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Uinta Labyrinth Black Ale, You Have To Fight a Minotaur at the End of The Bottle

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Alright so let’s lay this to rest, black ale? No. Imperial porter? No. This is an imperial stout aged in rye barrels. I swear if they wrote that on the front in font size 22 they would have sold 200% more units. Everyone who stumbles across this ends up loving it and always says the same shit “BLACK ALE? I NEVER KNEW IT WOULD BE THIS GOOD!” Brewery kudos, labeling gaff, but in the end if you make an amazing product, you could call is Manticor Jizz and I would still probably drop the $15.99, just to, you know what I mean-

Infantile beer pics for the win.

Uinta Brewing Company
Utah, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 13.20% ABV

A: shiny black with a dull pallour that reflects a slight viscosity above a super black stout such as Abyss etc. Nice coffee colored head with thick lacing. The light around the glass was sucked in and not even photons could escape the lacing. This stout is a straight up entropy vacuum.

S: Black licorice notes, whisky heat on the nose, burnt coffee and oak scents, with a final sweetness that I cannot place, something akin to “dark caramel” if such a thing existed. There’s a mild anise and some leathery aspects, but a manly ass spaghetti western chocolate leather. That kinda shit.

A gigantic dark ale aged in rye barrels, Utah just introduced some serious problems to the rest of the Union.

T: Fantastic complexity, tons of bittering on the front with tomahawk hops and very herbal notes that give it an anise black licorice taste, think a shot of fernet brancha that fades into a chocolate milkshake. The coffee maltiness rounds out the body of this beer. The front explosion on the sweet taste buds is so overwhelming because the beer itself is so bitter, labyrinthian in character, your tongue cant make heads or tails as to where to go. The carbonation is moderate so the heat and chocolate oiliness is left to linger, which might be bad if the finish weren’t so pleasant.

At first when I realized this was a big black ale, my jimmies were rustled, then they were unrustled when I realized how good it was.

M: the mouthfeel has great coating, not excessive maltiness or carbonation. In fact, I feel that it was slightly flat if anything, but given the complexity of the flavor this is not a fair sleight to such an ambitious beer. Tough to push past the 2 beer mark unless you are really a fan of stouts and darkness to your beers. Most palates could handle a 5oz taster and that would be sufficient I am sure. But very tastey nonetheless and highly recommended.

D: I dont remember liking this style that much, what with Unibroue’s Terrible and Death and Taxes not leaving lasting impressions, however, this is probably the best “black ale” that I have ever had, excepting Mortification, which is very tough to find. It will likely be clositered into a niche where you use it to impress your friends who dont like beer, or relegated to the back of the cellar until Autumn begins its defoliation. This beer is certainly not welcome while one is working on his Transam or wearing cutoff jean shorts by the lake. Both activities comprise a large amount of my general lifestyle so it will be a tough one to work in.

After about 700ml of this, shit gets real and you start to wonder how you are going to get anything done in the morning. Scary realizations abound.

Narrative: Fumbling with the, is this it, my lighter? Click click, the flint strikes but only reveals more blackness. The last thing that I remember was approaching the everglades at night when I tripped over some licorice vines and, now I can’t make heads or tails as to where I am. The moon itself is obfuscated into a murky pallour behind jet black clouds, projecting a pathetic reflection. CLICK, finally the lighter strikes and I can see that my predicament is more complicated than I remembered, just darkness in each direction, an enveloping shroud that slowly seeps one of any hope of escape. Several paces later, and I feel more weathered, yet it seems I remain in my same position, more fatigued, with a lightness of the mind and body. Is this the “cave sickness” that they spoke of when I visited the mercer caverns as a boy? No, no time for that now, I have two options, continue down this murky path, ever exhausting and relentless in darkness OR lay down and succumb to the blackness. The labyrith will wait patiently for the sun to come.

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Cantillon St. Lamvinus, One Hell of a Lambic, God Dambic.

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People go loony for loonz. Cantillon is a hot button for beer nerds and European kids alike. A few of these bottles made it to the U.S. but if this was ever on a shelf in California, that shelf would only be found in the store manager’s house. So yeah, this beer is amazing and a complete pain in the ass to acquire. What else is new.

Dorothy Lamvinus was a saint.

Brasserie Cantillon
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 6.00% ABV

A: Nice ruby huge to a light magenta. It has micro bubbles with wispy lacing. It looks like a majestic wine cooler. If bartels and james won the lottery and went all high brow, this would be the result. Actually, if anyone won the lottery I would expect plenty of this all up in their house. This is about the closest that I get to wine, which is not very.

S: Huge tart notes with great strawberry, cherries, sour currants, and bitter grapes. Granny smith apple skins are there as well. This smells incredible. There’s that classic Cantillon musk, laundry hamper, Audi leather on a rainy day.

I cannot chill when loonz are involved. I need more, perpetually.

T: It has a crisp raspberry tartness that mellows into a smooth sweetness like a melted fruit rollup. It has a sour finish to it that imparts an incredibly refreshing dryness. This is one of the best Cantillon that I have had to date and it is one of the best Lambics that I have ever had. The vintage helped mellow it incredibly, even if it was only 2 years. The fruits interplay with the tart notes perfectly.

A little taste of Belgium, this beer is straight up showing me the world without Vanessa Williams.

M: It is incredibly light and juicy with minimal coating and chardonnay dryness that just stings and crackles in a fantastic way. The carbonation is like an army of diligent effervesence that makes sure the bitter notes are imparted with incredible efficacy. Again, just amazing balance all around. These reviews are hard to write and interject any levity because I am usually all half chub off the grapes and muskiness so I can’t focus on ways to talk shit on it. Serious problems.

D: This makes Consecration look like an imperial stout and Lindeman’s look like candy syrup. It is leagues above all other sours and lambics that I am familiar with. I could drink this in a boat, with a goat, green eggs and ham; etc. You could drink this with any food, at any location and it would be well suited. I feel that this could give white and red wine equal competition with pairings because it is so original and dynamic. I can’t imagine how blaeber could improve on this model but I am anxious to try [editors note, I tried Blabaer since I tried this and, it does improve on that model, not by a landslide but, blabbies gonna blab.]

Damn, grapes and musk, this loon can have all my digletts.

Narrative: Vitus Tanneen had been in some sticky jams before but this time, this time certainly was noteworthy. The walls of the trash compactor closed slowly, pressing the wine refuse closer into the chamber. The aluminum walls reeked of sweet grape skins and sticky notes. If not for the impending death, this would be an almost pleasant situation. “Well Sir Knuckles, looks like we are in a PRESSING SITUATION!” His friendly companion, Sir Knuckles, was an astute howler monkey with no penchant for puns. “WREE EE EE EEEK!” Sir Knuckles gestured imposingly to a hatch covered in sticky grape residue. “Well Sir Knuckles, this is one top that I have no hesitation to pop.” Using a wine opener, Vitus deftly unsealed the hatch and emerged into the bay area sunshine. “NOT TODAY KENDAL JACKSON! NOT TODAY!” He spun and his velvet tails swung after this athletic frame with the poise of a man, a man almost killed by grapes.

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The Bruery 100% Barrel Aged Cuir, I Want a Beer That Says “Daddy Likes Leather”

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Ah, back on the sweet Barrel Aged Bruery jams after a nice respite of sour tongue kisses. So this is the $30 100% barrel aged version of their anniversary beer, not be confused with the 25% barrel aged chopped and screwed version. Their new anniversary ale is coming out soon, so I figure I would celebrate the last day of pre-orders with this heater in the two seater.

For all the beer daddies out there who enjoy leather.

100% Barrel Aged Bruery Cuir
Old Ale, 14%

A: Great deep brown hues, like a masculine Belgian quad, this beer just exudes refinement. Its lacing and sticky profile connotes that this beer lives in a furnished loft that smells of rich mahogany. There’s a strange almost violet hue at the edge. The malty foam is like whitewater rafting with Kevin Bacon. I know, I phoned it in and fucked up on the non-pour pic, but use your imagination you ingrates.

This is a decadent gem that should be enjoyed in moderation, preferably out of the navel of a Ford model.

S: There is a huge raisin profile with booze and dark fruits. Again, it feels like you had the solid framework of a Subaru STI and then boosted it further. With compelling results. I enjoy the sticky caramel and bruised fruits all up in the mix. Brown sugar and some cinnamon poke their heads out but see that mommy and daddy booze notes are fighting and go back to bed.

T: There is a great cinnamon sweetness and again the dark fruits are dominate. Finally there is a satisfying molasses stickiness that just floats the wafty barrel notes incredibly well. The bourbon rolls deep with banana clips lighting up the scene indiscriminately. The raisin and stone fruits walk hand in hand in a civil union with the oak and bourbon and you are entirely tolerant of the results.

The heat amped up as it warmed, but the complexity of the flavor makes me not even mad.

M The mouthfeel is thin but enjoyable. I was expecting some huge maltiness but it actually keeps it pretty Callista Flokchart. Unlike its crazy brother Papier, the heat on the palate is noticeable but not over powering. If Papier plays football, this is more of a Le Crosse or debonair fencing type.

Probably shouldn't have taken this whole 750 to my dome piece. I ain't chicken. No regrets.

D The abv comes out bit by bit with warmth and makes it a little too much to take on by oneself. Then again, when drinking a 14%+ beer on your own, a 750 ml might not be the prescribed serving size. I enjoyed it immensely but, I also enjoy tiramisu. Just not a whole tiramisu. I am hardly the paradigm of moderation but this beer will get you more FEDED than Tyga.

Old ales always confuse me, but then I go to sleep and it all makes sense. Def a dank lil treat, 5/5 would read again, 2143 readers found this review helpful.

Narrative: Hitting the nightclubs with sage old Cornelius Woodage seemed like a complete paradox. What with his antiquated elephant hunting outfit, bezzled monocle, and a moustache that could only be deemed nonionic on the most hipster of circles: we just figured he wouldn’t fit in. “Guys, it’s a 3 bottle minimum for any guys, looks like we are sunk.” Cornelius strode up to the bouncer and immediately began to effect his bonhomie on what seemed like the entire line. His old genuine warmth had the tanned and tattooed masses eating out of the palm of his cream lambskin gloves. “Well chaps, looks like fortune smiles upon those who choose the flight not the right!” He clapped his riding boots together and we were immediately admitted. However, after 3 hours of drinking, he brandished a deuling pistol and fired it into a fish tank. All in all, he’s def a solid bro.

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Lost Abbey Framboise De Amarosa, Farmboise De Omarosa REEEMIXXXX 2012 CLUE CLUE DJ KAYSLAY THE DRAMA KING fee fee feenn feeennn.

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Alright, so I don’t usually drop the beat and bring the track back unless there’s not enough snare in my headphones. In the case of last year’s Framboise De Amarosa, there was too much acidic tinny snare rankling my jimmies. I was straight rustled. So I figured I would give this a chopped and screwed 2012 flow for the masses.

Some people complain that there are too many sour reviews up in the cut like what these days. Don't worry, the days of shitty adjunct lagers and Solo cups is almost among us. The air is redolent with bluebell and azalea.

Lost Abbey Framboise de Amarosa
American Wild Ale 7.0% abv

Let me kick off this slow jam by noting that this is largely different from last year’s batch in that the acidity has been ratcheted in, they install some sick fruit forward headers, and catback raspberry exhaust. If you like a more subtle approach, you will enjoy it more, if you have dental insurance, you might like the old acidic approach, hey, whatever chases your Valtrex is cool with me homie.

Old craft beer enthusiasts are tough to impress.

A: There are deep ruby hues with some nice light carbonation and light red lacing. It’s like Hypnotiq’s baller ass raspberry flavor to be all sipping on while you’re cruising in your triple black Challenger. It looks a lil more murky than last year but on the Cuvee De Tomme tip, just a lil juicy juice.

This beer is confusing but strangely fulfilling. The mystery continues further this year. Uncel Doland appreves.

S: The smell presents an intense cranberry and acidic dryness with raspberry on the nose. The oak is present in the smell and it is has a juicy wine profile to it. It’s like Andre Rose Champagne but with leather seats and a cutty ass Gucci interior. The skins and crispness of the berries is more present and there’s less of a harshness on the low ph scale to this, and it is more approachable as a result.

T: The taste is still drying but doesn’t go balls out on the oak, it has more of a refined and balanced approach to the berry and interplay with the base beer. If last year was a caustic Fox news, this would be…The Raspberry Science Monitor? As it warms you get a jammy preserve sort of interplay that works well with the skins and wild ale base.

This is a sweet sassy gem with a sticky sense of shameful reproach when the glass is gone.

M: Again, there is an intense, huge crisp dryness. The mouthfeel seems like it’s an intense merlot with oak to round it out. It’s tough to determine exactly how thin or thick this beer is because the coating is so acrimonious. IT’S SUCH A DEEP BURN, OHHH DEEP SQUATS WITH SICK BOUNCING BETTIES, SICK DEAD LIFT FINISH BROMOROSA.

Raspberry deliciousness. TARGETS ACQUIRED.

D: This is an incredible experience with crazy highs and low to it. This is not a figure of balance, nor does it do anything in moderation. It is impossible not to recommend this exceptional beer to others. Clearly, it is not meant to be enjoyed as a sesssion beer and should be treated accordingly. The taste is so amazing that it is hard to knock it for adhering to a certain style so well. Overall it is incredibly bitter and juicy and I am left wanting more.

This amazing raspberry gem is a sign of cognition and awareness to come. FUCKING BREADCATS PEOPLE.

Narrative: The train of her ostentatious gown dragged upon the split staircase with wanton disregard for anyone walking near her. After all, there were plenty of tailors within her Parlor and weekly soirees that would readily repair any damage. Somehow Countess Brioche sought more than just the exploitation of the endearing faces of the working classes. She sought their unending love. Notwithstanding, her acerbic parents brought her up to speak her mind truthfully and freely at all times, no matter how scathing. “Oh-oh-oh!” The Duchess of Piedmont fell down two stairs to her knees upon the rich velvet of Countess Briochess’s train. “Your steps lack precision due to the mass pressed upon them.” Mme. Brioche commented and felt a slight pang at her ejaculation. It wasn’t fair to cut others so deeply with such a bitter acerbic purity. Somehow, in this acidic repartee, others saw themselves, and their own shortcomings, despite the caustic burns they received. Countess Brioche looked upon a bustling courtyard of servants who despised her, but respected her stinging candor.

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Cuvee Delphine 2009 De Struise Brouwers, After a Long Journey From Belgium, This Sweet Lady Lands Stateside

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I have a long documented love for Struise, from Black Albert to the strangely fulfilling Schommelpeird. This beer is no exception. This is Black Albert aged in 4 Roses Barrels for maximum pwnage. The potential sweetness of the 4 Roses did not seem to be a great pair with Black Albert, however, let’s take the Pepsi challenge to see if this gem is better than the Classic.

Sweet Nestle Kisses from that old bourbon proprietor down by the creek. Don't tell your foster parents, they wont love you as much.

De Struise Brouwers
Belgium
Russian Imperial Stout | 13.00% ABV

I always wonder about the labels on these beers, it’s like, seriously after all that time soaking in bourbon, it didn’t pick up a single aspect or ABV notch of bourbon, I don’t wanna talk to a scientist, those motherfuckers lyin’ and getting me pissed. It’s like how 50/50 Eclipse sits in Pappy Van Winkle for 9 months but somehow remains as non-alcoholic as ever. Anyway, this beer pours like Black Albert has been juicing, the sheeting is more intense, nice microfine bubbles, mocha foam lacing, but not super gnar on the clinging. It’s not like that 18 year old girl you accidentally told you loved her, not that level of cling. Still, undeniably a beautiful beer.

I wasn't super stoked on the 50/50 Eclipse 4 Roses but then this beer hit 60 degrees and shit went to maximum satisfaction real quick.

I know a bunch of beer nerds will get their pitchforks and rally but honestly, the nose (after it warms up) reminds me of Kate the Great in a huge way. “PORT SPIRELS ARE DIFERENT!” they will object, but seriously the sweet caramel tone of 4 roses got all up inside of Black Albert like a prostate exam, and the result is a healthier, burlier stout that can chuck kegs over a 12 foot wall. At first I was underwhelmed at 50 degrees because I was like, oh, apparently they put this in the barrel for about 3 days, then shit opened up like the throttle on an Audi R8 and the upshutfucks were distributed with panache and gracious aplomb. This stout has a lithe sweetness that doesn’t seem to come from the malt or the bourbon, it is a weird third aspect of caramel and marshmellow that comes in and interjects opinions like a poorly moderated Fox News show. All of a sudden you are confused as to who is correct, the deep bourbon or the chocolate toffee malts, existential conundrums abound.

This isn't exactly an automotive repair beer, then again, anything clocking in at 13% is basically a non-jetski beer.

The coating is actually thinner than I remember Black Albert being, but isna brown sugar manner that is hard to explain like finding concealer under the seat in your car. Again, it reminds me of Kate the Great that makes beef jerky and doesn’t tip valets. If this beer ratcheted back the cookie batter aspects, it would surpass kate, but this is like disputing the 911 Turbo vs. the Z06, there will never be a winner, just a huge amount of butthurt.

As far as drinkability goes, my glass is gone and that is a perfect indicator to me that, for 13%, people have been killed for less. It will not cross the threshhold of those people adverse to stouts or any dark beers, alepigment prejudice (APP) but if you have someone who is stoutcurious, you can get him/her to taste the succor of this sweet treat.

After a couple of these, I think it's safe to say I have no idea what is going on, chronology or otherwise.

Narrative: Treyvon Vizio had been a riverboat gambler as long as he could remember. Well, this warrants some clarification, Treyvon was born in northern Atlanta but adopted at age 3 to work a casino riverboat on the Meuse river in Belgium. The Netherlands were a strange place for a salt old gem like Trey, but he adapted quickly, swindling the passing German tourists, serving up “authentic” bayou cuisine coated in Belgian candied sugar, and espousing Mark Twain allegories that had no basis in fact. Old Trey was a sweet one, easy to like, but he would turn on you like an old Flemish adder once any form of jig was elevated. Technically, since he moved there at age 3, he shouldn’t have had a thick islander meets creole accent, but Noam Chomsky never called him out. He would just strum away on his river ukulele and tell the Belgian locals about his trials wrastling rivergators in a country where everyone carried firearms. Old Trey took a bite of imported cacao and surveyed his work amiably, sure, they were affluent river tourists, but what else would Belgian people be doing? Tracing back the roots of the Holy Roman Empire? Maybe investigating the history of 15th century oil painting materials? No fucking way. These people have enough X and trees to last through 18 Foster the People concerts, they were all about the riverboat gambling with old Treyvon.

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Drie Fonteinen Hommage, Paying Hommage to all my broken bottles lost in shipment, RIP

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So this beast took quite the fucking effort to land. As far as I know, not many bottles of this made it stateside and the jump across the pond involved quite a few amazing bottles and, in classic form, this bottle came in a lamp box all the way from Ireland. It didn’t speak the language, just a drain on the system, but I married it, so it’s chill. Well let’s see if all the hype is worth this sour unicorn.

This beer should pay Hommage to my Fedex account, so many damn boxes and an international trade to land this ruby bastard.

Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 6.00% ABV

I remember some nay sayer once told me “Don’t try for that beer, it’s too hard to lock down and it’s basically 3F Sch. Kriek but with raspberries.” Let me be the first to say, no fucking way. This beer is incredible in a waay even beyond the way that Sch. Kriek is amazing. I drank this side by side with Blabaer and I think this one carried the day. Just look at it, it has a radiant glow like fairy afterbirth. The lacing settles down and lets the berries and complex base beer shine like a telecaster sustained note. It doesn’t need lacing, no parlor tricks like a huge head, just balls out acid and musky complexity. You don’t like raspberries? Well too bad, this is like pink interior in a Murcielago, you fucking deal with it.

When this box arrived from Europe, I was all like this, shit was so cash.

Ok so, maybe there are some similarities to this and Sch. (cant spell it, too lazy, TL;DR) Kriek, but it is similar in the way that the way that a base v6 mustang is similar to a GT500 in that women can maybe tell the difference. Those of us who aren’t sexist generalizers will have something to say. There is a musky mossy cardboard finish to the nose of this beer. The raspberry notes do not fuck arond, even with age they are like sage old wise berries and smell delicious and almost too archetypical to be real, like this is a type of lambic bubble bath. The smell makes me think that this will melt my face like Christopher Lloyd in who Framed Roger Rabbit. Toontown up in this bitch.

This beer is mesmerizing and plays with your mind, in a sage wise old way.

There is an super drying tart raspberry taste to it that just tears the enamel off of your teeth. Your taste buds run for cover, but there will be no shelter provided under this oppressive regime. You get the tannins but then a sweetness comes in to stop the dental abuse, a halfway house. The drying nature combined with the raspberry gentleness makes this a bit more refined than Scharsbeer (I tried). It is delicious and caustic at the same time, like a well balanced Taylor Swift album. AND JUST AS BITTERING.

Despite the transatlantic voyage, violent yet classy mouthfeel, and incredible tartness, I love this lil pumpkin. My taste buds are like when Scarlett comes back to Antebellum south after Sherman’s march but, in death there is rebirth. Maybe my sour zones wont be such pussies next time. It is incredibly delicious and I am sure another vintage of this would be amazing. I just don’t know any average person that you could pop this open with at a ski lodge or, on a Grayhound bus to meet your baby’s momma. No pedestrian endeavors here, just raspberry violence and infidelity.

You taste a sip of this Belgium gem and want to embrace its European nature, kinda.

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Crooked Stave Blackberry Petite Sour, Like Jamba Juice, For Fitness Buffs with Alcohol Problems

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What else is there left to be said about this plucky upstart, Crooked Stave. It uses the fabled Rocky Mountain water that we have heard to much about in a different context. Every batch seems to hover around 1000ish bottles which is the sweet spot for breweries these days, as we all know, ask any kid holding onto a Black Note, he will tell you. So lotsa juicy treats popping up in the spring, let’s see if this one puts forward a good foot, or GETS TANGLED IN THE VINES.

In between all the malt calories, who has time for fresh fruit? Crooked Stave has a solution for you.

Crooked Stave Artisan Beer Project
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV ?

BOTTLE NUMBER 424 of 857, mad points for .RAR skillz

This of course, was aged in wine barrels with blackberries added. Blackberries are so damn expensive that using that as an adjunct alone is a feat in itself. I guess all those membership fees are going to good produce use. These brewers must mash out at Farmers Markets like Belle in the intro sequence of BntB (slang.) Anyway, as you can see, this beer almost comes across like something that could be good for you and the color is downright pretty. There are all kinds of deep fuschia, purple, maroon, and ruby hues that makes you feel like Lisa Frank brewed this one up with unicorn blood.

DAMN YOU ELUSIVE SOUR GEMS, your unavailability is megabusting my balls.

The lacing is minimal and I am glad, get that shit out of the way, this is sour territory and I don’t have time for you expansive nature and lacing, lambics don’t fuck around and this wild ale gets right down to business. The bubbles are super fine and put together some nice floorboards for the acidic tannins from the blackberries to gracefully pirouette upon. The taste is exactly what you’d expect, juicy, drying blackberries all up in your dome piece. The oak and tannins go hard in the paint not unlike Wacka Flocka Flame, leaving your mouth all satisfied and dry with residual tastes of jams and preserves. Mammy let you lick the pie tin because you are a good boy.

Gary Soto once wrote a story about how he ganked this pie and felt like a shithead for it, and I kinda feel bad as well, receiving a beer like this so far from its native Colorado home. Kevin P. is a solid bro for kicking this tart gem into my mix. The drinkability, despite the nice acidic finish is kept in check by the sweet aspects of the berries, so it’s like when two girls are jocking you at the same party, an efficient gradient of acrimonious intent levels shit out. Never happened to you? Drink more sours homie.

I will have to disagree with the label’s bossy tone, telling you to serve it around 45 degrees, yeah maybe if you are afraid of amazing delicious fruit notes, then go be a scaredy cat and enjoy the limited profile of this gem. It reminds me of a more brash version of St. Lamvinus, like St. Lam’s brother that is all into magic tricks or the Eagle Scouts. Ultimately this beer is like getting a sloppy smooch from the Smuckers’ curator, and you are edified as a result.

At first I was all like, I ain't drinking no sissy girl colored sour beer, but when it turned into a robot teradactyl and decimated a gigantic monster, it had my attention.

Narrative: What the post-Platonic school of thought never contemplated was that, for every being in the aether, for every corresponding form of each berry ever made, there is a berry heaven. While not sentient, each blackberry in 300 b.c. Macedonia exerted a Will and Representation and, upon consumption, filled a nothingness with each other berry. Michael Park was a total asshole in his life. He would take the last slice, borrow your boardshorts and never give them back, and constantly talk about how amazing the shitty ass Miami Dolphins were. But now he is dead. He awoke in a field with his blackberry Virgil and accompanied him through chamber after chamber of descending berry sins, each one more acerbic than the last. Finally he came to the acidic Lapapa Berry, crushed in three stills for all eternity for its endlessly sour nature, for crimes against palates. “What the fuck is this? Seriously, there’s juice everywhere and it stings my eyes, why have I been brought here?” Michael wiped the sticky pulp without the slightest sense of reverence to the clear parallel to Judas or clever analogs to Italian literature. “Blerghh slergghhh YOUUU AREE A SOURRR ASSHHHOOLLEEEE” Virgilberry gurgled out and pushed him into the press, the iron and oxygen from his mangled body adding a calcium boost to the hellberry slurry.

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Avery Brewing Company Muscat D’Amour, If You Love Chardonnay, You Will Love This Lil Muscat

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So Avery has had a few ups and downs on these barrel aged beers and some I would without hesitation tell you to buy them, like condoms at Warped Tour, others I have a tough time aligning myself to because I am just a slovenly low brow beer swiller with no capacity for fermented grapes. Let’s take a look at this beer and see if any Statutory Grape takes place here.

For those times when wine seems too classy but beer seems too delicious.

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 10.78% ABV

Oh that .78%, you’ll feel it. Actually you won’t. This is an incredibly crisp and gentle wild ale that imparts its alcohol like a Yakuza strangler knocking you out. Hey, you could have just provided the access codes, alas, I digress. So this is not unfamiliar territory at first, a chardonnay aspect, light malts, a lazy apple juice meets Martinellis aspect with minimal lacing. I am not getting all fussy about the appearance because, truthfully, this is a genuinely beautiful beer. There isn’t that old qualifier where you go “but she has a great personality” or some shit, it is like a gentle old IPA that you trust with your secrets and practices making kisses with.

The smell is like a bachelorette party at a wedding doomed for failure. There’s some sassy spritzer resfreshing notes of lime and salinity like the vodka sodas from the bridesmaids, and a deep muscat grape, white grape, Chardonnay, and apple that beckons to the old folks with their time worn traditions and irrelevant opinions about vagina shaving. Ultimately, a luscious bouquet. The tannins give this INCREDIBLY dry aspect to it that is like eating too many atomic warheads that starts nailing my bicuspids on the reg.

I am not a huge white wine fan, but I love Avery's barrel aged stuff, I cannot deny that I love this beer, NO MA'AM.

The taste is incredibly juicy, dry, mildly tart, oaky, but incredibly tannic. Just start whipping up some Chilean Sea Bass if you pop this beast, the pairings will be a marital aid for the entire household. The label says this beer is “a lovely amalgamation, awash with the delicate expressions and subtle nuances of soft malt, ripe muscat blanc grapes and savory brett.” I would say that is the eHarmony dating profile of this beer that upplays some aspects and fails to underscore some obese drying aspects. This is unmistakeably beer, which I am stoked on, but it also has a huge vinuous aspect, which actually works well, as well.

This beer confused me at first, but once I understood the nuances it became incredibly fulfilling.

This reminds me of an “imperial Temptation” if that makes sense. The drying is bigger, the brett is bigger, the oak is more burly, and the kisses are more furious. If that is up your alley, consider my alley completely occupied.

There is a lot going on here but if you stick with it, you will see the mastery presented.

Narrative: Sofia took a deep sip of chardonnay and exhaled watching the Marlboro 100 smoke dance blue in the moonlight and contemplated the course of the next 35 minutes. Here she was, chapter 9 into Nicholas Sparks’s The Notebook Dvd, but she was still entirely unable to contemplate the potential for intercourse with Chad, whose first name was unmistakably irritating. The deep pulls of Barefoot and Yellowtail brought no guidance and merely muddled her divided conscience. Finally, in a moment of clarity she exhaled and saw a verisimilitude of a Velasquez painting and realized the fleeting nature of life, the bacchanalian rebirth of grapes, and the pomegranate seeds or Persephone slipping through her fingers every day. “SKIP TO CHAPTER 21” she commanded to a supplicant Chad, his memory foam mattress left besmirched with alarm. “That’s…chill…” she spit Chardonnay kisses deep into his mouth and rose above the trite romantic exploits, for in this moment, the IKEA foam and shitty movie posters could not denature what was essentially an exercise of incongruence. It was Sofia’s duty to empirically sample enough Chads to black out those sections of the Punnett Squares for the time in life when it really mattered. It wasn’t the best grad school essay, but it was true.

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Corona Extra (Coronita), Well Coronita Extra, for those times when 7oz is All You Need, You Only Live Once that’s the motto of the YOLO

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What can I say about this Lake Havasu gem? This is the “fancy” beer on menus at resaturants above and beyond that old pedestrian Bud Light offering, worlds above any malt liquors, and the universally accepts currency of easy girls here and abroad. Right? Is that the selling point of a beer? We will get to the bottom of this mystery before you push a lime into yourself in today’s review.

Turn a square girl into a bi-chick, we just out here trying to function.

Grupo Modelo S.A. de C.V.
Mexico
American Adjunct Lager | 4.60% ABV

I can just say what everyone is thinking: “WHOA HOLD YOUR HORSES, 4.6% I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS SHIT” well buckle in because even when I turn the traction control on, shit is rough. Just pouring this beer reminds me of the cigarette burns in movie reels where you know a scene is about to be missing, but that usually takes place with this gem and other hard hitting interlocutors. No one ever got hurt on Coronitas alone. Well maybe, but they ain’t balling out like this, and no amount of 4.6% shit will pierce this Hydralisk carapace.

You expected some islander adventure and shit just went awry.

The pour looks like, agh, I have to go anywhere except the obligatory urine sample joke so I will say, the robes of an incontinent pre-teen? It has a mild radiance in the way the smoldering ex-boyfriend pictures have a faint resolute glow but the pain is still there. The smell is not, bad? It actually reminds me of when I was 19 and working out took full precedence in my life and I got to almost non-nauseating standards. The pear was least ripe, is what I am trying to communicate. This one time I read in Men’s Health that you should preserve the water of boiled vegetables, and I drank it. This is the smell i encountered. It has a deep b12, corn, sweet sucrose, and white rice. Not even mad tho.

I am not saying you should expect something high brow, just know that what you are seeking is inherently disappointing.

The taste kinda reminds me of those times when you say “fuck it” and eat a mint that has been washed in your jeans. You get a basic alkaline element that subsides to a strange vegetal aspect, like tongue kissing a vegan girl. When you exhale, it is like you know you aren’t getting into a club almost immediately. The rice aspects manifest themselves in a “clean finish” aspect that is akin to officious window washings from homeless people at a freeway turnpike. It feels clean but, you know the truth.

It's not that you don't drink good beer, you must also fail at beer by drinking this. Kevin Chang says so.

Ultimately, the drinkability crushes it out of the park and remains the single redeeming aspect of this beer. If you cannot drink other beers, this will be the ONLY aspect of redemption to you and that is fine, I can’t stand port, no one is bonging it up my ass, I am fine with it. This is ultimately a non-beer drinker’s beer, not for the aspects of “FUCK YOU, DRINK A 15% stout” but in the manner that the sheer taste and finish is closer to vegetables, soda, salt water, and pennies than the average beer. Not even trying to big league on this front, I love Rolling Rock without qualifier, and this shit gets destroyed in that bracket by all accounts. I guess in the off scenario that you are courting a tolerant 15 year old girl, this is your…go…to?

Even after a solid 6 pack of -nitas (42oz) I am wondering where my night wetn and when shit will begin.

Narrative: No. I refuse. This will be a pejorative story about some thinly veiled scapegoat character named Shitbot that processed corn and pushed out manure or something. Let’s not waste everyone’s time with an underhanded diss to the tune of 250 words, you can write your own.

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Freestate Iron Man Imperial Stout, The Closest I Will Ever Come to Completing an Iron Man Competition, or being Tony Stark

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Who doesn’t like the idea of being Iron Man? Being all bad ass in a fictional weaponry suit, or being super good at swimming and exercising and shit. Sounds amazing. Well time to face a hard reality, I will never be able to do those things, and this beer sure isn’t helping matters. I can only assume that Kansas is full of bad ass iron men since they have to put up with depressing flat land scapes, pale women, and I am pretty sure tornado fighting is the official state sport. Let’s see how this imperial stout measures up to shoulder rockets and tattered bike taint.

Rain rain go away, that's what all my haters say, my stouts stay on overload, my ales never evaporate.

Free State Brewing Co.
Kansas, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 8.40% ABV

So let’s take a minute and talk about how little that Free State is fucking around, namely, not at all. I first noticed this company when Old Backus started flooding the streets like bootleg movies and I wanted a taste of that malty ass. Long story short, Old Backus is amazing and worth seeking out, maybe even a trip to Kansas. So seeing this offering, my Stoutster sense was tingling. The appearance is like a glass of deep coca cola with moderate lacing and lil wispy carbonation. Tap 1 black mana and unleash this will o’ the wisp. There’s a bit of black licorice going on in the nose and an herbal aspect.

This is for those bleak Kansas winters, with a long stretch to suffer through with no college basketball.

The taste isn’t exactly what I seek out from an imperial stout and instead comes across almost like a black IPA. There’s a huge herbal bouquet that is original, just not what I am into. Some people are super into Godspeed! You Black Emperor, but I just don’t get it. This may be crowd pleaser to some people, but I read Highlights and watch Shahs of Sunset, I am too fucking pedestrian for these efforts. It’s like when they enacted the Concordat of Worms and the Holy Roman Empire was flossing so hard, but the Divinity wasn’t on board. Well, I guess the larger part of Prussia is hops and, fuck, this analogy fell apart real quick. There’s a mild chocolate, but the minty herbal hops are like a funky Girltalk mash up.

an IMPERIAL STOUT made by the same people who made OLD BACKUS. Some hard shit is about to go down...right?

The brewery notes flex so hard, “Our Imperial Stout brewed to an Original gravity of 19.5 °P using 10 different types of malt, which combined, weigh 1,465 lbs. That works out to 3.4 lbs per gallon of finished beer or almost 4/10ths of a pound in every glass. The dark malts give a roasty flavor and dark color, caramel malts add sweetness and a full body. Three different hop varieties also add their own complexity (and about 78 IBUs). The bittering hop is Magnum. The early aromatic hops are Northern Brewer. The later aromatic Centennial. The final hop addition is a dry hop with a generous dose of Mt. Hood hops for a fine aroma The Ironman is named for one of our favorite regular customers, Walt Hull, who is a local blacksmith. ”

But that is kinda like boning a chick while listening to your own single. Count how many times they mention hops above and think about how much you enjoy hop presence in stouts and you’ll be able to tell if this beer is for you. It is by no means bad, but with how amazing Old Backus was, I guess I just hoped that Kansas would ball as hard as their NCAA Basketball team. Ball so hard.