Didn’t use ak, today was still a good day.
I was saying Boo urns.
There is a weird plastic bandaid thing Going on. The tart spice is nice but not my fav ghost.
HotD Michael. The John Travolta movie is better.
This wrestler came with a crutch and a boot, so dope. Also this beer is super shitty.
Firestone Walker 13 through 16 for the haters
The pours are barely bigger than my epickz wale tasting when I pounded 1oz of so many walez bro
Firestone Walker XVI, nominee for worst beer pic Of the year
Nice silky mouthfeel with a gentle alcoholic heat at the backend. Not as substantial as parabola but more so than DDB, light toffee and cocoa aspect akin to a quad/ris gangbang. Enjoyable, but for a few more dollars I could be drinking Melange 3, so there is also that.
Firestone Walker Barrel Aged Rufus
Lightly tart, not really an amber at all, incredibly fusel, more Diesel than a 15 year old Persian boy.
Midwest Walgreens shelf Turds
I am going to be really alert and super negligent on my post office routes this week.
Fantôme Saison D’Erezée – Été, Slaying that Elusive Ghost Whale.
If you know your saisons, you better have your PK meter ready and Fantome should be on your radar. You may have had Hiver, maybe Noel, or even Printemps if you are a crafty ticker. Hats off to you in your ghost hunting efforts. In today’s review I slay the purple gear god tier boss of Ghost saisons: Fantome Ete. This hasn’t come to the United States in years, and even when this was released, it was incredibly limited. How do I know this? It has a 163 wants, 1 got ratio on a certain site and is as elusive as MewTwo to get your hands on. So in honor of Saison Marathon crushing the non-existent competition, let’s get your Masterballs our for today’s review
Had to lay out so many traps , and service so many Traps, to land this elusive phantasm.
Brasserie Fantôme
Belgium
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 8.00% ABV
A: This is a messy orange juice smoothie looking beast. I mean seriously, go look at the clarity on something like Surly Cynic and then compare it to this pulpy microcarbed slimer. There are fine microbubbles throughout with a wispy head that escapes as quickly as the ghost appeared. This looks like an Orange Julius that you get from the mall, and like the mall beverage, you can drink it while scamming for 9th graders. I am not here to tell you how to live your life. Dany Prignon was a little disappointed at the lack of mousse, but I was not disappointed because the mouthfeel was off the charts incredible, but more on that creamypie in a bit.
When a saison tastes like juice, who cares if you know cursive, pound that shit.
S: This is just Jamba Juice and Robecks demolished right into your glass. I remember going into this thinking that some serious pepper/clove was going to be present but it seriously just went orange pulp, apricot, tangelo, grapefruit (acidic though, not like mid alpha acid hops), and a crazy pineapple waft to it. There is a brett musk to it that is acidic as well, like rolling peaches in some old comic books, more bomb than Bullet Bill. I would kill several members of One Direction for another bottle of this.
T: This is incredibly lactic and comes out the gates swinging with a tart apple, high pulp orange juice, pineapple, and a sort of creamsicle vanilla finish to it that is just fantastic. I have never had another saison like this, it is incredibly turbid and messy, but its like an episode of You Cant Do That On Television where you secretly like being slimed by this juicy ghost. Get it on my face plz. If you have had Extra Sour, imaging that beer, with absolutely zero booziness to it, less dry, and more sticky and sour throughout. It is hard to make comparisons to this since it is so unique, but if you took Hill Farmstead Mimosa and added a puree of peaches to it and a smashed up Bisquick roll into it, this is what you would get. Absolutely amazing.
No Fantome Ete in USA? I THOUGHT THIS WAS MERICA.
M: This is the creamiest saison that I have ever had. I can safely say that there is a serious yogurt aspect to this and the swallow has this sweet soy milk thing happening that compliments the fruit in an anechoic chamber of pleasure. Only ghosts can know the peace from this rustling. There is zero dryness to this and it is juice all the way throughout. If you have had one of those Jarritos sodas where they emulate the Orange and Vanilla popsicles, you will get an idea of what is going on here. This is bizarre and comes across like something that Funky Buddha would hazard, but it takes a mad genius in Soy, Belgium to inject that phantom.
D: This is exceptionally drinkable and not only does not have any trace of alcohol to it, but it seriously tastes like it is good for you. I cannot fathom how there are no adjuncts in this beer because the fruit profile is so pronounced. In line with the other strange/rare reviews from Saison Marathon, I cannot stress highly enough that you need to lock this one down, which equates to a huge cock stomp to my readerbase, I know. If you can’t land this, dont spray liquid nitrogen on your labias and smash them with a hammer just yet, Dany Prignon and that ghost hunters may make more next year. We can only hope, otherwise bust out that Ouija Board.
When this ghost finally arrived on my doorstep I was all like
Narrative: Coming this fall to SYFY NETWORK: Ghost Listings, a show where experienced Realtors are SUED by former clients for not disclosing that the house that they placed into escrow WAS AS HAUNTED AS SELENA GOMEZ’S VAGINA. “When we first moved in, I figured, oh it is Bloomington, Indiana, hearing people moaning is normal. When I saw the walls start to bleed, I was pretty sure that this wasn’t the garden variety midwest depression that I was told about.” A cursory glance around the turn of the century Craftsman home would not reveal any imperfections, but slowly Mr. Walmsly noticed that something wasn’t right. “Well our daughter started talking about how Purdue was a ‘pretty nice school’ you know, giving up on life, suicidal ideations, that sort of thing.” After living in the home for 3 months, Dave Walmsly discovered a copy of Alien Ant Farm’s “TRUant” in the attic and knew that no living thing could own such a thing. “I was pretty convinced that it was haunted at that point, no conscious being would put themselves through that.”
Our team caught up with Chase Eldridge, noted Indiana Real Estate mogul and discussed the transaction. “This paper just says, ‘this is a matter of GRAVE importance’ what is this, is anyone with your crew even an attorney?” he quipped to our investigative reporters, immediately hostile to our story. “I just don’t know what you are even saying, so in this document it says that the ghost from that house is suing me? Is that even possible, like who does the ghost have jurisdiction over, sorry guys I have a 2pm meeting I have to-” it was clear from his evasive maneuvers that HE HAD SOMETHING TO HIDE FROM THE GHOST LISTINGS CREW. We went out back in the property to the orange/lemon/apricot garden and saw a smoky white mist of collected particles, sobbing gently under the portico. “He just, he said I could stay, and then he started touching the tip of my tail, my ghost tail here, like in a jerking motion, slowly at first-” it was clear at that point that Chase Eldrige was not only a real estate deviant, he was a ghost fucker as well. Another case closed on GHOST LISTINGS.
THIS FALL ON SYFY.
GHOST LISTINGS
Celebrating the mantits of beer nerds everywhere with Russian River Framboise for a Cure
Love this beer so hard.
Hill Farmstead Juicy, Super Nintendo Sega Genesis, When my Cellar was Off-Shelf Man I Couldn’t Picture This
Saison marathon wouldn’t be complete without tossing a new upstart that gets no fewer than 10 ISOs a day, the newest club banger out of those Vermont ballers. This is a wine barrel aged New Zealand hopped saison and continues that proud lineage of Norma/Ann/(HF X beer + wine barrel) that seems to consistently deliver. Any way, enough pageantry and Biggie lyrics, Saison Marathon needs to address NEW HIGHLY SOUGHT SAISONS.
Protip: you will probably not find this for sale at any bar. Don’t ask. Don’t be that guy.
Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 7.40% ABV
A: This has a bit of a deeper bronze/amber aspect than most of the HF molly dropping saison raves that I am used to attending. This may be less of a light show, but still is a foam party nonetheless. The 375ml gushed harder than an overweight woman after a first date. After it finally settled down, the pour was more tame and left little lacing and seemed more watery than I expected, but perhaps the barrel aged treatments provide some working over to the residual sugars, maybe every beer doesn’t need to leave your glass looking like a haunted house, ever think of that?
This is pleasant, yet terrifyingly drinkable. Approachable, but haunting in execution.
S: This beer is incredibly interesting in the respect that it approaches citrus from both angles and just chinese finger traps your olfactory. You get this dry musky pineapple meets kiwi sort of fruit profile from the hops, but deep down you know it is that trickster alpha oils trying to lure you into its Econoline van. Then at the same time, you have traditional/acidic aspects more akin to “real” fruits like apricot and lemon from the saison and light lactic aspects. Both nose holes filled, just getting jumped in from rival citrus gangs, tatting juice tears on your cheek.
T: This is drier than I expected, but maybe we should cast our prejudices aside. Maybe being raised in a barrel gave it a predisposition for citrusy violence. “Nature vs. Nurture in the Farmhouse World” is the title of my forthcoming Woman’s Studies Thesis where I explain why there are not enough female eukaryotic in the saison industry. Enough fucking around, this tastes like a brett C profile at the outset, like looking through an old yearbook, trolling for digits, that musky paper taste when you lick her picture, those Tommy Hilfiger overalls in Geometry and when she would sit you could see- wait what. So you get brett and then a nice substantial wheat profile like a Hawaiian roll that is sweet but lingers with a flash of bready grist that subsides into this lemongrass and apricot jamba juice boost on the backend. There isn’t as much juice in this as expected largely due to the dry profile, but it ends up more refined as a result. Maybe that girl from Purdue wasn’t as hot as you had hoped, but she was a anthropology major.
Close your eyes, this saison might remind you of a certain transatlantic phantasm. Ethereal farmhouse spirits.
M: This is nowhere near as dry as E. but presents a smattering of elements from a series of the other accomplished entries in the Hill Farmstead catalog. You get this honey aspect that reminds me of Anna, but a sort of substantial wheat aspect that pushes me closer to Arthur, and with loving dryness and light acidity, old Norma watches the fold with loving care, slowly knitting an afghan for the coming Vermont winter. It ends up being a Voltron of several good qualities but not overdoing it on any one area, like playing as Yoshi in Mario Kart. One thing that bothers me is when the uninitiated saison asshole seeks this out because “IS GOOD RATEING!” and complains 1) wut this isn’t sour or 2) saisons are a simple style, etc. Fortunately, if someone is actually drinking this, they likely know what they are in for.
D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I can see why people wanted multiples of such an exceptional beer. The ABV hides under the porch waiting for citrus mommy and hop daddy to stop fighting. The 375 is almost a punishing format for a beer that disappears this quickly. It would be like if Live Oak finally bottled their Hef and then used 25cl bottles. My room would look like a CRV depository. In sum, another amazing beer from HF that pushes another elegant etching into the arabesque of the saison world. I can’t think of an analog to seek out to emulate this, which is something noteworthy in the beer world.
If this were a larger format, I would be Gucci Mane faded all day long.
Narrative: Turritopsis nutricula floated lazily in the Chardonnay medium. Barefoot Winery would have never suspected that the salt conditioning of their barrels would contain this prolific common rider, dancing lazily in the fluid. He was a resilient jelly, not insubstantial in grace or refinement. Some would argue that he was out of place in the lower end wine game, but he held a deep secret: NUTRICULA IS ETERNAL. I say that not in the Aristotelian way that he will remain in history forever, he was literally immortal. Whenever the changing tides of acidity or oak would affect him, he would embrace the citrus and float daintily down and respawn buds anew, changing his tissue to embrace the tannins in a new life. He was the lazarus of the depths of abject alcoholism, each time reborn with new strength. This diversity and power came from the polyp, for only by returning to life’s beginnings can one truly apprehend the beauty of a $7 bottle of wine, sometimes the negligent beginning of another life. Turritopsis would wait, elusive, ever changing, fortified by alcohol, oak, and juice; the Tuck Everlasting of the beverage world.
dontdrinkbeer 