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Hill Farmstead Fear and Trembling Cabernet/Bourbon Blend, Infinite Resignation is the Last Stage of Fatih

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Believe it or not, I have actually been trying to ratchet back my reviews of all these HF gems lately. No, it is not due to the confusion surrounding the Ephraim release, and no it is not due to my latent bitterness being unable to land an Ann (her?) I simply cannot forego reviewing some of these old school (relative to Hill Farmstead lifespan) treats.

This porter is suspending my universal beliefs for my individual understanding of what a porter can be.

Hill Farmstead Brewery visit their website
Vermont, United States
Baltic Porter | 9.30% ABV

A: Just like all well-done porters, this has that signature thin bodied nature to it that splashes into the glass without heft or massive sheeting. The carbonation is generous and looks like a Coffee Bean drink with khaki foam and microbubbles smaller than 3J’s role in Family Matters.

At a certain point you should at least try to mask your affection for something.

S: This is a bit smokier than I would have liked but imparts a nice char, super Charizard if you will. Then again I am not a fan of char in the first place so I guess take that with a grain of char limits. There’s chocolate, a slight red grape aspect that is more of a tannic dryness, and a bitter coffee aspect. I could have used a bit more of the refreshing porter aspects to this instead of toeing the imperial stout line but, you mess with the Baltic, you get the horns.

T: Thankfully this campfire session eschews the roasted wood and goes a ‘smore route with a deep chocolate, cocoa, vanilla and a touch of mallow foam. The dryness from the oak is present but doesn’t put both hands in your malt bowl, just enough to be noticed. There’s some plum and stone fruit aspects and a smoky finish at the verrrrry end that sneaks in like the littlest roast puppy in the litter. There’s a great complexity and it’s tough to knock any of the three variants of this beer.

If you don’t enjoy dark beer I could always serve you a baby sloth in a chalice, your decision.

M: The mouthfeel is slick and light, dead on to porter, but not quite going into an overweight stout territory. The carbonation is fine and feels like 700 thread count sheets, a sateen duvet in your mouth. But you drink beer so you probably have that Walmart all-in-one bedsheet that single moms love to tolerate. I liked this better as it warmed and the barrel characteristics became more pronounced. You want that deep dark fruit, go get it.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and masks its ABV very well. The light body and huge flavor profile is a haymaker that clears your glass pretty effortlessly. I would say the imperial porters from Hill Farmstead are improving steadily as I would rank them as follows:

Birth of Tragedy > BA Everett > Fear and Trembling

For anyone who gives a shit about bottles that are nearly impossible to obtain. Me recommending a 300 bottle run of something limited beyond belief is kinda like polishing an apple on my shirt and talking about which of my Ornithopters is my favorite.

Some people think imperial porters are just stouts in disguise, haters gonna hate.

Narrative: “And go, take your last bottle, first born in your cellar and cast it into the Fedex truck, for a return blessing shall be forthcoming.” The anonymous message seemed suspicious, yet highly credible to Mark Wallerstein. He had been trading beer online for years, but never before had he received such a divine command. “Is this some kind of LIF or someth-” he thought and suddenly a message appeared “NO, this is not a lottery it forward, only when you sacrifice your most precious bottle can you obtain that which is truly worthwhile.” This was a bit creepy but Mark began solemly wrapping his 2007 Cable Car in bubble tape, aware of the intense burden laid at his doorstep. He was to suspend all belief in bartering and give up his most precious to become elevated to a state of fear and trembling. He would exchange rationalism for hope in the ultimate gesture of beer bonhomie. Just as Mark was about to ship his final and only Cable Car, a UPS worker stopped him. “You see Mark, only by knowing that you could give up this sick wale, could you demonstrate your right to receive this:” and on that very site, his bottle was spared and he was given a bottle of Dirty Horse, unblended, 1983. A divine blessing indeed.

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Russian River Compunction, NOW AVAILABLE IN 24OZ ALUMINUM CANS

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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.

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Alpine GREAT Barleywine, For Those Times When Good Barleywine Just Wont Cut It

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Mad props to DJ Butters for this one, a long time wanter, first time drinker. I had this the night I got engaged, I was feeling GREAT. This beer calls back to fonder days of Alpine Brewing’s barrel aging program when it wasn’t managed by the Stone BA IRS oversight committee, too soon? Anyway, let’s start feeling hella GREAT so we can keep on dancing.

This beer is GREAT. The coffee in the background was just good.

Alpine Beer Company
California, United States
American Barleywine | 14.00% ABV

A: This is a turbid but milky little beast that lazily pours out of the bottle with low carbonation and zero fucks to be given. The hazy brown stares back at you and makes a nice little constellation of bubbles that foretell your impending doom. The lacing has a tough time sticking to edges because of the nice sheeting of clear alcohol on the edges pushing the malt crabs back down to the bucket.

This may originally be an English style, but ‘Merica be doing it more better.

S: This has a great smell to it, despite the age and the nose bump set spikes vanilla, caramel malts, oak, macaroom, light coconut and a hint of booziness that has been running the yard inside the bottle for years making people hold its malty pocket.

T: This beer is an automatic DUI machine. The taste has a slight hint of booze but imparts a generous amount of caramello, plum, dark fruits, and bourbon like a massive quad with a sweet entourage. I can see things getting dangerous real quickly with this beer, ex-girlfriends will be texted, the entry way will be soaking wet, these are all side effects of drinking Great.

This is a panacea for all that ales you.

M: Think of all the 14% beers that you have enjoyed over the years AND SHATTER THOSE CONCEPTIONS OF REALITY. This beer is exceedingly still and tepid but the dryness from the oak and malts balances out the sweetness amiably. It isn’t overly sticky, nor is it astringently drying, it comes off like a hug that lasts a little too long from a co-worker, but you’re ok with it because it smells like Rolos.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and will wrap that Nissan Sentra around a telephone pole for you. Life upgrades thanks to Great. This bottle is small and so is your tolerance, even if you don’t think it is. Kuhnhenn BBBW could chill with this dude all day and they could tell mercenary tales about the core ass 14%+ antics they’ve gotten into. Again, this beer is a bitch to land so “drinkability” is relative to your Scrooge McDuck vault. Then again, if you still have several of these laying around, maybe you aren’t a Great person.

People may judge you for drinking an entire bottle of 14% beer to yourself, but hey, that’s your thing, you can be into it in the privacy of your home and it’s nobody’s GOSH DARNED BZNSS.

Narrative: Ian Ziering never thought that it would come to this. Just two decades ago he was riding high on life, starring in Beverly Hills 90210, loving the jocular stardom and all the pitfalls that Hollywood could bring. “Direct me to the excavation site Mrs. Gower-“ he commanded as a strode through the track home and into the lush backyard. A Labrador sat tied to a tree visibly curious about what had been uncovered. “Sweet Jesus” Ian Ziering gasped and fell to his knees “this is a seriously rare specimen, Yuban coffee can case, aging looks from the late 80’s potentially the golden Nickelodeon era.” Ian had become obsessed with unearthing time capsules. At first blush, it did not make any sense, and his small business model had several holes that warranted fiscal explanation. “You have quite the find here, notebook paper contracts from 11 year olds with what appears to be an agreement to always be best friends, Vanilla Ice cassette tape, Dino Riders toys. . .yes ma’am this is quite the gem.” Mrs. Gower was entirely unsure about what was so Great about unearthing these old gems, but standing in the presence of Steve Sanders in his aged glory held a special resonance.

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Odell Saboteur, Someone Straight Sabotaged My Wild Ale

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Odell makes some great gems. Colorado beers at large are on the come up like a Tibetan dice game. Sometimes however, wild ales get a little unruly and you gotta bring in the sour stick to get them back under control. Let’s see what exactly is Sabotaged in today’s review.

This pic be ode. No pour photos, fire up that imagination.

Odell Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 10.00% ABV

A: The appearnce comes off as a brown muddiness with light lacing and some ruby tones at the edges. This is a strange base for a wild ale but it looks good, all things considered. I am always wary of dark sours because sometimes the complexity makes it trip over its own bacterial shoelaces, but this one looks pretty legit so far.

It’s like Consecration, but not. Like Rodenbach, but er…something is a bit amiss here.

S: There is a weird hybrid smell to this beer. You get two different worlds colliding at once. The first smell wafts of cherry, dark fruits similar to a quad, and some acidity. The second part is similar to almond with hazelnut and toffee. The smell is simply too busy to figure out what is going on for my feeble mind and nose. It’s like when someone puts on Godspeed You Black Emperor and nods approvingly, expecting you to love it at first blush.

T: There is a mild sourness at the outset that isn’t overly puckering. There is some smokiness but overall it doesn’t overpower or assert itself. It feels like it got pushed into a locker a Sour High School. It is mild mannered and enjoyable, if not forgetable. Again, the whole litany of things going on here makes it tough to pin down for either deficiency or innovation. You remember that dude in Mary Poppins who played all the instruments at once in the park? This beer is kinda like that, his music might suck, but what an undertaking.

This beer is interesting, but not exactly a Nightmare.

M: This isn’t overly drying but it isn’t exactly savory either. It is silky smooth but it also has some spikes and brambles to it as well. It reminds me of Rodenbach Grand Cru, but with a goatee and an eye patch. Just slightly different. It is the nuances that makes all the difference between Friends with Benefits and No Strings Attached.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and I wish that I had more of it, however, the availability and types of things I would have to give up to land this beer again make it less desirable. I could drink this beer all day, and not simply because it is my favorite style. Its complete failure to assert itself is a winning trait that makes it more likeable. Everyone needs a whipping sour you can beat up from time to time. It seems to have only Sabotaged its own chances to making it a truly memorable beer, and those Thundercat episodes aren’t gonna watch themselves.

I am not recommending death, but I would certainly say a solid 25 to life would benefit this wayward wild ale.

Narrative: The flashlight clanked and banged down 34 stories of the central air duct, setting off several alarms. Agent 301x wasn’t the best Saboteur that the Covenant had, but he was the only one currently available. 301x forgot his gloves at home and instead fashioned crude plastic mittens from discarded grocery bags. “I THROW MY HANDS UP IN THE AIR SOME TIMES SINGING AYYY OHHH” his cell phone began to clamor and resound echoing through the halls. He was memorable in his faults and impressive in his victories. The soles of his nonstick shoes squeaked loudly through the halls alerting everyone nearby of his presence. “ACHOOO!” he sneezed and accented the final noise so loudly that a janitor looked at his conspicuous face. “You again? God damnit, agent 301x, you forgot your keys again?” the janitor let him back into his own office; and the grand heist was complete.

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Three Floyd’s Robert the Bruce, Just Let Bruce Bruce Hit It.

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This is the worst Three Floyd’s beer that I have ever had. That isn’t to say that this is a bad beer, it’s just that Three Floyd’s is so consistently good that, when I stumbled upon this style that I already do not enjoy, it was made even more clear. So let’s get loose with it and let Bruce Bruce hit it in today’s review.

Bruce hits it and quits it. So I just preemptively quit Bruce. MAYBE HAVING A GLASS WITH CLEAR NUCLEATION IS THE CAUSE OF IT.

Three Floyd’s Robert the Bruce
Scotch Ale, 6.5% abv

A: There is a murky deep mahogany that almost comes off as black but the light reveals the deep almond hues. There is little carbonation, and not much lacing. Sorry to wake you up BRUCE, sorry for bothering your WITH MY FRIENDSHIP.

I am not sure what to make of this strange amalgamate.

S: There is some oakiness, some turbinado sugar, a tiny waft of whisky notes and overall a very mild disposition on the nose. The inoffensive light caramel is gentle and understated, not the flavor bombs that 3 Floyd’s usually drops on their consumers. Maybe the subtlety is in the taste?

T: Wrong again. The taste mirrors the smell and imparts a woody taste with some smokiness and overall just malts for days. This is not exceptionally chewy but the malt complexity makes you wonder what the grain bill on this beer looks like. It almost has a cigar smoke tobacco taste to it, which I am assuming is smoked chocolate malts or something to that effect. The hops are there in a very faint way, if only to make this beer taste like it isn’t just completely charred.

This beer is HIGHLY ILLO- /run_jokeabort.exe

M: The mouthfeel isn’t sticky and for all the flavors that the malts impart, it isn’t that chewy or expansive. The thing you are overridingly left with is a bittering from charred malts that tastes similar to well done ribs. The oaky notes underscore this and make the beer even more drying instead of sticky in its finish.

D: I didn’t really enjoy this beer. This is the first beer from 3 Floyd’s that I have ever had that I did not enjoy. It is acceptable for the style but I feel as though they were treading outside of their element, with lackluster results. It isn’t a bad beer by any means but, I certainly wouldn’t seek it out beyond testing it out as an extra. You can do worse for this style, but you can do a lot better overall.

What up guize, got some Bruce Bruce to sip on while we watch Requiem for a Dream.

Narrative: “Bob, BOB, this is a break room, not a god damn comfort inn, put the OSHA posters up and get back to work.” Robert knew that something was amiss. His avid Christianity seemed to have missed a mark in his previous life, he awoke confused just hours ago within Pizza Party Land, as an assistant manager. “Fie, but canna ye know as to waere mae family bae?” he questioned imploringly and looked around dazed from the new shock of this reincarnation. Just moments ago he was leading his men on a Holy War, reuniting Scotland and declaring his people’s independence, now he was taking a ten. “Your family? God damnit Bob, just clock back in and restock the token machines in Gametopia, we are short staffed today and I don’t have time for your games,” Sheila sternly commented and walked away speaking into a walkie talkie. “Aye, tis a strange betiding, praeth as to wha ere aye be.” At his core, Robert the Bruce was misinformed of the tenants of christian doctrine. When his heart was reburied in Melrose Abbey, his body was reassigned to a compatible spiritual equivalent core. “Too kains,” Robert muttered and thumbed the medallions like Spanish doubloons. From national hero to assistant manager in the matter of centuries, just another day in the life of a god damn Bruce.

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Avery Brewing Oud Floris, For those times When Yung Floris Just Will Not Do

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What can I say about Avery that hasn’t been said before by myself and then retweeted and reposted, to myself and then forwarded as a PDF to Avery marketing? For those who care and are keeping score, from Avery’s sour program we have received 4 amazing sours and a single misfire. I will let you examine the wicks to determine which one that was, but let’s look at this geriatric flower in today’s review.

I knew a Floris once, she worked at a diner and, in the words of the inimitable Soulja Boi, she “ode.”

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States

Style | ABV
Flanders Oud Bruin | 9.39% ABV

Alright enough of that “oud” joke, here’s the stats on this 237 case release (.rar.)

67% aged in Cab Sauv Barrels
17% aged in Bourbon Barrels
8% aged in Rum Barrels
8% aged in Chardonnay Barrels

You got that mathematicians? Alright, let’s get down to business.

A: This is dark, for a brown sour and even in the realm of the Oud Bruin, this has a deep murky pallor that hates me from the get go, the glass can barely attend to the billowing carbonation and sour genie that I just released. My first wish with ironic consequences is for a strong olfactory profile.

This beer is bad ass in a manner beyond my palate’s comprehension. Unleash the barrel Kraken.

S: Well wish fucking granted. This is granny smith apple tart with acidity that leaps up to your corneas and starts drying with tiny ph1 ice picks. There’s a tart caramel note, red grapes, sour molasses, and strange sweet tobacco smell to it. This is like if Consecration was mutated in a lab with Supplication and we got this Tyrant hybrid, a boss you totally did not level your character enough to face.

T: Wow, this is com-plex unlike a certain magazine by the same monicre. You get a strangely sweet nuttiness at the inception with a deep cranberry infused with merlot grapes. Don’t worry, this is not wine, I won’t flame Avery a second time for treading that ground. This is unmistakeably beer, and very good beer at that. If you have ever wanted your Rodenbach with more balls but Abbey St. Bon Chien is a bit weird to you, then this hybrid addresses your concerns amiably. I must say, as this warms, the astringency becomes more and more apparent, but unlike that complete failure Allagash Vagabond, this beer nails it without going to a fusel nail polish remover route.

brown ale, wine, rum, red grapes…I…I dont know what’s going on guize.

M: The mouthfeel almost hurts. The tartness is like eating a ton of movie candy, but you cannot stop popping in Skittles. The mouthfeel dries like the first time I tasted Temptation but in retrospect, this thing socks plenty of other wild ales in the face and sets to excoriating the first layer of the inside of my mouth like I just got a vintage can of Surge.

D: This is a great beer, complex, but seriously fuck you if you think you can power through several of these in a night. As usual, I drank the entire bottle to myself and that was plenty. It wasn’t that it was necessarily bad, but I felt like small birds could house themselves in the deep holes in my teeth after having this. Cankersores aren’t what most people set out to obtain but it’s certainly a possibility with something this acidity and complex at the same time. How about I use the throwaway word “complex” again. Shadow “complex” is an excellent Xbox Live game. There you go.

“Hey guys I got this little 12oz bottle from Colorado, I think it is sou-“

Narrative: The six heads of the synthetic beast fell to the lab floor with complete exhaustion. Test C734052 had been completed and it was apparent that this entity was capable of learning patterns. “Psshhifffsss” one tail that appeared to be a ream of grapes hissed at the lab monitor, busrting acidic juice on the walls. “Sir, do you feel we have tested the limits of what Napa barrels are capable of? I mean, this just feels like an abuse of our science grant,” Walmsly pleaded pointing at sciencey things on an oversized notepad. “GOD DAMNIT WALMSLY, I will tell you when our barrel experiments have gone too far, WHEN THE UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO BOULDER TELLS US SO-” Professor Vinos exclaimed with terse anger. It was his pet project, technically he was hired to teach viticulturist majors the ropes, but this flailing anomalous being was his chef-d’oeuvre. Who would suspect while the Buffalos were losing game after game in the Pac 12, his lab was pumping deep underground with new acidic life.

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Russian River Pliny the Younger, Beer Predators Always Seem to Go After the Younger Ones

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Boy oh boy, have we really come to this? A week ago we were drinking Rolling Rock and now we are sipping on the world’s highest ranked beer with careless abandon. Let’s rattle off some facts about this legendary (triple?) DIPA. First off, they don’t even bottle this beast because it single handedly submarined the Greek economy. Second, it is only available around groundhog day at a few choice locations, and only on draft. In fact, this beer is in an elite cadre of Draft Only No Growler (DONG) beers. So grab your dongs and let’s see if the hype is worth it in today’s epic review, written in dactyllic hexameter, JK!

When you see Pliny, especially in Younger form, YOU DOUBLE FIST. No questions asked.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 11.00% ABV

Here’s what the brewery has to say about this elusive hopmonster:

“Pliny the Younger, the man, was Pliny the Elder’s nephew and adopted son. They lived nearly 2,000 years ago! Pliny the Elder is our Double IPA, so we felt it was fitting to name our Triple IPA after his son. It is almost a true Triple IPA with triple the amount of hops as a regular I.P.A. That said, it is extremely difficult, time and space consuming, and very expensive to make. And that is why we don’t make it more often! This beer is very full-bodied with tons of hop character in the nose and throughout. It is also deceptively well-balanced and smooth.”

A: It looks like bright, translucent, molten brass with a deceptive clarity to the sheen. The carbonation, at least every time that I have had it, has been minimal and presents a hilarious little pencil lead head to garnish your hop-torn mouth. Did you really come into Pliny the Younger to look at it though? If so, maybe you are doing it wrong. Maybe Pizza Port just didn’t clean their glasses correctly, or maybe people from South Carolina take Boyking reviews too seriously, who IS TO SAY?

On the left, Pliny the Younger, on the right, immature craft beer palate.

S: This smells like the inside of a 8th grade stoner’s backpack. It has a deep resinous pine character that lends to a poplar, aserose, maple, and a sweetness that reminds me of the toasted orange rind garnish you commonly find on old fashioneds. However, as this beer warms, it lets some of the fruits loose to amble around the verdant meadows, and we are all edified as a result.

T: This has much more malt than it’s “older” bretheren and some people prefer that complexity. The bready and cornbread sweetness is damn near mandatory to buttress the hop bill that they have in this hop Basilisk, turning beer nerd pants to stone. The taste echoes the pine and foresty adventures of the nose but presents a new hat trick that reminds me of eating sweet rolls after a long day of raking pine needles. The creaminess of the taste really masks the ABV of this staggering giant and the entire interplay is really something to tip your hat to in the street, downright genteel.

This beer is a reason to lovingly long for Groundhog and Valentine’s day. A sweet solace to the horrible month of February.

M: The mouthfeel, despite the low carbonation, boasts a huge hop profile that works in tandem with the malts to continue the project that Pliny the Elder started, but takes it to absurd new heights. To some, this (D)IPA might come across as a new style altogether, shouldered with Ephraim, Devil Dancer, Knuckle Sandwich etc. however, this is deep down as Imperial as the Chinese shipping empires, and the hops resonate like a street basketball game.

D: Reviews like these are always tough to do, first because I have very little constructive criticism to coast the jokes upon due to the fact that the beer is just too damn good. Then again, I don’t want to knock this beer on accessibility alone, since that is an intentional decision. This is dangerously drinkable and you can’t help but wonder why others have failed to attempt this ambitious undertaking. Is it worth seeking out? Absolutely. Is this beer worth standing in line for 90 minutes and being shut out? No. Is it worth belonging to a mug club or stupid passport promotion to drink? Absolutely not. Is it worth buying $50 of charity raffle tickets only to lose on all of them and be denied access to this beer? No.

Is this one of the best T/D IPAs out there? The answer is a resounding “ya bruh.”

HEY LISTEN, I know you want PtY, but could you not post in forums about getting it in bottles? It makes you look like a shithead. Thanks.

Narrative: The boats bobbed softly in the bay of Naples and Pliny dipped his quill assiduously into the inkwell and felt mild vibrations through the legs of the Poplar table. “I must write in haste, for I fear that I have gone too far in my botanical pursuits this time.” The grumble of the dormant volcanic god, Pompeii, rumbled in the east. “In my quest for taxonomy and discovering different strains of the ‘wolf plant’ I appear to have cross-polinated in a manner repugnant to the soil itself.” The tremors became steadily more severe and Pliny’s hands shook with anticipation. “I seem to have created a strain of hops that defies belief, the root system is so charged with ‘aether’ that is has shifted the contents of the lower core, the oils are just too powerful!” The dirt-floored home shook violently and cast the aging octagenarian to the floor, a copy of Aristotle’s metaphysics lay open at his knees. “Please, tell my kin to abandon this deep curse, may the Gods take pity on my efforts at the River of Sty-” The Pompeiian mountain erupted, unleashing the hot hoppy fury of the wolf plant upon the teeming Romans below. Magma was truly the hottest DIPA that they had ever encountered, bitter coating sheets of obsidian and molten rock were bitter beyond belief. [FN1]

[FN1] entire entry reviewed for historical accuracy

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Boneyard Hop Venom, The Only Cure for Hop Venom is More Hops

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All those hops feel just like getting boned in the yard.

Boneyard Beer Company
Oregon, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.90% ABV

A: This beer has a light amber to a caramel tone, deep orange, maximal carbonation with a huge 3 finger head with little to no lacing, but maybe I just had a magic growler that imparted extra carbonation, how should I know? You wanna fight about it?

Dont approve of unbalanced DIPAs? Your argument is invalid.

S: Holy unbalanced beer detected, off the charts tropical fruit Skittles, blood orange, tangelo and lemon notes with a light herbal finish. After these East Coast gems, this lack of precision is like a blunt hophammer to the face. GUESS WHAT, maybe sometimes it’s fine to get blasted in the fac- wait, fuck.

T: There is a slight sweetness at the first taste that segues into a deep citrus assault that hits the gumline with a deep fulfilling dryness. The star of this taste is not the first or the second, it is the deep grapefruit aftertaste, which similar to a spiciness, makes you want to take another sip to keep chaining the after taste. It does a great job of hiding the high alcohol content because the majority of the focus is on the tangy citrus stickiness with just light bitter notes so that the warmth of the 9.5 % abv glides by undetected. After one of these though, the extreme drying becomes repetitive, like the 160 bpm of hard house music, it just gets a bit overwhelming and monotanous at the same time. GOOD THING I AM ON MALI WHILE TYPING THIS REVIEW. Psyche.

This reminds me of a series of knockoffs, however, this gem holds its own as a hop Manticor with several hissing heads.

M: The mouthfeel is inviting and smoothe, incredibly thin, but not overly malty. There’s not a lot of chewiness or coating to balance out whatever crazy hop blast that they have established here. The beer is a bit unbalanced, but not in a bad way, it feels like they knew what they were making and in only 2 liter growlers, this shit gets dangerous real quickly. They knew the niche market they were appealing to. Again, the extreme acidity from the hop oils runs to the sides of your mouth and sets up camp for a lingering 5 to 10 seconds, it will certainly jade your palate for other beers that you may have had planned. I am fine with that, this beer is amazing and I highly recommend getting your face drilled by it.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and took a moderate amount of effort not to finish this entire 2 liter growler to my dome piece. But then again, is that anything new on this website of excess? I drink these things so that you do not have to. This beer pairs an awesome sweetness with an addictive deep hop profile that juices your bitter zones enough to beg for the cooling rains of another sip. This happens ad infinitum until your Bend, Oregon dreams are shattered and Fedex is the only winner.

Cats may not enjoy this beer, but cats also can’t metabolize alcohol and hop oil, so fuck cats.

Narrative: Roger spun the chamber nervously trying to appear cool and collected. He had never been to a gun range before and felt completely ridiculous taking the pulchritudinous Taylor Emery to a gun range on a first date. “You okay over there?” she called from the booth, fidgeting with the paper cutout of a man pulling a woman behind a dumpster to be fired at. “Oh yeah, sure! Nothing like my old, er 6 shooter to cool off a day after, FUCK-” he dropped the .45 shells onto the ground and collected them hastily. He noticed a single forest green bullet and slid it into the primary chamber, trying to maintain a cool panache. He handed her the magnum, full action. This was not Taylor’s first run at the range and she gripped the stock with power and as the hammer struck the charge a huge green cloud escaped into a mushroom cloud of sticky splendor that smelled similar to a 7th grader’s bedroom. Minutes later, after firing only a single round. The two agreed that guns were deleterious to human progress and elected to watch Wonder Showzen with the sound off at Roger’s dorm room. The biological weapon developed at the University of Oregon was working to end war, one round at a time, getting kids hopped out of their minds on sticky, dank rounds.

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DC Brau, On the Wings of Armageddon DIPA, Hops as Fierce as a Dragonforce solo

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Now we make our way from the South to the, er, “kinda South.” Whenever I talk about Virginia, people think THAT is the South, but apparently DC is not? When I went it was sticky and dank just like this DIPA itself, so it’s the kinda south to me. However, people from Georgetown might as well be from Canada judging on how out of touch with reality those dryrubs are. Anyway, here’s an up and coming star that is tearing up the charts and was recently bottled for the first time, enjoy

On the wings of a hoppy dream, far beyond alpha acid reality

OH SNAP bonus glassware FTW. Thanks Matt Welling for the mad hooks.

DC Brau Brewing Co.
District of Columbia, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.20% ABV

A: This beer has a nice murkiness to it like Virginia lake water and a shallow dullness to it, like the West Virginia public school system. The carbonation is phenomenal and sends me right to armageddon, as promised. It isn’t exactly pretty, but you’re still down for some reason, kinda like Amanda Seyfried.

This is the most pleasant version of Armageddon since Kurt Russel in “Escape from L.A.”

S: This is a one note punch of Falconer’s Flight and reminds me a lot of Kern 5th anniversary, if we are comparing bad ass IPAs. There’s a grapefruit and honey aspect to this, but the east coast ghost seems to have infected this with a big waft of pale and crystal malt, which makes the citrus elements seem reigned in by contrast to other bi-polar offerings. However, this is far from disappointing, the citrus walks hand in hand with fresh lemoncake and cornbread zest. You can’t always be flirting with these size 1, DDipas, you need balance homie.

T: The taste follows through on the malty promises and goes full ZJ on the hops, even though I didn’t think I could afford it. The citrus is more like the ball boy to the pine slugger and there’s a kind of onion/garlic character hanging out in the outfield. The whole thing begs to be paired with Indian food or some awesome Thai, but it isn’t exactly the trip to Armageddon in the hop profile. For every pound of flesh lost in the hops I am put on a Dominoes diet in the malt zones so I remain with Jenny Craig results. This metaphor got out of hand pretty quickly.

I popped open this beer, hop wraiths escaped, and my face be all like-

M: This coats in a fantastic way with sheets of sticky honey, aserose, pine solvent, maple leaves, and conifers all around. If you used a Redwood tree for a glory hole, this is about what you’d get, with far less shame AS A BONUS.

D: This has a trifecta of chimerical elements going on, nice finish with a lupulus resin, high drinkability, and excellent carbonation. Just the perfect senatorial drink to enjoy after doing absolutely jack shit all day frustrating all legislation from the other side. It is a trip not exactly to hell, but let’s call it, Hoboken. But with more pine trees.

Is this a trip to Hopmageddon? No. It is close to hopurgatory though.

Narrative: You never thought that living in the Bastille in mid-eighteenth century France would be so boring. “Buy a time machine” they said “Meet Voltaire” they said. And yet here you are. The substandard gruel is of the most mediocre consistency and you long for the forthcoming reforms to spruce this place up a bit. BUT THEN YOU NEVER THOUGHT THAT APPEARING FROM THE FUTURE IN A HIGHLY SUPERSTITIOUS CATHOLIC COUNTRY WOULD LAND YOU IN JAIL, IN THE PAST. It was a very intense first few moments, the cobblestone streets, the mahogany bound books, the intensity was in the air, palpable almost. Then the bitterness sets in, again and again, the civil system what with your inability to confront witnesses, until it was just a prison of bitter and sour that you built for yourself. You paid top dollar for a time machine that placed you in a bitter purgatory, to which no amount of sweet can return you. “Loosen my shackles please, I feel that the iron is tarnishing my complexi-” What is that sour taste in your mouth? Bitter irony from a casuistic time traveler.

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COAST Boy King, The Best DIPA from the South Weighs In

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Big thanks to Calton Sparks and Steve Kim for this elusive hop bomb. The DIPA king of the south, finally reviewed as (D)IPA week steams along. You would think the South would be the masters of IPAs, bitterness, hot temperatures, juice supplements. However, it has been my experience that this is not their strongest suit, UNTIL THIS KING OF BOYS CAME ALONG. I had to wait over a year for this stupid beer to be made again so that I could review it fresh for you. That’s how much I care. Let’s get knee deep in the Lord of the Flies in today’s review

For all those drinkers who dream of having a kingdom of boys.

COAST Brewing Company
South Carolina, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 9.50% ABV

A: The beer couldn’t be more on style with a golden straw, deep yellow color, and subtle brassiness that imparts a 2 finger head of carbonation that dissipates slowly. It doesn’t go all super radiant and has a bit of an amber hue that makes me wonder if this will be a “balance bomb” but, I will let that shit slide for the time being.

A DIPA from the Carolinas already lets you know an evil hop ghost is lying in wait.

S: pine, grapefruit, a subtle citrus note to it like it is winding up a haymaker. Whenever you watch UFC in the south, this could be your hoppy companion for each grapefruit blast to the face. I will add that the pine has both hands in the Doritos bowl which is kinda offputting but, piners gonna pine.

T: great hoppy dryness to the initial taste, not overly bittering though, bitter tastebuds are in tact, the middle has a sweetness to it almost that is balanced with the light malt, the final taste leaves a lingering grassiness that welcomes another drink, the high notes in the initial hops link up nicely with the final notes of the low hops in the aftertaste. It tastes almost identical to how it smells, light citrus with pine grabbing your sister’s ass abruptly.

When I smelled this beer, pine started gripping all on my face and abusing my lower lip. My face was all like-

M: Light and drinkable, similar to most IPAs, not a significant amount of coating on the mouth, the light carbonation lends to the character of the beer, mild body of the beer sets the stage for the wellbalanced hops. The drying effect the coats the tongue with bitterness, it attacks the sides of the tongue and wipes out the salivary glands with a bitter orange rind citrus bitterness, the lack of sweetness/citrus makes the IBUS even more pronounced, the hops resonate upon swallowing and the aroma expands

D: exceptionally drinkable, some 9.5% abv beers would be tough with overly hoppy character to balance the alcohol but this toes a nice line, very exceptional for a casual beer. While session beer is almost a pejorative, this joins the ranks of what I would call “Super Balanced IPA Super Fun Squad.” Pliny, Oracle, Double Trouble, You know the characters. It is on point with those fellows and shoulders their ranks amiably. Buy this and drink this, dont save it, dont brag about it. Just enjoy an exceptionally balanced DIPA.

I have no idea when I will see this beer again, so I will wave goodbye and remember the hoppier times.

Narrative: “Alright, try to calm down” the police sketch artist pleaded “I know it is shocking, but try to remember something…anything.” What could you tell him, it was so offensive and abrupt, you’d almost rather just put it behind you. “Well it was bitter…unexpected…” “yes yes…go on..” God, what do you tell a complete stranger about a man who confronts you and pushes bitter hops in your mouth, “listen, I just dont feel up to this right now,” you still feel its grassy stench in your nasal cavity “ANYTHING HELPS” FINE “OK IT SMELLED LIKE PINE…PINE! Are you happy now?” your jaw lightly clicks in the tense silence that ensues “Did…were there any hops cones or flowers left beh-” “HOW DARE YOU ASK ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT.” The police artist completed what looked like a pirahna plant from Super Mario Brothers 3 world 7-3. That was him. “But, let me ask, what were you wearing?” “I AM OUT OF HERE-“