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Hill Farmstead Galaxy Single Hop IPA, A Double IPA with a SINGLE HOP. Hoparadoxes abound.

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You knew it was coming. Don’t act surprised when one of these HF bruisers ended up on IPA week, it was just a question of WHICH ONE. Abner? A solid choice. Harlan? Maybe next time. Double Citra? We shall see. I figure with all of the consternations and bemoaning surrounding the Ephraim news (DONG only, joining the ranks of Pliny the Younger and Exponential Hoppiness) it should be underscored how amazing EVERY OTHER Hill Farmstead beer is. Today’s review is on plenty of top 100 lists and we might as well address this amazing hoppy citrus warhead in today’s review since these Vermont bombs seem primed to blow.

For those times when the world isn’t enough, YOU NEED AN ENTIRE GALAXY.

Galaxy Single Hop IPA

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: Just look at that beer, it looks like the golden reactor inside of a platinum unicorn melted into a radiant mess of radioactive hoppy lupus materials. The golden radiance pulls light in and magnifies it tenfold. I enjoy the turbid cloudy look to this beer, it flexes a haziness to it in a way that would make most saisons blush. That’s just how Galaxy aka the “G DIPPA” rolls in the trap.

It is getting harder and harder to land Hill Farmstead growlers. Pic related: it is that hard.

S: If you have ever smelled galaxy hops, take that platonic idea and magnify it 350 times with some Humean/Lockean/empiricist sense impressions. This may be one of the best smelling beer that I have ever smelled in my life, it reeks of citrus, pineapple, tangelo, grapefruit rind, and a very faint hint of conifer on the backend. It is like a jambajuice gangbang that a park ranger stood idly by to watch, and I love it.

T: This carries on the citrus tradition in a manner that is almost just straight up juice in execution. The fruits drive hard to the hole and impart the aforementioned fruits and start flirting with those listed usually on tropical starburst. You get orange and clementine, mandarin, and the elusive naartjie pokes its head in there for a moment. I can’t underscore this enough, this is citrus with hop oils instead of that annoying Vitamin C all up in the mix.

This is not the most balanced DIPA in the world. Fucks given: 0.

M: This is incredibly light on the palate with the grave exception of the huge hop AR-15 oil rifle that it fires wildly. It is like the little guy who is a demolitions expert in movies, you know shit is gonna get wrecked real quick. There’s a light creaminess that balances out the intense fruit flavor, but it doesn’t toss an albatross around the neck of this raging hopbull.

D: This growler disappeared instantly. I don’t know how else to qualify that statement but, it’s like when you do rails of bath salts and all you want is the loving caress of your Pier 1 Imports dealer. You pour yourself a glass and it is instantly gone. The ABV slides in like so many Greek phalanx into Troy. This is the beer that launched a thousand ships, and then smashed them all. It reminds me of this kid I knew 10 years ago when the WRX first came out and he upped the boost to something like 22 psi on the stock block BOOM hop destruction, but entirely bad ass in the interim.

When my growler was gone, I was super sad.

Narrative: “Hank, he bought more equipment, will you say something to Taylor? This is really getting out of hand.” Mr. Davidoff walked into the garage and saw a mash cooling unit and what was clearly a lauter tun. “Hey, Taylor, sorry didn’t mean to startle you there-” he walked forward and kicked a bag of grapefruits. “HEY! Uh, just science in here, science fair project, that orange battery that I was uh-” Taylor mumbled as he kicked a book titled “Sparging for Dummies” underneath an indoor hydroponics hop growing system. “Listen son, it’s pretty clear you are trying to make beer in here, but son, you are 14. There are far easier ways to land booze than this, and I don’t know if I approve of you drinking.” Taylor’s hands began to sweat “wha? BEER? I don’t even know how, do they even sell strains of cultured yeasts for wild saisons? No, didn’t think so, just science fair and testing that hypothesis that I was er telling you about.” A bolivian man arrived with a wheel barrel full of malted barley sacks and sleepily began unloading them on the Davidoff’s lawn. “You know what, if you want to try and make high-end saisons instead of scoring 4Loko down by the train station…I guess I am ok with that.” Mr. Davidoff threw an arm around his son and spied a freshly emptied 15 gal rum barrel. “THAT’S MY BOY!” high fives were dispersed pell mell.

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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-“

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Selin’s Grove IPA, Backwoods Pennsylvania Taking Hops Right to Your Dome Piece

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IPA week chugs along with another fantastic draft-only offering. Hell if Taco Bell can do a world class burrito bowl, I figure I can try my hand at rating a world class IPA. Back in yesteryear this was on the top 100 and haunting the top IPAs but it has since subsided into relative anonymity BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT ISN’T AMAZING. Let’s get after it in today’s review

Mashing out on growler only gems, on the reg.

Selin’s Grove Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
American IPA | 7.00% ABV

A: There is a nice translucence with brassy straw meets gold hues. The carbonation, despite being shipped thousands of miles, is still holding strong and flexes hard with moderate lacing. You might be partial to some off shelf selections, but sometimes you gotta walk in someone else’s liver.

This beer reminds me of simpler IPA times, when Ruination was enough to turn your bitter zones inside out like a Gusher’s commercial.

S: The smell was actually pretty tame and almost went a light honey route with some grassiness and playground romping. There’s a dull lemon rind but nothing really blasting my face off with hop oils. Perhaps there is a precision in execution like a trebuchet, but again, for a world class IPA, I would say Sculpin rustles my jimmies more than this.

T: The taste is even more tame and pops a percocet and slides you a small saucer of light citrus, pale malt, creamy middle body like a baked biscuit with a bitter finish. This isn’t something that makes me lose it, and with a 2 liter serving size, I am positive I got my fair share.

I was expecting the R8 of the IPA world and instead got the A4. Which is still nice, but I don’t see Tony Stark drinking this IPA is all I am saying guize.

M: The mouthfeel is incredibly light and washes away clean. There is a sweetness to it with barely any lingering hops. The dank hop oils might be lingering somewhere in there but it feels more watery and refreshing like an alcoholic’s sports drink more so than a big hop warhead. Maybe I am just too demanding, MAYBE I AM JUST LIKE MY BREWER, he’s never satisfied. This is what it sounds like, when hops cry.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, slick and watery and obliges the dancefloor amiably with a waxed surface of water and pine hops, and that is about it. Consuela has done an expert job pulling off the balance between an impressive IPA and something you can drink at the lake. In the end, nothing I would lose my oils over, just leaves me with blue cones.

This is an amiable delicious IPA that anyone can get their mouth on. However, this gentle demeanor makes it less memorable, even the Mouth of the South would agree.

Narrative: Narrative: “I hate yearbooks” you grit your teeth and attempt to conjure up a page worth of something to commemorate all the good times with. “WHATTT WHO HATES YEARBOOKS, TYLER JUST WRITE WHAT YOU FEEL!” You know that Geometry was fun, that the pranks were the best, but what do you say to a person in a single yearbook page to sum up all the good times? How do you commemorate the fading visions of the past? Suddenly it clicks and your pen cannot keep up with your Dostoyevskian insight, eevery phrase parsed perfectly, with Hemingway precision, terse but fantastically executed, insightful self referential quotes fold into themselves like mitochondrial membranes, you scribble out your signature and hand it to her. “You wrote ‘I cant believe that they closed Hot N’ Now’? And then signed it with someone elses name? What does this mean Tyler?” She doesn’t get it, you flip your aviators and walk away, you are too bad ass for memories, too bad ass for yearbooks, and you sure don’t need to spend your life living on a semiglossy page. You are Tyler and you live in the moment. The smell of the IROC tires lingered in the air, peppering the masses for effect.

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Lawson’s Finest Liquids Double Sunshine,

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IPA WEEK kicks off with a bang, this old hoppy gem from Vermont. I know what your worries are “WILL THIS ENTIRE WEEK BE FOCUSED ON VERMONT AND CALIFORNIA?” I can assuage your concerns, we will jump around the map, never you fear. This beer is sold at a Farmer’s Market and in 2 other stores in Vermont and…that’s about it. Hopheads near and far blast their oils when they get their hands on this one, so let’s see if it rustles any cones in today’s review.

I am two stepping on double sunshine, wooo ohhhh.

Lawson’s Finest Liquids
Vermont, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: This has a nice radiant glow and the malts have been assembled with loving care. I would imagine this is a step with Beatrice up through the rings into hop heaven. The lacing is as generous as Good Will and hands out sticky dank doilies to all the 7th graders. It is indeed a very pretty beer and alluring to even the most adverse to hop character.

Dear God, please don’t let Vermont gems become unattainable due to hypetrain ticket holders. Also, more abalone. Amen.

S: The nose is vindicating for the old stigma of “balanced” East coast IPAs as it is more unbalanced than an Arizona State fashion student. There’s a huge tangelo, tangerine, grapefruit and deep citrus rind. You get a nice pine needle on the back end, but it stays in its place and lets the adults talk in peace.

T: The citrus character is sadly more tame than the nose would suggest, bait and switch harder than Piranha 3DD. There’s a bit of orange zest and sticky hop oils but it turns and kicks your aserose and starts grinding your pine cones like a high school prom. I love the pineapple but the whole maple leaf and grassy resolution leaves something to be desired in the third act.

At first I wasn’t sure what was going on with this one, but then it all became abundantly clear.

M: The mouthfeel is watery and light, exactly as it should be. There’s a bit of a filling and drying from the aggressive hops, but this isn’t my first alpha acid rodeo and I can ultimately mutton bust this lil hop wrangler pretty easily.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, amazing for the style but ultimately falls short of the crowded “best of” list. To be fair, any double IPA offering will be hard pressed to shoulder the ranks with Citra, Ephraim, etc. I really like it, I really dislike trading for it since there is so little of it. Again, it’s scaled economies so if you live in VT and have ready access to this, grease up your hop hole and slide this one in.

After I tasted that pine profile, the consequences were never the same.

Narrative: The traveling apothecary show was going poorly for the Brackensons. Stop after stop they would set up their charlatan charade and plant members of the family to be cured in the audience, per usual. In the year 2012, this kind of snake oil salesmanship took a certain panache and aplomb to trick the discerning customers of backwoods Vermont. The Econolinevan idled as Chauncy packed a bunch of tiny green cones into a medicinal bottle and scrawled some high handed panacea aspects upon it. “Come one come on all, try here and only here, the cure of SPAM in your inbox, cure for mortgage refinance woes, GOUT, and other afflictions!” Father Briggs called into his megaphone and brought up his planted cousin from the crowd. She took a deep pull of the sticky resinous liquid and was instantly cured of all afflictions, imagined or otherwise. Those chicanerous old Brackensons went and accidentally stumbled upon a vinuous grassy potation that could solve all kinds of dilemmas. Now if they could only find a hop pun that was not already used by a ton of other mediocre companies, they would be set.

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La Trobe Brewing (InBev) Rolling Rock Extra Pale, Because That Trans Am Won’t Fix Itself

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Have we hit rock bottom yet? Are you feeling neglected? Man, looking back on those days when we were drinking Duck Duck Gooze seems pretty good right now, right? Well get off your high horse because I am going to smash your stones in today’s Rolling Rock Rick Rocking Review

“Wait, I am not sure if he has really even landed Rolling Rock, dubious stock photo.”

Rolling Rock American Adjunct Lager 4.6% abv

A: The appearance looks like a very pale honey with thin light straw clarity. If you pour it incredibly hard you get to witness a few fleeting seconds of wispy carbonation, which is no doubt a hindrance when you wanna be slamming this beer all hard. The appearances isn’t enough to roll my rocks, maybe a light polish.

With reviews like this, I just sit and look out the window waiting for the old Fedex truck to save this beer review site.

S: There’s some zest with a bit of bread, obviously corn notes throughout. However, in its defense I must say that this is a pretty standard example of this, almost inherently flawed, genre. Sure Reality Czech is better, and Humulus Lager makes it look bland by comparison, but what about those days in the security lock up because she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut and how the hell are you supposed to know when unemployment runs out anyway?

T: That taste is similar to, of course, corn, cooked sweet potato, mild lemon zest, lemon bread(?) and mild bread notes. Even since the transfer of ownership in 2006, it has a slightly different cinnamon finish, nothing to rock you off of your rocker. My rocker remains fully in tact, as does my home, which I own. Most Rolling Rock drinkers cannot say the same. I guess this is a “fancy” beer at < $1.00 per bottle, which if you served this as your UFC soiree your Peruvian friends would polish their monocles on their AFFLICTION tees.

M: This has a ghostly non-existent mouthfeel. It haunts for a moment and finishes in a watery refreshing swallow. I have a hard time knocking this beer for its various faults when it delivers on its critical fronts. Sure, every Pennywise album sounds the same, but if you crave the latent similarity and that predictable notes, it delivers amiably. The same applies with this old workhorse. This might be my favorite aspect of this beer, the base predictability and almost unerring inability to get you too drunk.

D: This is the. Most. Drinkable. Beer. Ever. I know I will upset scores with this rating but this has been a mainstay and always will be. Every other aspect is incredibly flawed but I cannot downgrade the drink ability of this beer and I challenge highbrow aficionados to deny its muted, watery, refreshing character. Sure it comes are the cost of appearance, smell, and taste; but if you want a lopsided ass experience, this wacky amputee will provide you with hours of fun.

Don’t like reviews of adjunct lagers? COME AT ME BRO.

Narrative: Just another day at the Latrobe Waterpark, day in day out. Same water rushing through the same pipes, same heat, same dingy finish, yet, each summer the staff felt fulfilled. Sure, it was a cheap gig, no one felt exceptionally proud as a Wild Aqua waterpark attendant, but it paid for just enough Steel Reserve in the evenings to make the oppressive days worthwhile. Sure you get the occasional obese pre-teen exhibiting his rebellious nature coming down backwards. It was a mild hell, with mild rewards, but long term sustainability. Maybe a girl gets felt up in some dank bushes, ah to be 15 again and reeking of Polo Sport and dirty water. Sure you get 100 patrons in a day urinating in the fetid pools, adolescents having tawdry affairs in the bushes, and a thousand forgettable days, however, some days the employees would look left to right and realize how good they had it. “STOP NO RUNNING, ALSO STOP URINIATING WHILE RUNNING, THANK YOU FOR NOT RUNNING NOW STOP URINATING!” Just another solid Sunday in July.

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Shipyard Baltic Porter, Tapping the Maine Vein in Today’s Review

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You’re probably thinking “We went from whales to these pedestrian offerings?” Well you have to recognize the darkness to appreciate the light, so lighten up with today’s review.


Shipyard porter Baltic Porter, 7.1%

A: A deep brown or “light black?” appearance that has some medium transparency, not altogether opaque but with a mild shininess that you get with stouts and porters. Nice kahki head that subsides into sticky lacing, just like mom used to make.

Why couldn’t this be a memorable porter?

S: Lots of clove notes, roasted almond, huge smoke profile with burnt cedar, and of course, chocolatey abundance all around.

T: The initial taste is a chocolate note, but this is the only imperial aspect of this beer, the rest is content to subside into a huge smokey roasted profile that would rather tag along with rauschbiers than its porter brothers.

This beer was charming and innoculous, in a strange way.

M: Again, if this is imperial, the empire is in shoddy disarray. This has very few big/over done notes to it and feels thin and muted throughout. This is the “Empire” of Poland prior to its various partitions. An empire in name alone and leaves the drinker discontent with the bait and switch that has occurred. Minimal coating and slippery thin chewiness are present.

D: This is a very drinkable beer in the respect that it is very little lingering and doesn’t present a large enough profile for any sort of reflection, however, I don’t consider it a laudable aspect ot be able to mow through imperial porters like compliant bowling pins. There should be some opposition or tastes that make you reflect on the experience. This imperial porter is a pushover that welcomes you to its throne as a capable usurper.

They said make a Barrel Aged porter, it will taste better they said.

Narrative: An antechamber of silence awaited the gawky dauphine. He was born with an awkward gait an a quiet disposition that made him likeable to his peers, if not compliant and easy to manipulate. The unforseen early death of his mother cast a great weight upon his frail shoulders and now an impovershed nation looked upon him for guidance. “H-hey…we sh…maybe we should st…start the ceremony? If you w w wwant to?” “Yes my liege.” A great velvet cape was cast around this negligent prince and he was escorted to the regal balcony to make his address. Thousands of serfs clamoured below awaiting some direction in this hour of great sadness. “Hey…hey fellas, well…I guess we..we gotta get moving in the right direction and so..I was thinking maybe tithing could be increased…just to y..you know, get capital flowing, if that’s ok with you guys?” The crowd almost unanimously shook their heads, it was their curse for they were not subjects of the Ottoman or the Byzantine, they were the reluctant subjects of the Shipyard Empire.

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Ommegang Gnomegang, A Gang of Bangarang Tangs Bang and Slang this Gnome Gang

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Here’s a throwback from the days when off-shelf offerings were considered acceptable for beer review sites. When all the other beer review blogs thought it was super acceptable to force their friends listen to their review of Sam Adams Boston Lager, those days. Grin and bear it, we have another theme week coming up that will make up for all this pageantry. Be a solid bro.

I couldn’t find a picture of that stupid bottle, it has the Le’Chouffe guy with an Ommegang background or something. Who cares, here’s a picture of S’More Tuesday.

Brewery Ommegang
New York, United States
Belgian Strong Pale Ale | 9.50% ABV

A: Hazy yellow with lots of wheat particulates, huge carbonation from the bottle, after you wrestle open the draconian Ommegang cork that extends deep into the bottle. Moderate lacing and straw notes all around. I once opened one of these at a comedy show and it went apeshit and foamed all over, AND I WAS THEN THE PUNCHLINE. It is a nice hazy orange hue similar to well done belgian goldens (think: Duvel) but also a sort of graininess to it like 1970’s exploitation films.

I opened this beer and my eyeballs were all like-

S: There is plenty of orange and lemon zest present with a nutmeg and/or holiday spice profile to it. There are some clove notes and musty belgian yeast that are expected from the style. Look good, smell good, hit the club good. And the steering wheel wood like a baseball bat.

T: This beer has a huge bread profile with an expansive body that burns itself away with the alcohol profile. You get a honey with biscuit quality up front that subsides into a heat that tastes like chinook or perhaps just the unsupported alcoholic profile. The balance is precarious but well executed.

Bring a corked bottle to a party, people make faces at you. THEN YOU FEEL BAD. Until you vomit in the terrarium, then who feels bad?

M: This beer has an incredible balance for the three batons it maintains in the air at all times. First and foremost a big wheat and malty character lays the groundwork for all of the sweet notes including banana and very starchy fruits. Finally the heat from the alcohol appears and drives a heated zambonie over your palate to await the next sip.

D: For a beer of this abv and character, this is dangerously dirnkable. If they sold this in 12oz bottles I would see it performing as a condescending older brother to any Blue Moon siblings. It shines most in its ambition and delivers in execution. I would be able to drink this throughout an entire game of Civilization, which is to say I would pass out because 5 hours of Gnomegang is just too much gnome for any man.

If you try comparing this to some of the rarer Saisons and Belgian goldens from say, Soy, Belgium, you get taken out of the pot and into the MS Paint fire.

Narrative: PING! PING! PING! Garnab loved his craft and it showed. He surveyed the blade of the battleaxe with pride and rolled its haft in his calloused hands. The blade was competent and durable, yet light and precise. FSHHHHHH! The iron sizzled upon being cast into the cool water. “GARNAB GET IN HERE!” his supervisor called from down the hall of the Morgrem guild. Garnab slid into the chair daintily, an impressive feat for a gnome of his heft and weight. “Garnab, we have all been noticing you around here, your fine work, your precise castings, and impeccable attention to detail.” Garnab grunted lightly and carressed the chain of precious silver that he painstakingly created years earlier. “That is why you have been promoted to assistant vice-Gnome of the Belbgaar foundry.” He nodded silently and exited, his cool stride demonstrating his poise and power within, Garnab was going places.

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Oakshire Brewing HELLSHIRE I, Hellshire II Chronicles the Story of the Outbreak

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Now we turn our attention from Vermont back to the Vermont of the Pacific, full of greenery and tolerant, socially conscious people. Also, shortsighted artistic hipsters with no post-30’s goals. Way back in the beer timeline, people were super jazzed, Charlie Parker even, for this barleywine to drop. Let’s see how it fairs in today’s review.

Yeah, no pour picture for this one. Boo hoo, now you have to use your imagination. YOU ARE NOW A PART OF THE GREATEST GENERATION.

Hellshire I
Oakshire Brewing
Oregon, United States
American Barleywine | 10.00% ABV

A: This had a deep brown copper color to it with a great clarity considering the amount of frothy carbonation and lacing that it leaves on the glass. It seems pretty par for the course, not exactly turbid, not transparent, just by the numbers like a Jake Gyllenhaal movie.

This isn’t the best barleywine that I have had, but I will always ACEPT MOAR!!!!1!

S: The wood just leaves the bottle and the glass and makes itself right at home in the immediate vicinity. This has more wooden notes nice and boozy bourbon to it than most beers I have encountered, however the bourbon seems a bit imposing and overstays its welcome like basically every character in any Neil Simon play. There is a nice caramel smell with some vanilla and toffee, BUT YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT.

T: This beer dries and imparts a nice booziness to the palate in short order. Each sip is strangely overwhelming and alcoholic for its 10% profile. That’s not to say that 10% is insignificant but this is the life and substance of this beer: booze, oak, and caramel. It is a wire frame drawing stripped down to the component frame of what a barleywine is. I need some more padding before I get double stuffed like an Oreo.

This feels familiar like other BA offerings but unbalanced and strange. Kinda creepy.

M: This has a great caramel body to it that coats nicely, however, no one should smoke around you as you will clearly be a fire hazard. The waft of this is like rubbing alcohol that is somehow abated by the sticky wood and malty notes. Unbalanced, but refined, is how I would describe this beer. Take your Nova II and drop a 454 into it, allow your 16 year old to take it to prom. Post obituary results.

D: This is incredibly shippable, for long periods. Drinkable? I guess that comes down to how much time you have on your hands. Get yourself and old tymie rocking chair, and a Victorian porch, sure you could pass the days away sipping this and telling the neighborhood kids what words “used to fly back in your day.” But for the rest of us, this is just too big of a beast to control. That being said, please send me more of this, for the lulz.

If Martians came to our planet and saw us drinking this, they would assume we were bourbon cyborgs that ran on Kentucky tears.

Narrative: “Well nah….I aint no big city lahyuh!” Atticus Oakwood boomed to the ladies and gentlemen of the jury. “But I say, I say, it seems to me that if you exude negligence, then proximate cause is just gonna, I say follow!” The voir dire went almost as strangely. This man was clearly drunk each day of Trial, reeking of cigars and cheap whiskey, yet somehow, he could articulate the finer points of incredibly dense material. “See now here, hyennnnhhh, see now, if the perpetrator were using the oak resaw machine, wouldn’t the shavings land to the right? Closer I say to the barrel refinery?” Each juror nodded intently and breathed through their mouth to avoid the acrimonius cloud that was imparted upon them with each passing word from Mr. Oakwood. “SO THERE CAN BE NO NEGLIGENCE!” he declared triumphantly and the words resonated against the rich mahogany walls of the courtroom. “Mr. Oakwood, your methods are unorthodox, but I must concur, I RULE IN FAVOR OF THE DEFENDANT!” He wiped his brow and popped a Worthers’ Original into his mouth, just another day in the office for that old boozer Oakwood.