Such a vast improvement over his already solid other babw. Waves of caramel and butterscotch, sugar daddies and peanut brittle with a light malty pumpernickel: an unbelievable homebrew.
There’s no point in me hyping these, but credit where it is due. Holy hell.
Took a shot of nilla I been goin brazy brazy
They say they got my whole tasting crew under investigation
Talk that tick talk
They know we talk that tick talk
Started sippin syrupy stouts I been geeked ever since
Ah good old David Sakolsky, from his salad days at Hill Farmstead to his unceremonious ejection from the sinking garbage barge that was Blue Lobster brewing, I have enjoyed following his trials and tribulations. Now, partnered with two far more caring/rational people, he has opened the doors of Deciduous Brewing. Let’s see if this has those leafy greens your body craves, or if it is just a mammal shedding its teeth.
Stating in front of God and everyone that you are brewing a lambic outside of the Pajotenland is sure to get the manchild breasts lactating in anger. Even the prefix might not be enough to temper their ire, this is a sect of Magic the Gathering meets Yu Gi Oh type of obsessors and even the most staunch bando would call lambicphiles “maladjusted.” But can they get away with it like Allagash does? The carb is ample and doesn’t give the Degardian sucrose crackle and then peaceout. It is frothy and maintains a lovely cap of coin op laundry foam. The nose is hilariously citrus to the point of being almost too much. There is grapefruit pith, tangelo, jamba juice interior, smashed clementines and a sort of chalkiness/minerality that makes one think of Le Croix sparkling water.
The taste is sharp and acidic but has the poise to cut it with a lightly yogurty body so it never is too infringing. It follows the orange tones with a Donald Duck OJ feel and a mimosaesque closer, crackly white grape in the bubbles. Entirely crushable, so pleasant, your brunches are remiss without this gem.
Cumulation is a gose that is aptly named because it toes the line of innumerable hamfisted goses with accompanying punny names, but refused to join the flock. This is demonstration of that patient balance that is so critical in a relatively stripped down beer. The likes of Troy Casey know how beers with a small ABV stage and malt profile need top tier execution to resonate in a meaningful way. As such, this never goes hard on the salt or coriander, there’s no wheelies like jasmine or spruce tips, this beer sets itself apart with a lightly tart but also faintly alkaline foot rubbing the inside of your calf.
The beer is endlessly drinkable and represents that segment where Michelob Ultra wishes it would legitimately occupy: the old post cycling, post-zumba, post-partum accessibility that feels refreshing regardless of the context. Pop one of these at your next conjugal visit and listen to those tales about how the COs just aint right. It is NaCL Gatoraide with a frothy lemon meringue panache. If you can handle that, then pull out your diva cup and let it flow.
Every leaf bush contains its thorn though, and Dimorphic is the crystal malt black eye in the brewery’s lineup. This is such an anomalous entry that is totally divergent to the rest of what Deciduous is about: clean, dialed in, ultra efficient, low plato beat drops. This is more akin to something Founder’s would roll out in the late 2000’s. There’s a sticky sweet malty body that feels like zero calorie American Barleywine. With the other offerings so rooted in tropical drinkability, this feels more like a Warrior/Nugget/Tomahawk trudge through the most coniferous of tundra. It masked any abv and did not have a lingering honey type of drag that is endemic to the hopslams/knuckle sandwiches of the world, but it felt far heftier than its 8% abv would let on. Based on the rest of the offerings, this was a let down.
It’s hard to clack their testicles too resoundingly since this was probably one of the very first batches of DIPA that they ever made, so for now I will give this a “Revisit in 6 months” in my Outlook calendar and return to complain at a later date.
Let’s close with what I consider to be their best beer and a clear flagship entry that needs to be on deck perpetually: Auroral. This would be a “no shit” appraisal, but Deciduous has Berliners locked down. This is Alkaseltzer’s lemon water that fizzes with delight, a radiant citrus nose that feels welcoming without the lamentable albatrosses of kettle sours: eggy, sulphuric, ridiculous lactic profiles. This beer feels very similar to cumulous but ultimately reminds me of those ultra watery and refreshing plays from the old Southampton playbook. I don’t expect anyone else to remember Uberliner or that stupid 200 bottle OG whale, Berliner, but this is very close to that. Usually a show stopper from a brewery is something that pushes the limits of what is known or acceptable, but this excels in how flawlessly accessible it is. This beer represents the Squire Stratocaster of the sour beer world and it should play a critical role in drawing people in to the nuances and potential of seemingly “simple” styles.
I could drink a gallon of this and still drive an Eliminator jetboat straight into the lake dock without any concerns. That Pellegrino fizz with the lemon wedge swallow is a one two punch that anyone can appreciate, and so few brewers do this well. If you want some well executed, highly enjoyable berliners/goses/wilds/etc. then peep these guys, before they get a canning line and there are 3 hours lines for fucking Dortmunders, or whatever the NE is up to these days.
Apologies in advance that this entire site isn’t dedicated to RareScoop vs. Existence battles like the rest of the internet.
Alright so the chronology of this review is going to be a bit confusing. Some of you at home might be wondering why DDB is reviewing a DIPA that came out three months ago, and just now giving impressions about a BA stout that had oxidation issues: FEAR NOT MY NEGLIGENCE HAS CLARIFICATION IN TOW.
I originally drank Lambo Doors and Spruce Gose before they were released and was ALL SET to do this triple review, but then I upgraded the DDB manor due to an influx of clickbuxx so the BA Maple Double Negative was in wine storage cryostasis like Han Solo.
In the interim, a bunch of rumors of pedios and lactos and oxos surfaced, but notwithstanding, let’s grip both these syrupy balls and drain them without fear.
If I have to hear another comment about the return of the toaster, FFS. Alright so despite the rumors of this bottle’s impending demise, mine was not only fine, but it was really tasty. It has that intense roast that I loved in the base beer, but it doesnt rely so heavily on the barrel character that it overshadows what the base does so well. You get the toasted pumpernickel, with a healthy dose of Denny’s fornication, tobacco and syrup. The body is thin and almost feels like a cousin to Darkness in many ways. The thin body and bitter char to the taste keeps it from ever being too sticky sweet or cloying.
In fact, the biggest complaint lies in how drinkable and NOT commanding it is with regards to your contemplation. It is all seamlessly integrated for a beer that feels like an imperial porter with the adjuncts turned down in the background. Sure this isn’t trying to swing a residual sugar cock and leave ropey Vermont loads like KBBS, CBS, Puga Maple, or See the Stars: but it doesn’t need to. While buying one might be gamble, it is well worth spinning that chamber and pressing this sticky dripper to your temple.
A spruce gose, oh boy here we go. Sometimes I wonder if this was some kinda Ale Apothecary riff, or merely a desire to make the punniest beer ever, alas here we are. So you have the lightly tart base beer, fine. Then you have this fine salinity, alright so we are at basically Gatorade, go ahead. Now it is time to go full on King Fir Christmas Tree fingerblasting. This has this weird vick’s vapor rub menthol thing like your stepdad has been chain smoking a pack of cools, but then you see him kissing Mr. Jacobs in the parking lot and you are all kinds of confused.
It has the eucalyptus, but also a foresty woodruff, and then the swallow is energy drink and Powerade. It isn’t hard to drink but it sure is confusing. It’s like when you are on suspension at work for looking at Reddit Gone Wild at a public terminal, it’s like, just let me know what I can and can’t do ok jeez.
This shit is some secret secret, Other Halfy, Tired Handsy, sniper creaminess straight from the Treehouse teat. This isn’t too silky and mushy like that cream of wheat that these guys are pushing these days, but it isn’t clean and crisp like the recent Monkish stuff either. The answer is that fantastic medium that the likes of Doppleganger inhabit. You get the residual cling of alpha oils that are tropical with a bitter leathery closer. There is a heft to the frothiness, like a whiskey sour made with real egg whites, that is complimented by all the guava cum de aserose aspects.
Grimm is the golden solution in this world of 3 hour long lines for canned hops. They are relatively accessible, fresh as hell, inoffensively priced, and hit a lot of the same benchmarks that the 16oz heavyweights command. For some people, paying someone on backpage for a GFE is less expensive than having an actual GF. I don’t want to compare Grimm to Craigslist whores, but they will bring your cones to full oily completion in the same efficiency.
These cans are also like 3 months old by now. Thanks for the hot tips DDB. No problem, keep it under your cap.
Man I am exhausted from making all these Cycle Scoop memes. I am only one beer site.
Their private stock is fucking awesome, even as a non-Ba old Ale. If they toss this bitter, caramel meets sandalwood base into barrels, it’s going to be some top tier bb4d/aftw juice. Please make this happen. My anoos is prepped for smithing.
I believe I already shared my impressions of bottled Hawaiian, on draft there’s a touch more soapiness from coconut flesh giving a bath and body works meets suntan lotion. The draft has a blast of far more vanilla, that waxy oiliness drags on like cake batter.
Bought some Donald Trump piñatas to prepare for Mexican speedway.
Hammerhead I actually prefer the one dimensional blast of the bottles. There’s a bit more roast and depth on draft, but again almost tooooo much coffee. A moderate but turgid improvement on regular ass, salt of the earth, world class speedway.
Mexican speedway, I was waiting to do a Leche Boracho side by side, but oh well. The nose has a touch of agave sweetness, burnt honey, shattered honeycomb, with a herbal mescal finish. No spice bomb here, it feels considerably more restrained and the coffee is noticeably playing a back line support role. The taste doesn’t lead with any overidingly dominant note, typical alesmith shit using harmony and restraint, making my job harder. Because it is so well integrated you almost want to believe the odd harmony is from malt massaging. The faintly vegetal aspect from the cinnamon/chocolate leads and sets the stage for a sweet agave nectar stickiness. Coffee is completely dominated and this becomes something outside the typical tired realm of Barrio Stouts.
It comes across in sum like a less substantial, but oddly sweeter version of Ba speedway. This is probably one of the least remarkable bottles from the BAlesmith canon, but not because of the tequila, because of cacophony of elements at play. They simply do not shine in this Floridian element of adding things to things. Glad to have tried it, but I don’t see this entering the annals of Smithing.
So, where the fuck is the BA PS. Please. That’s all I want.
Six new ticks
Didn’t see no wires
Then I smelled hops
Out them clarifiers
No one will get this
No one will laugh
No one will get laid
Fuck beer festivals
Some students from the Austin Independent School District drew the DDB Banner.
There is a rad charity raffle and opportunity to support them going on at Talkbeer right now, I strongly urge you to check it out. It may feel weird giving your money to a good cause and not a profiteering black market shitlord for once, but try.
Alternatively you can pay $90 for a spot in a 15 slot KBBS raffle, WHOOPS that one is all full, looks like you will have to make a meaningful change in a student’s life instead.
Like the changing of the leaves or snow runoff from the hills, my self-flagellation occurs every year after Dark Lord Day, as consistent as the 3pm stroll by Immanuel Kant. While it make seem like I am intentionally throwing myself on the pyre and complaining about the chafing flames, I legitimately WANT these Dark Lord treatments to be good.
The whole experience is akin to seeing a trailer for a new Transformers movie, suspecting it will be completely shitty, but deep down HOPING it will defy your expectations. Sauternes barrel aged Dark Lord is liquid synthetic CGI that is inorganic and repugnant to the senses and body alike.
GFCI outlets are the new toaster.
I realize that part of this disappointment is my own fault. We all saw the list of potential bottles and guffawed like an 18th century barrister. We all knew that Dark Lord would be sticky sweet and underattenuated, as is tradition. We all knew that putting it in a cloyingly sucrose dessert wine barrel wouldn’t IMPROVE the base beer, but I had no idea of the Lovecraftian depths that this cyclopean flavor hell could represent.
At the outset, the beer doesn’t pour out so much as it trudges, with a recalcitrant undulation into the glass. This beer doesn’t want to be a part of this either. It knows what it is and you are complicit for opening Trump and Pump in the first place. The carb is minimal and the lackluster presentation gurgles with hesitant fervor. The blackness is like killing a Heartless in Kingdom Hearts, but then going DOWN ten levels as a result. I don’t know if disappointment is a valid option when expectations are more tapered than Pharrell’s pants. Like a government employee, it showed up, and that’s about all you can honestly expect at this point.
The nose is actually the best part of this beer, and it is the selective 3 photo spread that makes you swipe right, only to find the possessive borderline personality within. The sticky taffy and burnt confectioner’s sugar is present, but at higher temps there is this legitimately lovely port meets ice wine sort of waft to the sweetness of the tannins mingling without compulsion. It reminds me of the “not bone dry” versions of Gewurztraminers, in that is has a sickly white/green grape waft that somehow provides a prosecco/moscatal charm to it. This is almost specifically geared towards the THOT/thirsty ratchet in the club, as the abv is masked entirely and even seventh graders would blanche at the overriding glucose character.
I can do all things through the Lord who is my strength, the taste though, fuck. I once put a Tootsie roll in the microwave when I was younger and my dad should have spanked my ass stopsign red because it would let me know that this is a dangerous potation with which to tangle. The heft of this beer has no comparable analogue, even Double Black felt more nimble than this tank class. However, unlike a tank spec, this beer cannot take or deal much damage simply because you get fatigued easily and early on by the waves of ever sweetening madness enveloping ever flavor zone. Your bitter taste buds readily accept the c6H1206 refugees but soon are overcome by melted grape fruit roll ups, Bimbo pastelas, and a haunting chocolate syrup that overwhelms your taste infrastructure. This pushes the limits in a way that betrays your humanity, it is a liquid snuff film, and the experience takes more away from you than you entered with.
The coating exceeds Robitussin in scope. I don’t mean that in the way that a level 1 Cicerone lauds praise for new intense flavor profiles, I mean that it expands like mocha gelatin and seems to violate the law of conservation of matter: IT IS CREATING MORE DARK LORD IN YOUR MOUTH. If you spread Welch’s jelly across a Hershey bar and then endeavored to consume it entirely, you will know the framework that this beer presents. Even in moderation, this blow any attempts at asceticism well outside the scope of the Aristotelian “Dark Lord Mean.”
I pushed my tongue forward through these chocolatey North Vietcong jungles of dessert wine nightmares. I knew this struggle would be unwinnable, that the opposition in that hateful 750ml outmatched both my liver and pancreas. With the fiercest of valor, I made it through 55% of the bottle and it took almost 90 minutes. I have suffered through the Battle of Biggleswade and sustained heavy losses at the Moscatal Conflict, but this outflanked me in every way. It wasn’t as off-putting in brute strength, but it was more of a violation because I felt like I could TRUST it more thoroughly. It had the cajoling caress of an abusive licorice lover, and every painful sip was my own shortcomings realized in the inky flavor.
I don’t like to reach for top shelf hyperbole merely to whip up exaggerations, a spinning stout bowtie, I demonstrate some prowess for imagery and we all maliciously high five: that is not my intent. This beer is Dark Souls III difficult to finish, let alone reach a checkpoint. It would be a vast understatement to classify it as a drainpour, because the inherent value is in the “test your might” sort of carnival game for your palate that this presents. The sickening sweet wine profile is like dripping black novelty hammer you swing in front of a wholly disinterested Floyd carnie. They care not for your rebukes or calls of cheating, you paid to ride this hateful ride. Every year patrons line up to dip cotton candy into brownie batter and act surprised when it doesn’t present some ambrosial treat.
In sum, I am to blame. The beer is unquestionably bad but I am a co-conspirator, an enabling felon through engagement. To what extent should I myself be the object of derision for these constant assaults? Three Floyds are well aware of what they are doing, I simply cannot determine if my tastebuds are the setup or the sick sweet punchline.
dontdrinkbeer 