This that Orviamo, the OVO, that SZN, this that new Tillamook Toronto @Sideprojectbrew @degardebrewing

Side Project and DeGarde both are underground germinating rhizomes from a distant alien being, spore technology sent back through the time continuum to alter the double helix of american wild ales as we know them.  Today they spacedock in careless abandon with ORVIAMO.

I remember safe houses down in Tillamook

I remember safe houses down in Tillamook

Both breweries arose around the same time and took palates by storm with small runs of fruited acidic beers that continue to captivate faceholes. A collaboration was a no brainer, the only question was where they would go after the De Say collabo that was, admittedly, really amazing.

Both breweries have their fair share of intensely acidic beers and when I heard about the specs on this one I knew it would go one of two ways : 1) intensely acetic red wine vinegar blowout or 2) some phrnomenal fruit hybrid akin to Hommage/Caracterie Rouge.

Thank god it was the latter and my gumline remained intact, no GERD was transmitted. Thanks Obamacare.

10 bottles, 20 bottles, man fuck it brewer, let's just not even discuss it

10 bottles, 20 bottles, man fuck it brewer, let’s just not even discuss it

The beer pours a beautiful slice of crimson sunset, staves of blood red ruby igniting within the confines of the glass. There is a certain muddiness and burnt sienna to the center like clay courts that rich assholes play tennis upon.

The nose leads with a smattering of the acetic character I initially feared, but thankfully it subsides into a fragrant fruit blossom profile and sublimates into a perfumey fruity bloom like Flowerbomb. Lol referencing perfume on this site is pointless for all these forever alone readers. While there’s a degree of jamminess to the raspberry, black cherry, and blackberry, it is a far cry from straight up fruit beers like New Glarus. The compromise works well to keep what could have been paint removing acidity in check.

It is 20% better than this beer, which was also very tasty, but still less tasty on the tasteyscale metric

It is 20% better than this beer, which was also very tasty, but still less tasty on the tasteyscale metric

The taste is incredibly dry and loaded with fruit tannins, farmers market bites into fruit tarts, currant, cherry, craisins (these go in salads, a salad is- nevermind) cranberry and even a touch of sour plum. YES EVEN SOUR PLUM HAS SCIENCE GONE TOO FAR? The sky high 10% Abv is well integrated and this beer drinks like one of those innumerable 6% fruited bus from them Tillamook boys.

The finish is long and dry like a John Cleese stand up set. The oak maintains a sort of light earthiness that underscores the vibrant fruit. The whole affair is pretty enjoyable, but tough to really justify given the  straight vertical plane of entry.

Orviamo is not better than this beer, TASTYSCALE NUMBERS DONT LIE

Orviamo is not better than this beer, TASTYSCALE NUMBERS DONT LIE

Should breweries get beat up in reviews for having inaccessible products and covetous assholes for consumers? How much of that is crafted by their own marketing macchinstions? Is it just human nature to defile and hoard limited items until the world is steeped in the rancor of inequality? That is probably a topic best served on another day.  I don’t feel like dealing with armchair economist dipshits.

In sum, this is a really tasty beer that would be inimitable if Rodenbach didn’t have world class Caracterie rouge just turding it up on BevMo shelves. This beer is an improvement but how much are you willing to tip up for this back room treatment? You want your cherry fully pitted? Then bring your fuckin checkbook, Cory and Trevor are going in dry.


@Degardebrewing The Lily, Those Tillamook Ballers Unequivocally Hit Wild Ale Excellence.

If you are like the average person, you might grow a little confused with the 14 different De Garde beers released every month, each with moderately different labels.  Some are Keepers only others are Trappers only, some are sold inside of Trapper Keepers reserved only for Founders members.  It gets confusing.  Other times you will seek out a beer only to find “OH YOU JUST GOT THE REGULAR CHERIMOYA BU? No that one sucks the currant gin Imperial Cherimoya Bu is THE SHIT.”  Well rest assured, this beer is the best beer that De Garde has brewed to date and it enters into the realm of God Tier AWAs so forcefully that I don’t see how Trevor and them boys can outdo themselves after this masterpiece.  Let’s review this 180 (?) bottle jammer in today’s review.

It took me a long. ass. time.  To finally land this.  For some reason when people know they have the best bottle possible, they dont want to trade it away.  WEIRD.

It took me a long. ass. time. To finally land this. For some reason when people know they have the best bottle possible, they dont want to trade it away. WEIRD.

De Garde, Tillamook Cheeseland, OR

7% American Wild Ale with Tempranillo Grapes

As usual, let’s let the FIVER employee do his commercial copy for the beer:
“One of the oldest barrels from our stock, a lambic influenced sour ale.
We added a hefty harvest of whole cluster Southern Oregon grown Tempranillo grapes from a favorite vineyard. Big rustic and spicy fruit aromas with a bracing acidity, and earthy backdrop.
We expect this beer to evolve positively in the bottle over a long period, but the brightness and fruit character is very enjoyable now!”

A:  This looks quite a bit like Grrzz Druiven at the outset and I kinda rolled my eyes with an “OH YOU” thinking I knew what was about to go down.  The carb crackled away with light pinkish marroon foam that subsided quickly.  There was minimal sheeting and it just drops into this ruby purplish amber three point stance and starts poppin for dollars.

If they named this beer BRISTOL it would have left a more sour taste in my mouth

If they named this beer BRISTOL it would have left a more sour taste in my mouth

S:  This is where shit starts to get real, the dry tannic grape aspect wafts like a massive pinot noir and raspberries.  This is certainly dry to the core but it also has a sort of madeline bready sweetness to the nose with a touch of vanilla, on the tip of your nose like an ultra cute first date where you schedule a baking activity because both of you are socially awkward and need a crutch to facilitate interaction before you decide if you want to fuck.  WAIT A SECOND.  There is a bit of ultra lactic Cascadey shit going on here like Cascade strawberry, but I guess I will give it a pass depending on how it tastes.

T:  PASS OBTAINED. This delivers the most nuance of any De Garde offering to date and never is hamfisted in its pucker, or too brash in its acidity.  In a staggering move, this De Garde impresses by sheer balance and moderation.  If your face was melted by the Ambrees and you need speech therapy, this will be your Esuna.  The grapes are present like a blend of Alexander the Grape and Strawberry Short Cook otter pops, you get a smuckers strawberry jamminess, acidity that serves to compliment instead of dominate, and a lingering tannic closer that tells your stepdad that he can sleep on the couch tonight.  It is a beautiful moment.

Gotta offset those AWA kCALs

Gotta offset those AWA kCALs

M:  I was bracing myself at each swallow for this to pull off the mask and turn into some punitive Upland dominatrix just stepping on my cubes, making me beg for less acidity because I BEEN A BAD BLOGGER O FUK YA. But that thankfully never happens.  It provides this dry, yet jammy execution like a well done Rose, bursting with fruit and then dropping off the moisture cliff like when your Sig Ep buddy TRAVIS tries to guess women’s bra sizes at the club.

D:  This is exceptional through and through.  It stands head and shoulders above the whole De Garde canon, and approaches that near impossible rank of Southampton Black Raspberry Lambic, Cable Car Kriek, Pipeworks Blue Lady and all the other usual suspects you see listed as flawless iterations of the AWA genre, if maybe a touch below. If for some reason you can’t land this I would suggest uhhh, taking Omniscience and Proselytism, mixing it with Cerveza Tempranillo and a splash of Atrial Rubicite.  Landing all three of those would probably take less than this elusive minx. BUT WHY GILD THE LILY AMIRITE?

Whenever someone talks about Oregon, this is what I imagine.

Whenever someone talks about Oregon, this is what I imagine.


O’So/Funk Factory, Dweller on the Threshold, Staying Turnt up Don’t Turn Down for Nothing

Alright full disclosure: Funk Factory owner, Levi Funk, is my roll dog. Notwithstanding, in true DDB form, I will still give him triple digit penetration on a trill 900 word banger review. This is a collaboration between FF and O’So of that Goldilocks fame. That 450 (?) bottle swagger, staying on like Porsche lights in the hood.

Yah trick YAH.

Yah trick YAH.

Funk Factor/ O’so Brewing Company & Tap House
Wisconsin, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 5.25% ABV

Lol first and foremost, I want to point the differences between the Ratebeer and BA descriptions of this beer:


A: This pours a deep burnt orange and light amber like that fossilized sap that them Jurassic Park bugs be layin in. There is a light carb that wisps and crackles like a ground bloomer and dissipates quickly. The lacing is insubstantial and settles to a gentle ring sitting on those 808 sour drums, bouncing hard. There is a light turbid aspect to it, not sick clarity, but not out of place in the current American Wild game. More gold than Trinidad James posted up on Rosecrans.

Lovin that cheesiness, plus this beer isn't even racist at all.

Lovin that cheesiness, plus this beer isn’t even racist at all.

S: This is my favorite aspect of this beer and the olfactory is outright phenomenal. There is a light musk, orange rind, wet bicycle seat on that Brooks trill, there is a some oak and lemon zest with crush yard trimmings left in the rain and a subtle tannic finish. I could sit under a railway underpass and huff this hard, all day long just musking it. It is one of the most Belgianesque waft I have encountered on this side of the Atlantic, straight Doesjel flows.

Sometimes the homage mirrors the source material in awesome new iterations.

Sometimes the homage mirrors the source material in awesome new iterations.

T: This opens with a sharp acidity with a grapefruit dryness that comes across as slightly acetic at low temps. Let me qualify that, I don’t mean acetic like excoriating Small Animal Big Machine, I mean a light sharpness akin to Grand Funk Aleroad or a balanced Oud Bruin, if you know how it gets throwed. This tastes like a a coovee of Cable Car 2010 and Doesjel. There is one foot on the American Wild side of the argument but a compelling musk and leathery goodness that you could sip up in the attic just breathing in that funky particulate matter. The cheesy closer is a perfect compliment to the acidic body and contributes to sky high drinkability.

M: The mouthfeel is a bit disappointing due to carb levels that don’t have that Pop Rocks crackle along the gumline, however, this Killer Instinct combos up the drinkability. So it takes with one hand and jerks you off with the other, so not a bad deal altogether. The chardonnay oak is restrained and, unlike many other American wilds with that apeshit ph2 shit, this is restrained and exhibits balance in this regard and you don’t want away with GERD after drilling a 750ml. Chopper in the bushes, goozie in the tree, this wild wont light up your chest like E.T.

D: As noted above, the gentle carb and judicious distribution of acidity makes this exceptionally crushable. I killed the entire 750ml in 2 rounds of Battlefield 4 and I don’t even die that much SO IMAGINE HOW FAST THAT IS SRS. Highly croosh, soft and prickly like some Koosh.

supes croosh ultra amber koosh

supes croosh ultra amber koosh

Narrative: The trains to Brussels clipped along the railway gently, providing a slight rock to the interior cabin. The passing telephone poles passed with metronomic rhythm. Angel Walters pulled the chamber back on his .45 Desert Eagle and examined the chrome inner workings, dropping the gilded clip into his palm. The forthcoming mission would not change the world, but it was a daring initiative. Agent Walters, also known as Ph3, was charged with obtaining the microfiche from the Belgian Embassy of Internal Compliance. Belgian exports usually surrounded gourmand items of old world decadence, but these schematics held the nuclear cellular makeup of an intensely powerful microbe: The Sennebug. The United States needed to obtain the biodata on this local fauna as all synthetic attempts to recreate it in a lab had failed. If the Sennebug were unleashed on a crowd of Pittsburgh tailgaters, the effects could be devastating. Lowered pilsner consumption, introspection, sores along the gumline, reduced birth rates, and increased literacy levels. Agent Ph3 needed to prevent this at all costs, but for now, chocolate and a gentle snooze while riding the rails.


@sideprojectbrew Pulling Nails, I Finally Get My Mouth on Cory King’s Goodies

Some people readily assume that because I wasn’t a huge fan of regular/BA abaraxas and didn’t think the world of BA Sump that I somehow have a chip on my shoulder against Perennial. This is certainly not the case, and I hope today’s review communicates that effectively. I enjoyed Perennial’s light offerings, smashed that peach berliner and would bang it again repeatedly.

Since I am usually obliques deep in that farmhouse swagg, I clearly needed to get these decadent treats from Side Project in and around my mouth. Today I get to dabble in their wild program to see what the business is. Initially I was confused because people were calling this a saison, but this is straight wild, like that kid with divorced parents who doesn’t give a shit about learning long division. Buckwild on that farmhouse tip.

Don't listen to other people's classifications, follow you heart.  LISTEN TO YOUR HEART LIKE ROXETTE

Don’t listen to other people’s classifications, follow you heart. LISTEN TO YOUR HEART LIKE ROXETTE

Side Project Brewing
Missouri, United States
Style | ABV
American Wild Ale | 6.00% ABV

I can dance around the stylistic nuances all day long, or you can read the commercial description and decide for yourself:

“Side Project Brewing is excited to announce the release of our first blended beer, an American Wild Ale named Pulling Nails. Pulling Nails will be a series of blended beers that explore the art of blending to create beers with extraordinary depth, complexity and balance. This will be labeled as Blend #1 and it is the blend of 4 unique beers, each of which add their own characteristics to the final beer.

These 4 beers are:

Spontaneous Wild (Lambic-style, native microflora from my family’s farm) – aged 25 months in French Oak White Wine (bright citric acid, mushroomy, musty)
Flanders Red – aged 18 months in American Oak Chambourcin Barrels (tart candy, robust oak, big acid, very light acetic)
Saison du Fermier – aged 9 months in American Oak Chardonnay Barrels (citrus and orchard fruit, billowy, delicate)
Saison de Rouge – aged 6 months in American Oak Chambourcin Barrels (Amarillo hopped, pear notes, 100% house Brett)”

So in this saison, we have lambic style microflora, french oak barrels, a Flanders red component, chardonnay barrel treatment, and Chambourcin treatment with brett all up in the cut like what. Wild as Jesse and the Rippers, leather jackets and motorcycles in the hallway.

A: This looks somewhere in between a straight up Flanders red and a Supplication stand in with those amber and light garnet tones shimmering up in that tomestem. The carb is spot on and crackly with that acrid anger that hisses in tiny bubbles, kicking and revolting on their way to timeout. The lacing is insubstantial and the way the beer settles in just APPEARS sour, if such a thing is possible. There’s no hefty residuals to calm the nerves, this shit looks sleek, svelte, bone dry, and wielding an acidic katana sword.

This is a fascinating amalgamation of different elements, but the end result is phenomenal.

This is a fascinating amalgamation of different elements, but the end result is phenomenal.

S: The nose is intensely tart and opens with a cherry, currant, ripe peach, them strawberries the size of your fist you see by the roadside, and sliced Granny smith. It is clearly intensely lactic on the nose, and the brett aspects are either entirely dominated at this point, or they need time to gather themselves. The oak is restrained and this is clearly a berry show, not the white wine matinee you paid to see. However, the berry profile isn’t some jammy adjunct fest, it’s like a crisp farmers market spritzer that captures the tannins of the fruits, rather than their explicit juices. Again, the cherry and subtle raspberry dominance reminds me of a cuvee of Supplication and Crooked Stave Batch 1, and this is a very good platform to work upon.

T: At colder temps, this beast is intensely sour. The depth of all those fun fruits and berries take a backseat for a moment to deep punishing tannins that beg for some malty discipline or complexity to even out their keel. Once it warms up a bit, the show really starts and a fantastic bouquet of Jamba Juice citrus, those acidic notes meld seamlessly into peach and fresh cut grass. This doesn’t present a huge brett profile at any juncture, however, there is a certain joie de vivre of earthiness like a rye presence in the closer that keeps all of the fruits and acids in check. That slightly bitter mushroom closer gives a faint oaky and metallic presence to provide a more rounded approach from the single note Cascade and Upland offerings that sometimes kick your jaw inside our and give you no solace.

It is important to enjoy a nice wild farmhouse romp every once and again

It is important to enjoy a nice wild farmhouse romp every once and again

M: This is very dry and after your first pour you will feel your gums grumbling about mistreatment, asking to see HR. This strips the valleys of your mouth of that mossy coating you maintain and leaves a raw tender shell of a face, bursting with berry goodness. There is a give and take, for each sip imparts an impartial love but cuts deeper, like when you eat Flaming Hot Cheetos and simply cannot stop the mouth abuse, chaining your own demise. It is punitive but thoroughly enjoyable.

D: The formula for this could succincly be stated (Smell + Taste) / Mouthfeel, the greater the sum of S+T, the larger integer presented for the ultimate drinkability payoff. If you can’t handle intensely acidic sours, this might not be your 160 bpm club smasher. However, for those of a more solid constitution, maybe you push yourself to that realm, skull an entire bottle and let your orthodontist figure it out. This could go either way, but drinking this beer is an absolute pleasure and a phenomenal take on arguably one of the most contested styles. Nothing DDB could offer could diminish what this beer has already accomplished, a tip of the acidic bowler to Mr. King.

Now I need to reach out and get more of these inaccessible, low bottle count shredders.  lick.

Now I need to reach out and get more of these inaccessible, low bottle count shredders. lick.

Narrative: The Jennings farm had seen better days, economically and agriculturally. The simple plot of 50 acres was home to the best cherries in the tri-state area for 3 generations, that is until Impact Confections moved into the adjoining parcel. Most of the simple folks in Shamsville, Missouri had never even heard of Atomic Warhead candies before they moved into town, now you could scarcely visit the general store without hearing about some new sour-based upset. “SO NOW TREVIN’S DENTIST BILLS ARE SKY HIGH. The nerve of this candy joint!” one local resident boomed, fuming while she purchased her sundries. Dirk Jennings shook his head and lamented, “boy she ain’t got the half of it, turns out their acidic stores have tapped into my underground well, now all my cherries are plum puckerin’ like a bovine b-hole at milking time.” His statement was not entirely hyperbole. The fruits from the farm had absorbed copious amounts of citric acid, changing his old farm into something wildly different. “I mean, I try to pick ’em, but my gloves get all itchy and I come in smelling like lemon zest and sour peaches, that ain’t no cherry pickin’ way,” Mr. Jennings bemoaned. The times were changing, simple farmhouses needed to adapt to the tart reality of modern consumerism. If someone isn’t exceedingly sour or demonstrably wild, the average customer might just drive right on past the simple old farms dotted along that Missouri interstate. You can ask the old Hennepin’s up in north county if you don’t believe me. The world done passed them by.


Troegs Splinter Gold, Nugget Nectar Aged on REAL GOLD; psyche, just a rare Wild Ale.

In keeping with the theme of elusive old walez, might as well finally put a nail in this coffin and review Splinter Gold once and for all. This fucking asshole used to sit in the mid-80s on the top 100 for years just taunting tickers, elusive and brewed once in 2009, just a complete ticktease.

Thankfully, Masterski called a hit on this bitch and retired it, and all of those assholes who would wring their hands at night could rest at ease knowing this ethereal phantom was finally passed on to the afterlife. OR SO WE THOUGHT.

Then this year Troegs dropped another 750 bottles, 1 per person and the world’s collective nutsack split open at the seam. This dropped the same week as Cali Brandy Huna, so the boards were torn in half like a Cyrax fatality. DO I SUCK ON FLORIDA’S TOES OR GIVE PENNSYLVANIA A DEEP TISSUE MASSAGE? How do I debase myself the most effectively? Well fear not, I am here to review this shit for you. Rest at ease: this beer is better than Cali Brandy Floridy Hunaphie HunaweissStout. You chose wisely.

Some people shoot for gold, cant land blue, and then settle for Black. It is the Splinter failure trajectory in which there is only sadness.

Some people shoot for gold, cant land blue, and then settle for Black. It is the Splinter failure trajectory in which there is only sadness.

Tröegs Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
American Wild Ale | 12.00% ABV

The transformation of Scratch #3-2007 to Splinter Gold has been a slow rest in oak wine barrels dosed with brettanomyces. During a two-year aging period the horsey flavors of the brett combined with the Westmalle yeast used during primary fermentation to create a complex blend of flavors. Bone-dry and 12% abv, Splinter Gold is highly carbonated.

A: Well, at the outset this isn’t a particularly attractive beer. This could just as easily have been called Splinter Dirty Penny. The hues are more of a bronze and deep amber. I was expecting some straight up sunshine in a can like how Brute comes out and starts irradiating titties. Ok so it isn’t gold, but this does have crazy attenuation and the cork almost busted the fuck out, taking its lil Black Note instruction/autoeroticism manual with it. Love those lil manuals, explaining why the rare beer you just got is worth it. It’s like “Fedex already dropped this off Troegs, I know what I have, stop pandering to me for fucks sake.” When I don’t get the lil book, I start a BAD TRADER THREAD. Because fuck that, it is PART OF THE TRADE, tiny books and all.

This beer feels refined, exotic, musky, and could probably fuck you up faster than you realize it.

This beer feels refined, exotic, musky, and could probably fuck you up faster than you realize it.

S: The initial waft is a lightly floral carnation meets orange peel sort of affair, some glad Plug-In yellow scent, then things start getting a lil muskier like when someone begins a story with “well once at the YWCA-” you know shit is gonna get sticky and steamy real quick. THe oak is there, there’s also that weird “abused wife” sort of white wine that showed up in Pinotlambicus/Oui Oui/Confession, if you know what type of beaten wife I am referring to. [Note: domestic violence is not funny in any context, the foregoing was to lend a character to the nature of the white wine character and raise awareness.]

T: The nose of this was a white wine spritzer and bretty affair, the taste is a complete right turn of the old beer Garmin. I was expecting some acidic, complex , tangerine dream with brett in the background sitting on the kick drum keeping time. What I got was some weird wine barrel aged imperial tripel, it has the oak, it has the muscat grapes but this weird sweetness and sticky chick o stick sort of aspect as it warms. There is a candi sugar and weird weight to the taste. Everyone was rubbing their beer clits on bedposts talking about how dry this was going to be. The only thing that was dry was my beergina after tasting this.

You may want to go for some low hanging fruit, make some gold puns, maybe a Trinidad James joke here or there.  Let's go further.

You may want to go for some low hanging fruit, make some gold puns, maybe a Trinidad James joke here or there. Let’s go further.

M: Again, this is not a dry beer, nor is it exceptionally “wild” in that loose term that brewers avoid because they want to dominate a less contested category. If they called this a BA tripel, your gumline probably wouldn’t know the difference. If you want a DRY beer, try something like Hill Farmstead E., that is drier than labias at a Dr. Who convention. This is a sort of honey, white wine, sticky bomb. It isn’t exactly HEAVY like an Allagash Interlude, but it is kinda like a bretty semtex on the inside of your mouth. The abv is fucking invisible and the carbonation is almost on a champagne level, really helping matters, but just don’t drink this too warm. Shit goes from delicious pinot grigio fun day to apiary mistakes: wood edition really quickly.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the ABV has dropped all of its points into stealth kills. You could sip on this while grading student papers and OFFICER THE CUFFS ARE ON TOO TIGHT I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT ASKFM.COM IS. Seriously, incredibly drinkable but not exceptionally tasty as it warms. The age old advice that most beer assholes give is THIS WILL IMPROVE OVER TIME. But, who knows, maybe it wont. Maybe you are afraid of having an opinion or stating something contrary to a breweries’ interests. This is a good beer, relative to the asking price though, other options will get you just as wild with less ale.

9 out of 10 beer nerds wont know what these are. I am ok with that.  We need them in basements contributing to databases, not out there grinding on normal people.

9 out of 10 beer nerds wont know what these are. I am ok with that. We need them in basements contributing to databases, not out there grinding on normal people.

Narrative: The cuffs clicked tightly around Jonah Epstein’s wrists as his head was gently lowered into the back of the Dodge Charger. “I told you, I had a couple glasses of Barefoot Chardonnay, I dont KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!” he exclaimed as the officer in front popped a Circus Peanut into his mouth and took a long pull of his cup of Vault. “Quiet you, you think the Pennsylvania state legislature has money to waste with you monkeying around on the phone>” He clicked his nightstick against the screen and Jonah rubbed his wrists against the coarse American musclecar interior. “Listen, I don’t know who called 911, I had a dispute with my stepdaughter, it must have been her, PLEASE, you gotta believe me,” as he pleaded the stale taste of shame and $7 white wine was brought to the forefront of his mind. To think that this entire incident, the false 911 call, the binge drinking and shameful white wine headache, it was all because he would not let his stepdaughter watch Duck Dynasty. “Ok listen, officer, I fucking hate Duck Dynasty, I feel like white trash when I watch it alone, I didn’t want to expose her to that.” The officer reached forward and turned up his shitty Lumineers CD and drowned out poor Jonah’s drunken pleas.


@santeadairius West Ashley, This Beers Gets More Tickers off Than Cochran

Alright so changing gears from a Vermont 300 bottle release, let’s peep game on this 300 bottle pre-wale from the west coast Hill Farmstead. Sante Adairius is a hot new brewery running the trap, slanging farmhouse ales, and dropping low bottle count beatdowns on the trade boards. Also, their product is 99.3% pure, that all blue Jesse Pinkman blend. So in today’s review we have a rare+saison+apricot+wildale+unzip pounding things out without remorse. Bay area kids were hella stoked on this and clutch them for good reason, this beer sets my apricots ablaze with careless abandon.

No filter. Srs.  Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace's briefcase.

No filter. Srs. Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace’s briefcase.

Sante Adairius Rustic Ales
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.30% ABV

A: This is that goon shit, mess up your whole afternoon shit. Just take a look at that burning fireball above, it is like looking directly into Beatrice while in paradiso. That isn’t a play on words because Beatrice may or may not be the base beer for this, it is just that radiant and melts your impure soul to take in those bright orange/tangerine/pure sunlight. The wispy carbonation crackles away like a piccolo pete and leaves no real lacing to speak of, but who is really speaking of lacing anyway? If you said grade A microcock beer nerds, you are correct.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

S: This reminds me of Logsdon Oak Aged Bretta scissoring Beatification’s thighs raw with a musky funk, tart apricot meets Fou Foune’s effeminate brother. The acidity doesn’t get in the way and you get this watery dog groomer’s air about it that the fruit supports nodding in the background on a 2/4 beat. There isn’t a ton of cheesiness or elements in the way of Cantillon/De Cam/Boon, nor is the acidity as harsh, but this is its own jam. Selfmade millionaire wild ale poppin that .45 acidity at haterzzz.

T: This is the absolute perfect beer for summertime. Take that floral/tart aspect from Ithaca Brute and add some apricot tannins and you have a massively drinkable beer that doubles as titty elixir for Yacht parties since this beer is balling outrageous. The tartness doesn’t go overboard and instead serves to compliment the hay/leather dryness, it wilds the fuck out like Bobby Bouchet. The fruit again is just mindblowing and links arms in the same realm as Fantasia (batch 1, not that brett bomb b2) Peche n Brett, Persica, and to a lesser extent, Fou Foune.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

M: This is drying at the outset with the apricot leading first but it has this murky waterines to it that washes so clean it leaves a sweet apricot life saver flavor that lingers and not unlike a Brazzer’s actor, you gotta get your mouth on it once more. I could crush these without remorse, the apricot jury would deem me an unsympathetic Ashley mass murderer. I love the careful tartness because it allows the underlying saison elements (which are fantastic) to show off in a manner more approachable and ultimately satisfying than say, Upland Peach, which is the acidity show in execution.

D: To double down on everything else that I have mentioned, this is scary drinkable and the ABV is not only present but this beer straight up feels GOOD for you. Like you conscience wouldn’t kick in drinking this before a funeral or a classy bris. The jamba juiciness keeps things lively but the oaky dryness lets you know the refined MILF will also enjoy this as well, inbetween her sips of Yellow Tail Moscato. Get this, actually dont, I need more, so don’t seek this out. Don’t ruin this shit for the rest of me.

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

Narrative: Life at the Behr paint supply store was a mile a minute. Sure there was the time that they accidentally mixed turpentine with the eggshell, making the ignominious muted halogen color, completely off style but mindblowing nonetheless. Yes sir, Ashley West had seen it all in her duties as overseer of the interior vibrant tones division of Behr paints. It was her sworn duty to ensure that no paint scheme stood as too far fetched or offputting. Nothing escaped her trained penchant for searingly bright colors. If she saw a mild yellow that struck hier as too explosive, she’d be the first one to take it down a couple notches to a sublimely genial canary tone. For Ashley, life was all about the Golden Mean, in the Arisotelian sense, the paradigm of good taste. “Miss, do these sandstone swatches look appro-” “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Look at this, I’m sorry, where are we the Luxor casino? You need to mute these down to C11H14 palate, we don’t run some kind of funhouse, you can take these monstrocities down to Tempera paints Mr. Jackson Pollack if you feel like expressing yourself on my KHAKI WATCH!” Another solid day of work for Ashley West.


Drie Fonteinen Framboos, I Was Saying Boos-Urns

Man, saison marathon ends, then I post a couple 5/5 stellar video beer reviews over the weekend and the site becomes a hotbed for controversy. Let’s get things back on track in today’s review of 3F Framboos, AKA THE BIG BOO, aka the BOOZER, slaying white walez on the reg. On another note, since this was brewed again, it is now in some top 100 lists, so there is also that. Poppopopop watcing sea mammals drop.

If you are too busy and cant fit time in to eat fruit AND drink beer, 2 birds, 1 stone.

If you are too busy and cant fit time in to eat fruit AND drink beer, 2 birds, 1 stone.

Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Lambic – Fruit | 5.00% ABV

A: Look at that juicy lil wine cooler, posted up looking like a Lisa Frank binder with all the fuchsia foam and pink hues. Make me want to put tassles on my lil ladybike and stroll with a carnation in my hair. The lacing is minimal and the carbonation was as to be expect, namely cray. The whole affair is legit and even Chief Keef would agree that ladies love 1) Sosa and 2) rare raspberry lambics.

The things you have to go through to get this beer, painful, horrible things.

The things you have to go through to get this beer, painful, horrible things.

S: This is hands down the best part of this beer, it smells like freshly unrolled fruit by the foot, the inside goo within Gushers, a spring pastoral farmers market, sweet honeysuckle, hyacinth, and smashed ass raspberries. If you cant taste this beer, trade for an empty bottle and you just won half of the game AND KEPT YOUR ANUS AT ITS CURRENT DIAMETER.

T: This is fantastically refreshing and opens with a juicy profile and dry tannic raspberry skins, the puckering aspects have a great interplay with the lactic acidity from the base beer and the lingering produce meets tartness is just the refreshing beverage that you need after enrolling your kids in military school or pushing your stepmom down a flight of stairs, you know, supes refreeesh.

This sounds like an excellent idea.

This sounds like an excellent idea.

M: This is drying but not like chardonnay aspects, more of a “I just ate way too many dried fruits” sort of manner. You get this acidity but those elements are kept in check by a sweet profile from the fresh juice; sweet yet hateful like a Korean housewife.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the fruit profile quells all that guilt in your heart because you can tell yourself that it TECHNICALLY is fruit and you TECHNICALLY don’t need to go to those Court ordered AA classes, because TECHNICALLY you are a beer connoisseur and TECHNICALLY it isn’t alcoholism if you spent a lot on the bottle and call it a hobby. But srs, this is a legit beer, the only problem is that raspberry is one of the comparably “easier” styles to execute with similar results. This is unquestionably one of the best framboise that I have ever had, but at the same time Framboise de Amarosa is also very good and I would make a coherent argument that FFaC and Rose de Gambrius could toe precariously close to these levels. It just depends on if you are that type of asshole who rolls up in an Aventador and looks down upon the dude in a Gallardo. fruitbullwalez.

This is a baller ass beer for tickers with elevators up in their crib.

This is a baller ass beer for tickers with elevators up in their crib.

Narrative: The brakes of the Nissan Altima locked up and the affordable yet spacious sedan slid through the pink muck into a Mitsubishi Gallant, an equally spacious albeit less reliable midsized sedan. “What in the, COME ON!” Judy Temperton exclaimed and she got out of her car. Her white Keds slipped on the uneven goop and the air was redolent with raspberry juice. The entire I-85 was littered with crates and crates of fresh raspberries, each broken open and mangled into a deep ruby paste on the road. Red asphalt, indeed. Maria Krupky jumped out of her car and surveyed the damage. Both parties had incredibly high deductibles and, what GEICO representative would take pity on a raspberry induced accident. The two women shook their heads balefully and walked to the front of the overturned fruit truck. The smell of diesel fuel and fresh fruit almost choked them in turn. Just past the truck the women would see the cause of the accident: a completely murdered out flat black Bentley Arnage spun headfirst into a ditch. A middle aged man in a Tommy Bahama shirt was clutching frantically at his iPhone 5S with the unlimited data plan. The pangs of the idle rich made all too apparent. His bluetooth fell into a puddle of raspberry juice and he sobbed quietly, the juice mixing into his open cuts. If anything, it was hard to pity something so opulent in appointment, the teeming thirsty masses would never know that life. No, the Diamantes and Altimas would content themselves with car accidents and the taste of regular raspberries, as is the way of things.


Ithaca Brute Wild Ale, Another Overlooked Top 100 Beer Falls to My Liver

This might be the most beautiful beer that I have ever seen. I remember the first time that I poured it, being completely blown away by the sheer radiance. I have grown and watch several wild ales come and go, but I remember back in the day loving this beautiful, gentle temptress. Anyway, I would not deprive you of this gem, so let’s get brutish and short in today’s review. Holler at Thomas Hobbes.

Finally uploaded the pic. I has a lazy.

Ithaca Beer Company
New York, United States
American Wild Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: Wow, this beer has a type of yellow 5 radiance that would piss your neighbors off if you opened up late at night. The lacing is fantastic and it has this golden hue that looks similar to the contents of Marcellus Wallce’s briefcase in Pulp Fiction. There’s no cool way to state this so, “it is a very pretty beer.” There you go.

This beer is close to my favorite wild ale, but not quite.

S: This has an amazing apricot and peach smell to it and a crackle from the tiny champagnesque bubbles. The brettanomyces follows second with a sort of Bretty funk that reminds me of rainy days, wet carpet, and delicious soggy paper bags. It’s tough to explain but the oxidation went well in this batch, not sure if it was intended or just a byproduct of the brett C, but it works well with the clean finish presented.

T: There is a nice tart melon aspect to this at the outset that transitions into nectarine. The middle had the types of juicy flavors youd expect in Tropical Starburst and subsides into a juicy dry crisp finish. Overall, wow very good and worthy of the top 100.

M: This has the same mouthfeel as a heavy champagne. A bit thicker than most gueuze but less than some other sours. This comes off to me as an archetypical “American Wild Ale” given the heavy brett, nice balance of sourness, and dry finish. Overall it is crisp and light with a mild dryness similar to a Flanders red with a bit of a Chardonnay apple skin drying to it.

Brute makes me want to just curl up with a warm blankey and get my shine on.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I could drink this back to back all night. The abv is fantastic, the citrus notes are great, and the space for zings and jokes is tough for such a well-done beer. Any complaints at this juncture would be like “Oh the Lotus Esprit doesn’t have automatic windows” sort of concerns. Champagne problems indeed.

This beer is so radiant. So exciting. So strange.

Narrative: “And so I was all like, well, how can I ever be sure that the $450 that I give you is really being put towards an abor-:::FSHHHHHHHHH:::“ The ground crackled with radiant orange and yellow light and a being of pure energy stepped through the void, much to the astonishment of Thad and Trevin. “What the hell are you?” Thad exclaimed in disbelief, orange bolts crackling around the foyer of his palatial studio apartment. “Thad, I am Citrutron, a being of pure citrus energy sent from the future to correct your bitter ways.” The two looked at each other amazed and noted the smell of ripe tangelo waft lazily in the air. “In the future, your bitterness will cause a series of events that even you cannot comprehend, resulting in a future as depressing as it is sour. To counteract this, I have been sent to watch over you and impart sweetness at all times, to guide your wayward palate.” Trevin was pantomiming a masturbatory motion while Citrutron was delivering this speech. A single bolt of bright yellow light struck Trevin directly in the jaw, puckering his substandard comedy routine markedly. “FOR YOU SEE THE GLORY OF THE SWEET DAYS ARE NOW UPON US.” “You mean that from now on, things will be super sweet?” “Exactly Thad, now change the channel to ABC Family, all of their programming is super sweet.” The three enjoyed each other’s company in turn, until Citrutron mysteriously disappeared when the HMO co-pay could not cover their substantial dental bills. He entered a dimensional rift and inhabited the body of a Kern River cyborg, discussed HERE


Russian River Supplication BATCH ONE REVIEW, For those times when you need to prove you straight whaling.

Here’s a top 100 that I have lovingly overlooked for a while, like that sweet middle child whom you neglect the shit out of. Anyway, I am sure all of my readers have had this beer so I decided to bust a straight up GALEN OLD SCIENCE TWIST ON YOU: BATCH 1. That’s right, we dusted off the genie bottle for today’s review. You are welcome.

I hope you enjoy my instagramme` photo. I have had Supplication plenty of times, but I washed out this photo to show that I had it before it was cool. Back then wild ales were just called beers, you wouldn’t understand their early work

Russian River Supplication
American Wild Ale – 7% abv

A: Thick three finger head wit a red character to it, light amber with plenty of carbonation, well at first, then it reduces down to nothing. Age has not treated the beauty of this beer favorably and the saggy lactic malt tits are in need of a lift. There is sediment bouncing lazily throughout the glass, but it’s like old salty grandma from the 2008’s, you just nod and smile.

Berries be banging. Just wanna get my face all up in it.

S: There are tart sour notes of bitter cherry and merlot. there’s a funk to it, a bit of wet dog, but a sweet wet dog, in taste, not disposition. There is a nice lactic backbone to this but it has obviously mellowed quite a bit into a gentle juiciness with light oxidation on the nose. There is a bit of oxidation, but not straight up breakdancer levels. I can only imagine how fucking geriatric Depuration is at this point if this beer smells like this. Send me a bottle, be a homie.

T: Sweet introductory flavor with a strong wave of bitter tartness that is resonant of a sour patch kid, but refined with an aged pinot noir, the taste moves swift with incredible balance, the hops are so minor that they serve more as an escort to serperate the flavors than to impart authority, again the main perk is the incredible balance of sour with the underlying sweet. Above when I mentioned the hops, understand that to mean the straight up poltergeist of where the hops used to be. It is like their presence is the shattered shell of tame wild ale tempered in Hephaestus’s cool cauldron of time. This is incredibly gentle and subtle. It reminds me of muted elder vintages of Rodenbach that have funny stories to tell about the depression and when gas used to cost $1.45.

I popped this old ass vintage at Beer Revolution in Oakland and just straight posted up like a boss. I later opened Behemoth and BA Behemoth and people started taking pics of my trash. Fucking casuals.

M: The mouthfeel is just malty enough to carry the sediment and sweet dryness of the beer, any more and it would become a decadent fruit overload, any less and it would travel to a forgettable cider, the perfect balances makes this beer fantastic without overstaying its welcome. The taste imparts a swift jab of sour notes and then quickly resides, like a berry sniper. Compared to fresh Supplication, this is downright neighborly.

D: Some people may feel that the sweet notes are not high enough and the sour creates a poor man’s wine experience, I couldn’t disagree more. This is incredibly drinkable, not in the power hour sense, in a strictly delightful sense, the type that makes you wish for a couple bombers of, or a huge wallet to acquire these gems. This would find itself equally at home on a boat in the sun, or after a ski trip in the lodge. Incredibly drinkable. Then again, finding several bottles of this batch 1 gem would be a feat in itself. When this was sitting on shelves you were still perfecting your fingerbanging technique. At least Russian River got somewhere with their discipline.

Some vintage beverages are too dank for forget.

Narrative: The clicking roll and an L2 against an L3 vertebrae makes a percussive click clack with a certain panache that only Briscoe Wellingstone, berryspy extraordinaire can evoke. Some errant sour juice dribbles from the guard’s mouth, but Kiwis weren’t fit to guard a hostile embassy. He was hired as a young tart currant, trained in the most hostile vineyards, and was raised a pedigree in solitude for 15 months. Only this sour aging could create an agent of such brackish authority, such swiftly petulany candor, bitterly imparting a smooth sourness to the political fruit world. He rounds the foyer of the Tropicanaria, resolute to steal the famed cherry pit of Largesse. A hardened fruit son of a bitch, but with a slippery smoothe discountenance, lovable, yet stern in his demeanor. Mr. Wellingstone peppers the security cameras during an arching slide across the marble flooring. The pit was obtained, a sour finish left in the museum curator’s mouth.


Russian River Compunction, NOW AVAILABLE IN 24OZ ALUMINUM CANS

Just kidding, this tart gem is still walez. Most people go apeshit for vintage beats, large format Russian River sours, and even that elusive over the hill geriatric sucker, Depuration. BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS OVERLOOKED GEM? This has never been in a bottle, never been growlered, rarely observed in the wild, never domesticated. Let’s let guilt set in today’s review, because you know what you DID.

Draft only, no growler, DONG so hard right now.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 5.40% ABV

A: This looks suspiciously Founey, and has the light carbonation that unsurprisingly attends this elusive beer. The lacing is minimal, the head subsides immediately, and the entire affair calms down like a Lifetime movie really quickly. However, if you somehow have a glass of this and complain about its appearance, you are doing it r0ng. The gentle light orange and deep yellow hues are inviting but they remind you of that time you backed out on a trade, and you should feel bad.

This is a perfect illustration of how it feels to sip on this romantic portrait of an amazing wild. I did not urinate on myself, that time.

S: This smells like a blend of damn near all of the Russian River gems in a fantastic way. You get that bretty funk from Sanctification, a tart apricot acidity from beatification, that oaky character from temptation, and a white grape tannic profile from that asshole, Consecration. It kinda feels like Fantome put their balls in this batch simply due to the funk ghost that haunts the glass, ain’t even mad tho.

T: Again, the funk pounds out beats in double time like Tower of Power. There’s a deep tart cheese astringency, old saddle musk, nice apricot and peach aspects to the tartness with old gam gam’s sweet pies. There’s a backend that is similar to a biscuity chewy finish and somehow the dryness gets along with it amiably. The whole thing is kinda like a kumquat shortbread cookie, since who hasn’t baked up a fresh batch of those?

When I am mashing out on rare sours, bother me nevermore, I don’t care if it is my sweet love Anabelle Lee.

M: There’s some breadiness and the pastries are kept in check by a hateful acidity that lingers, knowing of your past transgressions. No one saw that traffic accident, no one except this beer. Now light malty clues are arriving with strange alacrity. Who placed those flaky biscuits on the windowsill? Someone who KNOWS.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and serves as a venerable Megazord of Russian River’s finest offerings in a united, powerful form. I wish this was available in bottles as it might be the best nominalization from Russian River, gives me a nice -tion in my heart. Then again, I am glad this isn’t available in bottles because then people would just wipe it out and trade it for Allagash wares, or something.

The things I would do to try this beer again are numerous and shameful.

Narrative: “Ayla, this simply is not possible!” Taeyler gasped as she found a badly worn Tamagotchi sitting on her doorstep. “Taytay, no one saw what we did that day in Claires.” Even Ayla knew deep down, her pangs of conscience were tart and cold. “No one could have foreseen that stealing those magnet earrings and scrunchies would have resulted in that hemophiliac girl bleeding to death in the piercing chair. WE COULDN’T HAVE KNOWN!” But someone did know, someone with a deep acidic disposition and an affinity for children’s hair care products. They booted up the Tamagotchi and reeled in horror to find a dead gigapet, fed constantly but never allowed to use the bathroom. “What kind of sick-” Taytay exclaimed and noticed, on the dead girl’s electronic pet, an attached magnetic earring. The deep sting of regret and tart shame.