Listen if barrel aged strong ales is all that sell Valley shines at then great, I am more than happy to sing their praises because they consistently slay with these oddly unclassifiable offerings. It’s like if you took Kuhnhenn, thawed them out, gave them a malty Oklahoma belt buckle and showed em how to rope on the barleyrange. Part stout part old ale part Mexican divertirme extravaganza, this is like if they let Jeffers at Firestone go bananas with the FW16 blend and add all kinds of Tex mex flair to it. It first and foremost is a tightly erected barrel with the staves on full flex. There’s some tobacco and cinnamon, churros and wheat whiskey, macaroon and espresso. Usually these go way too huge and overstay their adjuncts welcome but this is parrying with the epee staying on the balls of its feet the entire time with airtight rejoinders. If you ever played Ikaruga you know that frantic dance between light and dark shield and this is how it is for your palate. It’s a sticky bullet hell schmup with a perfect difficulty curve for your palate, and I like this aberrant offering more than 90% of these Abuelita disasters crowding the trade boards. Chase Healy needs to colab with these dudes already. OkieDocking 2017
Alright the Fashionably Late review took things to the danger zone, but this is fantastic. The shameless apologist in me is throbbing but I gotta give credit where it is due, the valley of quality between these two cans in staggering as this nears the precipice of Monkish/Trillium. The creamy bisquik body is there to buttress a fantastic guava and pineapple whip. It has some predictable mosaic and Citra notes which are all but obligatory at this point but swallows clean without resin or coniferous interplay. This is intensely tropical like cum colored life savers, slickness to the oily profile without being watery or one dimensional.
I still Rue the demise of Humulus Lager but holy shit if this isn’t some vindicating juice across all fronts. I am stoked to see where they take this program and if they switch to London Ale III for full on boddingtons egg drop soup tonez. This is a fantastic harbinger of mangos to come.
This is the best blend of BAOE to date, more refined, less fusel, werthers and sugar daddies, dripping in EC18 lacquer and aged Elijah tones. Brown sugar pan seared raisins and this dry oaky bananas fosters drag to it.
This is the best kept secret in the BIL game that there is and I don’t care if I fuck things up for locals who continuously covet Monkish cans. This is for us, a gem that has continually delivered every year for half a decade. Ask any Barleywiner any REAL barleywiner, it don’t matter if u BBBW by an inch or a mile. The only contrasts on previous years is this feels more fresh and young with a vibrancy that gives up the cut lumber of back blending for a more prune and currant aspect that makes this negligently drinkable. Simply your life by acquiring this and cascading LOOLz at pastry stout coveters. In the end B is L, and L reduces to B. Uh, later dudes. S you in your As. Don’t wear a C and J all over your Bs.
Foreign stouts taking all our American stout jobs. This was fine, a refreshing to-style cleanliness to the swallow with bakers chocolate and anise. There is a cling that feels watery but this is the realm of Irish export and not some confectionary aisle DME saccharine bomb like most people are accustomed to these days. If there is coffee in this it has been watered down to Seattle’s Best Ampm levels. This beer shows up on time and clocks in and never gets written up and sometimes that is all you really need.
I have no idea how the same brewery that made the masterpiece Grim Harvest could release this tire aisle nightmare. I have long noted that my baby palate is sensitive to smoke and my throat labias get all swollen when rauch is present. This however was instant drain lubrication. The nose is vinyl, dentists glove, latex balloon, and Djarum cloves. There’s some acidity and a waft of yuzu lemon but, let’s be clear, it’s housefire in a glass. The taste follows through on its threats and delivers intense char and the waft of a BJCP book burning.
You know that scene in Casino where they bury Pesci and his brother in the corn field? That’s how disturbing this beer was to drink. The body is extremely clean and thin which is a saving grace so that burnt Cohiba after taste doesn’t hang around long. It’s an odd state of affairs to note that a beer’s best quality is how quickly the experience is over. Who knows, some people tip up to have a dancer step on their cubes. To be fair I only made it ~4oz into this Spartan race for my mouth before the campfire tones took over and the yawning maw of my garbage disposal sought sweet satiation. I loved gottsticklaendeder but this is some head on collision into the saison median flaming wreckage.
Man the Bruery has many facets but this shit was brutal. It’s easy in beer criticism presented for comedic intents to reach for some hyperbolic level to pull. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that this tastes like ranch dressing. Hidden Valley tones off the charts. I am talking chive, shallot, touch of pepper and Parmesan: I wanted to dip my pizza in this. Reading the ingredients, I have no idea how we got into this buttermilk fantasyland. I have homebrewed almost identical neipa and never once did I want to serve it with a veggie platter. Even the mouthfeel had this creamy lingering drag to it, arugula and green onion.
This is the type of shit Short’s would release as a novelty food beer and inevitably some dipshit coworker would come to ur cubicle since you’re their “beer friend” and tell you about this stupid shit they saw on Esquire magazine. I don’t have much else to say about this, pairs well with chicken fingers.
I enjoy Grim Harvest more than Nocturne Chrysalis, more than Sherry Atrial, and it’s perhaps one of the most focused and purely enjoyably simple offerings from those hill country boys. I patently shouldn’t have a spontanboner over a stainless fermented beer made with actual garbage but here we are. It is magnificently carved and maintains a fruit profile in a way only casey or fruited floras can pull off, never too acidic but gentle enough to command your attention. A 750 leaves you longing and that’s incredibly uncommon for that acid rounds that usually light up your chest in the Borderlands, a tediore armament this is not. This is pure Red Robin lemonade mixed with sonic cherry limeade. It drinks like a table beer with cage free organic grenadine.
Fruited pret Nats are all the rage at vapid brunches, and this validates the shit out of your empty trip to Phuket or whatever new academic hurdle your insufferable toddler just surmounted. It is an all weather beer for the bluntest and jaded palates alike. I love that dipshits sleep on the Jk750 game yet break their cocks in half for innumerable Tillmookian entries. We get the beer scene we deserve. I will be over here drinking simple, accessible, stainless, actual trash. Literally. OMG TAERYN ARE THOSE FRYE BOOTS?