riparian character of rivulets that feels like a Sparkletts boosted porter in lieu of a stout.  If you want to go 3+ adjuncts, you need a platform for execution other wise you will rack your nutsack trying to grind that rail on your soaps. This is by no means bad, but the likes of Funky Buddha and Abnormal are doing non-ba stuff like this so much better that it is tough to really give it a gold star. You get the cinnamon, there’s a TCHO chocolate execution that is easy to drink and never feels flabby, but the lack of criticism doesnt amount to praise, it is by definition, unremarkable.

Holy shit dat photo quality.  You already know that I love Clara, and I get nocturnal emissions over the PnW Gin barrel mastery from Upright and De Garde, but can HF replicate that Oregonian swagger? This is unquestionably an awesome beer and an improvement upon the already awesome Clara, but it feels “safe.” I use that as a pejorative in the context that Casey beers are “safe” and present control and balance, hitting that Aristotelian mean of spice, barrel, mouthfeel, acidity, and herbaceousness. Why is this a bad thing? Well to most gin averse dipshits who were already crying over the recent Gin Nocturn, they will love it because it understates the purpose of the endeavor.  In an odd and unconsistent position, I want almost MORE juniper and menthol from this.  I am not saying give me a pack of KOOLs and some street dice, this is still an awesome beer, but the frothy and body with the medicinal aspects of say Upright Special Herbs, in this instance hit the bullseye more completely. Tl;dr everyone will love this beer, I have picayune nipple chafing complaints.

This beer is still untitled so I guess I will give it a disrespectful nominalization like BLUMMATION after the illustrious Josh Blum who opened it.  This has coffee and vanilla in it, holy shit stop the presses, innovative bean flicking alert. It is basically summation with a different base that is heftier and more dessertier.  Calm your taint, it doesn’t wander into the Souther Tier realm, let’s be realistic here.  I don’t know how much I am at liberty to say about this “unreleased” (insert homebrew jokes/every beer is unreleased etc.) beer, but suffice it to say, their ability to massage that flawless Cycle body with additives that never feel belabored or ham fisted.  This beer tasted like a Punnett square of dominant genes from Kit Kats and Whoppers. 5oz was perfect, but how credible is a note that “THIS DESSERT BEER WAS NOT SESSIONABLE” what kind of fucking Wonkaland would you inhabit that this is a legitimate insulin defying gripe?

Speaking of which, Rare Scooop, holy fuck.  This is Wonkaland cunnilingus sponsored by Baskin Robbins, 31derful stouty flavors.  I wanted so badly to pull the reigns on this sticky steed and drive the carriage off of a hype cliff but I cannot.  This cannot be tamed, it is too good.  For something that seems unfocused as shit, it shines amazingly and delivers on every promise, particularly the magnificent strawberry profile. It would be easy to dismiss the decadence of a beer that tastes like neopolitan ice cream, but I legitimately could smoke an entire bomber of this, I don’t know how they did it.  On paper this seems without grace, a Red Bull BMX backflip you pull out just because you can.  Oddly, the majesty of the pistachio and chocolate waft comes across like a dollop of spumoni ice cream.  I can’t reconcile the ideation of this beer with how good it is, and that Kierkegaardian conflict leaves me only to rely upon faith.  As much as I jab at Florida and their additive stout game, who can honestly in clear conscience pull down this Ben and Jerry’s statute from the central plaza?

Oh would you look at that, 1000 words, I can clock out.  Go suck your own tits.

First and foremost, thank you for being a friend. Today we have a wine barrel aged treat from those Verde Mont ballers, ostensibly it is a pale ale of sorts, but on the low, the base beer is basically an aggro-hopped saison.  Lesbihonest.

The first couple batches of Dorothy weren’t my absolute favorite in the Hillsboro lineup.  There was a sinister pine and weed resin to them that was a touch too sappy in execution when placed against the innumerable other phenomenal offerings.  Different strokes, palates gonna palate.  However, Hill Farmstead’s barrel program is basically that machine that transmutes Urkel into Stefan. So what happens when you give the appellation shortening treatment to Dorothy’s sticky oily bones? Let’s find out:

At the outset, you will have to field quips from some dumb fuck who notes with NASA precision that LOL THE HOPS IS FAED IN THE BARREL. Yes, thanks for pointing out that blunt, completely fucking obvious epigram. However, the tradeoff is well worth it in this endeavor as I will swap the composted leaves of hops for an elegant wine barrel complexity every day of the week.  The look of this beer is exactly what you would expect, that radiant rubbed brass infused with milky microcarb that clings in rings like your rectum on exiting anal beads. The rusticity units are off the scale with that frothy microcosm of beautiful particulate suspended in the substrate like an entire economy of agrarian sea monkeys toiling under the barrel aged sun.

The nose has tempered the hoppy profile of the base beer in a fantastic way.  It ratchets back all of the pencil shavings and raked pine needles in lieu of this ebullient sun-soaked linen, white grape, tangerine zest, and grand marnier waft.  I wasn’t expecting this oddball to enter the realm of Floras and Arts, but it is unquestionably throwing hoppy grapples in the same weight class.

The taste is exceptional and the foundation is nuance and balance with every slab of oaky concrete laid. There is this refreshing dryness like pear skin, but with a sidecar containing a christmas magic, fir and spruce scissoring lovingly with the oak profile.  It is bitter but has an faintly acidic hype man laying down a sick back beat for these creamy 16s. It exceeds and accomplishes what Sue sought to do, integrate the depth of that hoppy dab but loaded into a classy bedazzled oak rig.  Fatty clouds of wine tannins fill the cafe, all the sommeliers are lit AF, dunking macaroons in Chablis.

It fails to reach the post-storyline epic loot akin to Art, Ann, or Peconic, but it stands out.  It’s like picking Dazzler in the 6 person X-men arcade.  People might talk shit, but it lays down a different kind of palate beating that is elegant and sexy.  The result is a product that surpasses the base beer so completely that it makes you question the need for the existence of the base beer at all, that Dark Lord syndrome.  That is a good problem to have, when your own products define the parabolic arc of your ballistic farmhouse aims. We all thought Gratitude was better than hard boiled quail eggs, that is until BA Grat came out and made our hoppy conditioned boners so hard that a kitten’s claws couldnt scratch them.  The barrel aging makes a massive difference and I can’t return to the likes of Noble King or the Holy Mountain riffs on hoppy saisons without this in my periphery.

Since you can pick this up for half the cost of entry as Art, it is a no brainer that you absolutely should seek this out.  I can’t think of a comparable American offering that fills the interstitial gap that BA Dorothy does.  Maybe if you french pressed BFM x225 with some montueka? However, minus points for not calling this beer
“DRO” it practically writes itself. COME ON.

Take that take that