Category Archives: wild ale

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Fantôme Pissenlit saison, DRINKIN, PISSEN, GETTING LIT. Painful.

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Ok, so this beer is another ghost asshole from Fantome, they make saisons and that’s about it. It’s like Cheech Marin’s character in From Dusk Til Dawn, but its…er…saisons for them. Sloppy saisons, wet saisons, you get the drill.

Fantome bottles aren't the same without that menacing ghost on them, hell, Bill Murray, even Ghostface Killah would have sufficed.

Fantome Pissenlit, 8% abv

A: Radiant bright yellow hue with a huge cumulus ass head that fantome always imparts (the secret ingredient is ghost.) It kinda reminds me of pineapple Fanta, if anyone has had that obscure soda. There you go.

This beer winner, but something is a bit lost in translation.

S: This has the classic ghostly funk, but this time it seems a bit ratcheted back, a poised charlatan ghost who stinks of freshly cut grass and foggy rhododendrons. You know the type, giving out the same fake cell phone and name.

T: This is fantome all the way with a nice funkiness up front that imparts pears in a huge way, nice red apple (not like in a diacetyl hater way) and finishes with a kinda tart white grape sort of finish. It’s all pretty simple, like the cast of My So Called Life, BUT SO DEEP IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

Fantome always puts out beers that feel classy, yet primal at the same time, spoiler: Boo Radley is putting shit in the tree. Take that cat.

M: This is really thin and crisp, like biting into an anjou pear and then kissing a Bolivian farmer. Refreshing but kinda dirty. It washes away quickly with a lil gift of tannin flavor and mild hops at the end, waving good bye while your stepdad tells your palate to stop being such a pussy.

D: This is ghost beer to the max, for 8% you could drill this like a BP disaster. I think the interplay of the juicy notes, the floral spices and thin mouthfeel make this thing really sessionable for those Scrooge McDrinkers out there just straight popping phantasm libations all up in this bitch.

Fantome beers always look majestic and beautiful and then just destroy you. This is no exception.

Narrative: Anabel had been having an affair with the director of Human Resources, well, sort of. She loved him in a casual, throwaway sort of fashion, that is until he suddenly passed in a tragic car accident with a truck full of Honduran gardeners. Police were astounded at the record 13 fatalities, 12 of whom were riding in a B2000 truck. Now Anabel satiated her need by making sweet love to Phil Billingsley’s ghost in the copier room. It is not what you are thinking, Anabel didn’t just rub one out while thinking of a ghost, she actually made love to Phil’s ghost. She would channel him afterhours in the HR boardroom and lure his incorporeal body to the copier room, which, seemed kinda unnecessay since he could clip through walls and all, I digress. His incessant moaning and clanking chains got in the way at first, but eventually she found them charming. The part she could not understand was how he kept talking about Christmas and how her life would end up. She wasn’t prepared for that kind of commitment. It wasn’t until 4 weeks into these fantastic trysts that she realized that she, you guessed it, was fucking the ghost of Ebeneezer Scrooge. Not to look a ghost horse in the gift hole, she carried on this affair, until the copier maintenance man interrupted a seance one night. OH SHIT BUT ANABEL WAS REALLY THE GHOST THE WHOLE TIME. The narrator will allow you leave to get your mind unfucked from that sick Nabokov twist there.

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Armand’4 Zomer, Such a Huge Zomer for this, Geuze, srsly.

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OH SHIT ANOTHER TOP 100 BEER? You have got to be kidding me. Tis the season indeed, hot in the streets, killing the mixtape scene right now.

Anyway, here’s an expensive ass rare beer from Belgium. For a change.

I think I am getting a Zomer just looking at this.

Ok so this is another one of those 40 euro bottles that cost another $25 to ship to the U.S. that everyone is so jazzed about, and well, it’s basically a perfect geuze. That is all there is to it. Werf it.

Armand’4 Oude Geuze Zomer (Summer) 6% abv

A: This beer is radiant and downright beautiful. The carbonation is a bit obnoxious, but I guess being put in a box and being shipped from Belgium to Colorado to California and then greeting my ugly face leaves something to be desired and the reaction was substantial. Accidentally all the carbonation. But the beer itself has a brilliant yellow gold sort of hue and a deep cloudiness that just cascades sheets of bubbles like a malfunctioning dishwasher, you aint even mad tho.

A beer to share with your son. Not even mad tho. Amazing.

S: I got a huge floral aspect to beer that feels like laying on a cotton blanket in a poppyfield or some other shit that dryer sheet commercials depict my life to be. There’s a nice apricot and tart lemon and its like rays of ethereal light up into my nose holes. It’s like opening the Ark of the Covenant and discovering delicious fruit instead of hateful hessidic rage.

T: The taste is incredibly layered and complex, let me eat the oat pieces and try to get the marshmellow ratio up to explain this. Ok so you get this funky like hot basement musk that turns into sweettarts immediately then washes into an acidic note like a harsh white wine but in a delicious citrus way. It just really shines in this department and leaves very little to be desired except a bit more fruits, but hey, go get on Toucan Sam’s shit for that, it’s perfect in nearly every other way. What do you want from this beer you ingrate?

Alright so pricey perfectly executed geuze isn't your thing? How about a mouse? There you go, ingrate.

M: The mouthfeel is interesting in that it, literally, burns my lips with acidity. The tingle is similar to when I drank Goose Island Rare and there was that hot flash of tingling on my lips, except this time it was the liquid sun spraying summer all over the place. It expands with a Faulkner depth and clarity that subsides into a dry sourness, also like Faulkner, ba dum tish.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I kinda regret taking this whole 750ml to my domepiece. These bottles usually go for like $90 so I guess I don’t win the sharing badge, but, it’s still exceptional in every way. I played Battlefield 3 feeling all like it was summer and my lean frame was embracing the verdant hillside, skipping and tossing marigolds aloft. Shit was so cash.

This absolutely gets the Seal. Top 5 geuze. Go get you one.

Narrative: Summer in Morris, Illinois had a special radiance to it. The rays felt like they were delivered especially for each resident as a golden shaft from Helios himself. The residents went about their business, yet each and every one of the 13,636 residents knew that a special radiant love waited to embrace them right when they stepped out the door to embrace that Illinois soil. Skip Masterson looked up to the sun and smiled nodding knowingly as he headed to his job at the Dresden Power Plant. The residents looked not unlike the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast, a man doffed his cap to Skip while carrying a wicker basket of baguettes and a fresh pitcher of lemonade. Just another picturesque morning in sweet Morris. The summer sun welcomed the Lyondell Chemical Company trucks into town and the children skipped and frolicked in the glow of the summer sun, running after the ammonia sulfide inside the trucks, playing with toy guns and playing pitchpennies into a tin can enjoying the sweet glow of a perfect metropolitan suburban life. Summer was a gift from god and embraced each resident with a sweet fulfilling handshake that pulls in for a comforting hug.

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Fantome La Pietrain Saison, Musky Lil Pigs and Ghosts

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GHOST PIG. Haunting public libraries near you.

Fantôme La Piétrain, Saison, 8% abv

A: Alright, lets get into the Fantome mindset for this one, bright, murky, funky, and beautiful like David Lynch films. It isn’t quite as bright as the usual Marcellus Wallace briefcase endeavors, but it is far from amber. Lots of carbonation, capped and corked for double dealing double sealing power. Soy style.

Am I dreaming? Or is this beer for reals?

S: This is amazing and I love this Belgian ghost for this in particular. It’s like a wet animal locker room of funky damp carpet and filth, but in a refreshing way. It has musk, drizzled leather satchel, and a tart Sweettarts finish. It’s like Ice Cube and Yoyo, gangster as fuck.

T: This has a nice tartness at the outset that fades into a mellow honey note with a solid wheat backbone, you get a glimpse of a standard saison and then the musk pushes you out the exit with an acidic souvenir. Strange theme park, but I am down with this pig ghost.

If you were wondering who is the last person in the world who would drink this beer, your answer is pictured above. Oldface guidos.

M: This has a foamy expansive character the stretches its legs immediately with a foamy character. The coating isn’t too crazy, but it finishes with a great dryness that hits the gumline like a middleweight boxer imparting some nice funky hay aftertaste. Yeah, I eat hay, go for that low hanging punchline. Go for it, oh you have jokes? We will wait.

D: This is very drinkable and I merked the entire bottle like the cops just rolled up on my Belgian dice game. I can’t believe that they taking belgian Warren’s wealth. I would like another but oh 1) only sold in Belgium 2) only made once 3) no fucking clue where to find this again. Story of my life, a series of one night keg stands. Ho hum.

Fantome beers are always a fleeting one night stand for my palate.

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Upland Kiwi Lambic, Face Melting 24th Fret Hammer On Solos

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The perfect beer for people who want to make their dentists rich as hell.

A: This beer has a straight up yellow, Squirt/Lemonhead look to it. It has some nice carbonation that peaces out almost immediately. It has other things to do apparently. I am ok with that, the bubbles seemed like sick bros. Super beast.

S: There’s a cheddar cheese funkiness to it, or like the a carpet sample book at Home Depot in a strangely good way because the harsh lemon zest makes it seem like its a weird baked good. Cheese Merengue Pie. This just comes off as super acidic from the get go.

T: Holy acidic hell. This is more sour than most geuzes that I have had and it dethrones 3F Sch. Kriek as the most face melting sour I have ever had. Seriously wow, it makes your face cringe in happiness at the full court acidic press that it wages on your tastebuds. Even before you swallow, it comes in and starts tearing down the drywall and just wrecking shit like an old school punk show. The taste is bitter hot tart lemonheads with acid that melts like that stuff on Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I get no kiwi, largely because kiwis usually dont burn the enamel off of my bicuspids. This is the type of beer that people try around me and look at me like I am a fucking maniac for drinking this recreationally.

M: The mouthfeel is fire and acid that burns with the fury of a thousand ex-wives. It creates a chemical methlab and just scorches the surface with DDT and lemon acid. The fields are fallow and salted, none are saved from the tart wrath of this scornful master.

D: Did you even read the foregoing? I am working my way steadily through this 750ml but this is clearly meant to be shared. This is on the absolute extreme end of flavor profiles. I dont see how Weyerbach or other Cantillon offerings can get much more ridiculous than this. This is just a straight up acid rampage that takes no prisoners. All tastebuds are executed upon sight without recompense or remorse. Somehow, the sheer malevolence is almost a loving quality and I feel wiser and stronger for having been subject to this acrimonious treatment. Yes sir, can I have another.

Narrative: Face too sore to write narrative, must…use… flouride….

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Goose Island Lolita, Getting Nabokov All Twisted.

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Finally a wild ale even non-pedophiles can enjoy.

Lolita, American Wild Ale, 7.0% abv

A: light cherry red hues with minimal lacing and carbonation that dissipates quickly. Capri Sun nailed it on this one and Hi-C is jocking so hard.

S: the Brett funk is present with wafts of wet hay and blankets. It is expansive and in the words of one observer, “something is rotten.” In my opinion, all is well and delicious with the aroma, considering the style. It finishes with cherry and tart fruit roll up smells. It’s like a ridiculously alcoholic recess sesh.

This beer is tempting, but dangerous.

t: Raspberries are present with a very sour mild drying effect that is not overwhelming on the sour. Overall is has very good balance and is incredibly refreshing. The juiciness has a strange tart nature with a crisp nice bite to the finish. The hops are completely absent, but they are not wantonly missed. Gushers for grown ups all up in my grill.

M: Put simply, there is no coating and the maltiness is similar to a lambic or a thin profile gueuze. You swallow and bam it’s over, all that anticipation and just a fleeting sour note, like most Brendan Fraser movies.

I want to sit around and be patient for more, but, I know it will never come.

D: This is a tough call because it is very drinkable but slightly drying after 22 oz. It reminds me of listening to a Dragonforce album, where at first blush you love every note and run, you praise the complexity but after a solid hour of it the wear and tear of the items all taking place at once begin to grate on you. It is hard to fault and, just short of Russian River and Lost Abbey offerings, this is incredible.

Narrative: Lola had this anxiety in her chest. A strange aching pain that began just after 6th grade that she couldn’t explain. At first blush it seemed like a mere tightness, or maybe just a hormonal inbalance, however, she began to realize some powerful changes in the following year. Now I present this not in a biological or coming of age way, to be quite blunt, Lola could reduce her size at will. It began simply enough she would exhale to relieve herself of the constant worry and tension and note her sprite figure diminish from her regular 5’1” stature to a 4’6” height. With practice in her room, she even could push these numbers lower and lower until at the crest of her 14th birthday she could rest comfortably sweet and refined amongst her massive pillows with her things. Her iPod screen showed full screen matinees and all over her childhood possessions took huge new forms. She was indeed as Lolita as one could be, ensconced in between the comforter. She giggled to herself when her mother came in and couldn’t find her amongst the folds. She was as sweet as the day was long but she held that tart little character, and an everlasting little secret.

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Surly Five, Wild Ale, 8.2% Abv, Baby When The Lights Go Out…It is Dark

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This beer delivers more than the average forgotten boy band, only more sour.

Well with all the holiday bitterness coming, I figured I would give you some sour delights to placate your cravings for old boy bands.

Surly Five, Anniversary Wild Ale, 8.2%

A: This is a deep dark ruby red with some mild browns at the center, the lacing leaves something to be desired NAMELY MORE LACING. This isn’t granma’s foyer up in this bitch, no cosies, doilies, lacing, or webbing. The lack of carbonation is saddening.

The lack of lacing is more depressing than Sarah McLaughlin commercials

EDIT: The second pour had more foamy goodness, quite unlike those depressing commercials.

S: There is a distinct waft of cherry, tart currants, nail polish remover, and deep merlot. There’s a backend of wet hay and 3rd grade classroom on a rainy day. You know the drill, soaked dirty children.

T: The taste is distinctly tart, with a sour cherry flavor that fades into a red wine tannic finish. The dryness is compensated by a nice clean finish. It feels like a baby Consecration, but a solid Nissan Altima of the sour world. Although I have to say, I am a bit skeptical due to how readily the gentleman who provided me with this amazing beer was ready to part with it. A scholar and a gentleman indeed.

The tartness and limited availability make me suspicious. Just a little too...delicious...

M: The motuhfeel is crisp and swift and leaves a tart jelly jam sourness upon exit. It drinks very well and hides the alcohol like a miserly eastern European. Sometimes the tartness becomes annoying like basically anything with Taylor Lautner in it, but this is pretty tolerable.

D: For the tartness, alcohol, and deep complexity, it is surprisingly gentle. Big old acidic Lenny holds my hand gently while I tell him about the sour cherry rabbits and demonstrate my knowledge of 9th grade English curriculum. Overall, I would buy it again, but I cant, so I dont think I would trade for it again. Not cheap but, there’s just too much beer out there. White people problems.

Gave Surly Five to my cat, it imploded like a Gushers commercial with PURE SOUR RAGE.

Narrative: The POV camera premise just seemed wildly degrading to Tony Wachowski, TRU TV or not. “Alright Wachowski, you’re a loose cannon, and we all know about your rage,” Tony’s captain boomed from his podium during what was probably a morning briefing, I dont know. “So we are putting you on traffic duty, the commissioner is BREATHING DOWN MY ASS ABOUT LAST WEEK!” Tony shifted in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t have rage, and the incident was a series of missteps and unfortunate coincidences. “Hey uh sir, like I told yas, that fruit truck-” “FUCKING FRUIT TRUCK NOTHING WACHOWSKI, you are on meter duty.” I mean really, it would make even the finest officer bitter. Tony could still see that group of five year olds, covered in sticky, smashed cherries. “Sir, can I at least have my firearm back?” “GOD DAMNIT TONY, you are lucky I let you have your REGULAR ARMS.” Ultimately, no one would have predicted that merely tossing a Burt’s Bees chapstick container out the window would have blown out the tread of the fruit cargo freighter, overturn and kill several children, drowning them in sour fruit on the way to the preserves factory. “OH I AM SORRY TONY, the rest of us will wait while you SNACK ON SOME CHERRIES! NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.” Tony would never use chapstick again.