Peepin them pedios
@crookedstave White ghost. St Bretta White. Walking dead season 3.
Chopes. Kibbis. Franklin. Trevor. Michael.
@drugstorebrewer Ale Apothecary La Tache, If You Tell Anyone About This: I WILL FRENCH KISS YOUR FATHER
Alright I wasn’t going to review any more Ale Apoth offerings because the last thing I need is some shitbags from the South ruining it for everyone, exploring saisons, offering up Loonz that just sit on shelves in humid markets. But fuck it, people need to know and far be it from me to attempt to deprive this brewery of hype. I already deep throated Sahalie enough to get tears in my eyes so why stop? Let’s pump that n0x on the farmhouse rage to get sick vascularity and a deep American Wild burn. Engage the core.

Invariably, some Michael Jackson/Charlie Papzian dipshit will come in here and talk about how I poured it wrong, then we all get to indian burn his tiny dick.
Brewed by The Ale Apothecary
Style: Sour/Wild Ale
Bend, Oregon USA
6% abv
A: This is in line with the rest of the Ale Apoth lineup with the golden/14k/hay/yellow crayon sort of radiance to it. Put on your black fly shades and go back to tuning your ATV if you don’t like saisons, the adults are talking. The carbonation is minimal, psyche, it is out of control and fucking obnoxious. I got this plenty cold, poured it gently, cupped the balls, rubbed coke on the tip: I DID EEVERYTHING TO KEEP IT FROM BUSTING. But let’s be honest, look at the fucking butterfly’ed cork, it was up in that mix just getting pounded from below. One strange thing is the actual TYPE of cork seemed more porous than traditional fancy bottles, maybe that was the culprit. Anyway, this gave more head than an 8th grade girl with an absentee father. Some people are into that.
S: This is very much in line with the saison game that AA is dropping but with a sharper lemon/granny smith apple aspect to the nose with the muskiness dialed back, not boosting as hard in the red RPMs. There is a breadiness to it but it is more of a crisp chardonnay meet Temptation’s ex-baby mama finish. It seems refreshing but substantial, almost bigger than that 6% abv would let on. How IT FIT ALL THAT IN THEM JEANS?
T: La Tache is strange in that it doesn’t go crazy on the acidity, but it isn’t exactly a saison either. If you have had Civil Disobedience 5, then you can wag your finger and be like “wait second, where does this shit get classified?” Not quite farmhouse, but the yeast is there. Not quite American Wild Ale, the acidity is more of a gentle lemon/tangerine/riesling sort of affair that has a crazy drinkability. The brett is there like a rap battle hype man, jumping up with some earthy mushroom musk for a moment and letting the real elements get down. If you give this to some uninitiated person, whose life hasn’t been completely fucked by craft beer yet, they might think this is a “OMG PRETTY NICE ALLAGASH WHITE ITS LIKE TEH WHITE RASCEL!” and then you can stroke your neckbeard and think of all your advanced adjectives and condescend on them in some passive way. LIKE ON A WEBSITE BEHIND A COMPUTER SCREEN. But srs, the average person would be all over this shit, nips blasting. Size zero jeans getting stripped off a crossfit ass for your classy 750ml.

“No one will send me a $25 scarce beer for my BCBS or Daisy Cutter, boohoo, BASC used to be worth so much more-“
DEAL WITH IT
M: This has an issue that was present to a lesser extent in Sahalie, and majorly in Sahatie: carbonic acid. The carbonation is fucking obnoxious. It settles and when you finally can dig in past the foam and creamy farmhouse jizz all over your face, the beer practically crackles and disappears when the temp/ph change hits your mouth. It has a great pop rocks finish to it, but this bottle clearly needs to either fix its attenuation problems or needs to lay down for a while to learn how to get its Lost Abbey on. Maybe a collabo from the Flat Masters at Kuhnhenn will create that Aristotelian golden mean. Either way, it gives with one hand and takes with another, my mouth has so many feels.
D: This is exceptionally drinkable at its core, but again, it is problematic because you have to sit and wait like an asshole for the carb to subside, then it crackles up again at each sip. Prepare to burp and exude farmhouse gasses back to back, taking in that delicious peach and hay while mouth queefing. I would certainly recommend this over most, better than Sahatie, worse than Sahalie, and still fucking amazing. Dust off that tired, faded CBS and trade it to some stupid fucking 2013’er who is trying to complete a shitty top beers list and doesn’t care about taste. Win.
Narrative: Kaitlynne Powers was loquacious to a fault. When she was 9, she had a Tmobile Sidekick that she broke the hinges and ground the texting buttons down to smooth nubs. “So Skylar said Braiden told Hayden that Jayden liked Aiden! I know right? Seriously, like seriously? Not even gonna lie, ok seriously, can I be honest? Not even going to lie. She can’t come in our limo to winter formal wearing some Charlotte Russe shit.” Nearly 90% of her extrapolations were filler, zero calorie gushing that served to fluff the lack of content that was forthcoming. She was a gusher and filled the room with a certain tart muskiness consisting of snarky social commentary and Kardashian perfume: but she was incredibly attractive. “So, is it just me or, it is what it is, I mean, maybe no one else has done this but, can we be serious for a minute, I need a Smart Water.” Almost every core statement was padded with a litany of foamy lack of substance. The insecurities were present, but again, when you have perfect bicuspids and an amazing body: people will put up with almost fucking anything. Jayden ended up telling Braiden that Hayden didn’t even know Skylar, and all was well.
Cubano Style Espresso, Cigar City killed it with this one. Vanilla sessions with that coffee tip
David Salkolobster home brewed saison, holy farmtits this is amazing
@columbusbrewing Bodhi DIPA, Touch that Bodhi, Get All Up in the Bodhi, Put my Bodhi inside You
Alright, we can all agree that Christopher Columbus was a complete shitbag, right? I mean ok, he rediscovered a trade route, committed genocide of thousands/millions of natives, sold Carribeans into slavery, we all know about that; but he also probably never brewed a DIPA. If you do all that horrible shit and then never offset it with at least a quality beer, then, that’s just babystomp levels of wrong. Columbus Brewing would be the inverted analog to the imperialist mariner: solid land locked people with no boats, no imperialistic aspirations, and they brew a fucking amazing DIPA. I saw this lil elusive minx pop up on the old school top 100, back when the mics used to mean something, 95 was meant you were the shit, now a 99 is like the least you get. Mad props to BlacknYellow for sending me this sticky banger. Anyway, this is fucking amazing and the best hoppy offering to come out of the midwest in a long time. Sorry Head Hunter. This is vastly superior. This one is for you Sendsilk, stop complaining and let’s get up in that Bodhi.
Columbus Brewing Company visit their website
Ohio, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV
A: This is just beautiful. It isn’t that orange julius turbid mish mosh that HF presents, but it isn’t that deep gold SRM from west coast offerings, nor the ugly brassy east coast maltbombs: it is it’s own aesthetic. Looking at it, you wouldn’t think 8% abv DIPA, it looks like a tamer sort of Zombie Dusty affair. The carb held up well and there is light cling and little retention, but you didn’t put this hop porn in for the foamy storyline. You just want those hop oil money shots all in your mouth. Triple ropers.
S: This has a fantastic floral meets citrus boquet that doesn’t dominate on either profile. At first it is a bit aserose and you have sad feels, but then that grapefruit comes through like pith on the backend lightening up the bitter Coen Brothers hop profile with a bit of Raising Hopizona. Jamean.
T: Again, the pine needles are swept gently into a corner with some smashed lemon and yard trimmings in a beautiful medley that is distinctively grassy, resinous, but bright enough to maintain that complexity. It is the halfway house between shitty east coast malt bombs and simplistic refreshing west coast citrus profiles. The ABV is masked impeccably, you wouldn’t even know there were bricks stuffed up in the spare moving mad weight up in this whip. Pine cones soaked in grapefruit puree, bottled with unfiltered sunlight. Straight ratchet and worth the hype.

People who dont trade will be all rustled and talk about how their local IPA is the best, lol, rite.
M: This is exceedingly thin and all the better as a result. In racing they say “if you want to make your car do everything better, reduce the weight” and that is essentially what is going on here. This is a stripped down malty 240z with a fucking 350 of hops dropped into the chassis. I am not sure if this amount of resin to citrus ratio is street legal, but it def gives southeast asian kids erections. It washes away clean with an almost dry finish due to the oily bitterness that leave you with little recourse besides getting face down in it for another taste.
D: I killed this entire growler on a weeknight and wondered just what the fuck happened the next morning. My Roomba looked on in cold disapproval and swept up all the smashed goldfish from the entryway. This will get you on that Mossberg swerve to the point where, who knows, maybe you might get banned from a local establishment and/or beer website. Anything is possible with this minx. Highly recommended Boneyard/Alpine level shit. Seek this one out, srs.

It is like they took a classic formula and amped it up with speed, cornering and mid 90’s extreme intensity
Narrative: Dwayne Clark knew that his grill was illfitting and he didn’t care to address the issue. The lack of balance was his calling and the street youth loved him for it. In urban circles this was an issue of ultimate reproach and he instead chose to clench his bicuspids defiantly. “What type of cheesy gordita crunch would you like?” “mhm.” He just felt the pang of knowing that his vestigial dental accessory was somehow subpar to the most luxurious on the block, but ornate and amazing in execution. “I shed, jush a regular scheesy gordita, crunsh.” He gritted his jaw knowing they were mocking his ostentatious purchase, the precious stones obfuscating his speech. It was sheer excess, to be sure. WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO? TAKE IT OUT? That is simply not an option when you come so close to regal greatness. No sir, he resolved to show this grill in all of its majesty, despite the “minor” problems that he may encounter on a day to day basis. Dwayne would tend the danky vines in his grandmother’s basement and wait for the day that Interscope saw the true genius behind his radiant flows.










