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Flossmore Station Railhopper IPA, Getting my Rails Hopped So Hard Right Now.

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My rails get all hopped just looking at this beer.

Flossmore Station Railhopper IPA, 7% abv

A: Nothing too crazy here, nice bright amber with deep gold hues, decent carbonation that mellows pretty quickly, not exceptionally beautiful but nothing ugly about it. A solid ale on the streets but a hoppy freak in the sheets.

S: Some orange rind and some mild sweetness but not a huge nose to this, maybe it’s because it was 2 months old, but I don’t see that being a great alibi because even the subtle notes arent there. It has a very flat olfactory character. No amount of clever writing will make Ashton Kutcher likeable, no amount of artful smells will make this crazy interesting.

You enjoy this IPA? How about I slap your shit?

T: This tastes like a 1.5 IPA, I say that with the respect that it has a nice light citrus character and a mellow piney character. There’s nothing wrong with it but it’s just lackluster. It sidesaddles two genres and comes off feeling a bit weak and generic. I don’t want all “Fresh Hopslam” proponents to get all up in arms but this just seems rather hackneyed for a brewery that rolls out crazy original. I harm them because I love them and just expect more. There’s not excuse for domestic hop violence.

M: Very good, nice crispness without being overly drying. Nice bubbles throughout and a taste that lingers without being oppressive like some Maharajas that I know. No overly herbal character, but it will be difficult to pick it out of a lineup of IPAs. It doesn’t have that certain joi de vivre that most flagship IPAs will maintain.

I should have drank this sooner.

D: Very drinkable, if accessible. I don’t want to insult it as an “entry level IPA” like a monicre I would give to Ranger IPA, but it just feels like someone phoned it in on either the hop bill or just went for the standard grain bill or something. Maybe I am just being an IPA curmudgeon, who knows. Certainly drinkable but it wouldn’t be my go to over the stable (D)IPAs like Pliny/Sculpin etc/

Narrative: “You can’t return this, at least not without a receipt, and then unfortunately you can only receive store credit at FashionBug.” His demeanor was cool and calm, Waylon Lupus was the calm store manager notorious for difusing tense situations. “Now please, if you would like another spandex unitard, you can feel free to select another that is to your liking.” He did not maintain a smile or the slightest bit of hesitation while addressing the irate female single mother desperately searching for deals. His voice was monotone and crisp, like an audio book revealing depressing consumer news to crestfallen patrons. “Perhaps I could show you our wide selection of strapless patent leather shoes?” He uttered effortlessly and slid whimsically towards the appropriate section, mesmerizing his pacified companion. “No one knows your greatness Waylon, no one but me,” a soft voice uttered in the security booth while tracing a single finger across the monitor looking over the shoe aisle. “No one but me.”

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Goose Island Lolita, Getting Nabokov All Twisted.

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Finally a wild ale even non-pedophiles can enjoy.

Lolita, American Wild Ale, 7.0% abv

A: light cherry red hues with minimal lacing and carbonation that dissipates quickly. Capri Sun nailed it on this one and Hi-C is jocking so hard.

S: the Brett funk is present with wafts of wet hay and blankets. It is expansive and in the words of one observer, “something is rotten.” In my opinion, all is well and delicious with the aroma, considering the style. It finishes with cherry and tart fruit roll up smells. It’s like a ridiculously alcoholic recess sesh.

This beer is tempting, but dangerous.

t: Raspberries are present with a very sour mild drying effect that is not overwhelming on the sour. Overall is has very good balance and is incredibly refreshing. The juiciness has a strange tart nature with a crisp nice bite to the finish. The hops are completely absent, but they are not wantonly missed. Gushers for grown ups all up in my grill.

M: Put simply, there is no coating and the maltiness is similar to a lambic or a thin profile gueuze. You swallow and bam it’s over, all that anticipation and just a fleeting sour note, like most Brendan Fraser movies.

I want to sit around and be patient for more, but, I know it will never come.

D: This is a tough call because it is very drinkable but slightly drying after 22 oz. It reminds me of listening to a Dragonforce album, where at first blush you love every note and run, you praise the complexity but after a solid hour of it the wear and tear of the items all taking place at once begin to grate on you. It is hard to fault and, just short of Russian River and Lost Abbey offerings, this is incredible.

Narrative: Lola had this anxiety in her chest. A strange aching pain that began just after 6th grade that she couldn’t explain. At first blush it seemed like a mere tightness, or maybe just a hormonal inbalance, however, she began to realize some powerful changes in the following year. Now I present this not in a biological or coming of age way, to be quite blunt, Lola could reduce her size at will. It began simply enough she would exhale to relieve herself of the constant worry and tension and note her sprite figure diminish from her regular 5’1” stature to a 4’6” height. With practice in her room, she even could push these numbers lower and lower until at the crest of her 14th birthday she could rest comfortably sweet and refined amongst her massive pillows with her things. Her iPod screen showed full screen matinees and all over her childhood possessions took huge new forms. She was indeed as Lolita as one could be, ensconced in between the comforter. She giggled to herself when her mother came in and couldn’t find her amongst the folds. She was as sweet as the day was long but she held that tart little character, and an everlasting little secret.

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Olde Hickory Event Horizon Imperial Stout, EVENTFUL THINGS ABOUT THIS HOLIDAY SEASON.

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My Horizon has some sick events on it. Lawrence Fishburn will probably be there.

Olde Hickory, Event Horizon 2010, 8.5% Barrel Aged Imperial Stout

A: This has a deep hateful color to it that cascades in a murky mess out of the bottle. A hard pour seems to make it angrier and a huge tan head subsides into pencil shavings color. It leaves spotty lacing that looks like those plants in Ursula’s cavern. The beer itself is darker than Goofy’s taint. Disney references abound.

S: Huge sticky maple syrupy sweetness subsides into a burnt bakers chocolate and coffee dryness. The mild heat smell is welcoming, like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. So far so good, this beer impresses on all levels.

Look at this beer. This beer is bad ass.

T: It has a great prickly bourbon tingle to the front taste that establishes a nice booziness that isn’t exactly hot, just sweet and smoothe. Then like a dapper southern gentleman, the chair is pulled back and chocolate enters with a bouquet of toffee and coffee, much to the entertainment of your palate. Very balanced in execution and feels like a halfway home between Goose Island Rare and Canadian Breakfast Stout.

M: The mouthfeel is a bit lighter than I was expecting but still a solid medium coating which does not disappoint. The coffee doesn’t overpower and the bourbon and sweetness lingers. The honey notes come through more as a maple syrup I would assume due to the barrel but who knows, it just works.

I can't even be critical of this old gem.

D: With each refreshing sip I look sadly to my glass and wish that this beer wasn’t so hard to come by. It is certainly worthy of the hype and should be far higher on the Top 100 list in my opinion. This is a world class beer that is not only delicious but incredibly session able. I cant see this getting any better over time because it is already mellow, boozy, and delicious. The relatively lower ABV makes it a more relaxed, incredibly drinkable imperial stout and it is all the better as a result.

Narrative: This confidence scheme wasn’t going as planned. Dirk “Oilcan” Murkerson had the whole thing planned to a “T” but things started to unravel bit by bit. His dolt of a partner, Sitcky Bittles, was supposed to walk into the jewelry store and say that he has lost his obsidian diamond, and offer a huge standing reward for it. Oilcan walks in with a fake black diamond and pawns it for thousands, they both get away clean in the old struggle buggy. Simple. The darkness in both of their hearts mirrored in the balanced and smooth plan down to the execution, if not for that bumbling sweet confidence man, Bittles. “Eh old Oilcan, how was I sapposed to know that the diamond was a legit diamond from the boy’s stash? Cahmannn Oilcan!” Bittles pleaded entreatingly chewing the stub of his gnarled cigar nervously. “I shall tell you what you shall do, consult the provisions of your offer, offer your own indemnity to obtain the reward yourself, while hedging the item you pawned within the structure of the ombundsman’s gambit.” BY GUMMIT, Old Oilcan had done it again and gotten the boys out of a sticky fix! You can say what you want about his dark velvet suit, but his dapper demeanor won even the coldest hearts over.

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Schneider Aventinus, Germany All Up in This Mix like a 30 Year’s War.

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This USED to be a top 100 beer, first world problems.

Schnieder Aventinus, Weizenbock/Doppelbock, 8.2% abv

A: It has a deep brown amber almost brown ale color with a certain muddiness to it. The bottle conditioning yields tiny bubbles with almost no lacing. It’s pretty legit for how widely available it is, not unlike Snow’s first album.

S: Sweet figs, brown sugars, roasted oats, and some dark fruits similar to a Belgian tripel. It reminds me of how Miller Boyett productions would always link their shows together like how Harriett worked with Larry and Balki and then Steve crash landed in Wisconsin at the Lambert’s backyard. It is an example of canonical cohesion is what I am trying to say.

This beer is good and delivers in a simple refreshing way. You know what I am saying.

T: There is an almost tart sweetness at the forefront. The bubbles are tingly and almost sour with the dark fruits coming through like a deep burnt wheat finish. It is strange how many genres this covers without being a strange cuvee of some sort. The dark fruits are still present but its is almost more blackberry or a sweet pecan syrup taste to it. IHOP ALL UP IN THIS BITCH.

M: The mouthfeel has some good coating but with a strange tingliness to it. This is not a light wheat beer finish but it is not heavy similar to a dunkelweisen or a thin porter, it has a strange distinct nature to it. It is likely perfect for the style, but essentially I am not a huge fan of this style I suppose or perhaps I am just uneducated with regards to the variety of examples of this type of beer. That being said, this is still a delicious beer but I would have a hard time pairing this effectively given its strange hybrid of sweetness and tartness. You want to invite her to one of your friends, but she’s all into slam poetry and weird shit so you have to abstain.

This beer delivers. I ain't even mad though.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable but seems more suited for fall weather than long sessions in any form of hot weather. The sugars aren’t overly filling like a Belgian tripel but the strange crispness doesn’t make it bothersome. I couldn’t take on more than a pint of this but it was an enjoyable fleeting experience.

Narrative: Gretchen Dulceberg’s candy business was in dire straights. For starters, opening a confectionary boutique in rural Utah was bound to cause some problems with the Mormon populace. Second, the recession hit the gourmet fusion sweets market especially hard. The average blonde haired blue eyes Utahite would saunter in with a sweet tooth for a simple Snickers or a Chic-O-Stick and be welcomed with Truffled Cocoa with dried ahi tuna or muddled marshmellow foam imbued with beef stock marrow. The price of Gretchen’s goods would leave a sour taste in the mouth of the most proper Latter Day Saint. Ultimately, Ms. Dulceberg’s sweet tooth was too obtuse for the average Mormon, but in Dresden, this place would have been a dunklesmash.

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Stone Belgo Anise Russian Imperial Stout, the notorious “Worst Stone Beer Ever Made” culprit.

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Good and plenty's burning holes in my face.

A while back I caused a stir when I asked people their least favorite beer of 2011, I feel that this beer was the overwhelming winner, although I still feel that the Mikkeller Peat Barrel Black Hole nightmare was the worst, ho hum, here you go.

Stone Belgo Anise Imperial Russian Stout 10.6% abv

A: Deep motor oil black with no light opaque tones, not the deepest black I have seen but the coating lets you know that it has a huge malt to it. Mocha colored head with lacing that sticks to the glass. So far so good, now for the smell-

S: The anise is light and reminiscent of a sweeter licorice like a box of good and plentys. There is chocolate and some cocoa dryness to it. it’s like the lovely Stone IRS with an angry dark demon living inside of it. Why did this interloping licorice jerk have to show up? Many tears are shed into Hello Kitty diaries over this mishap.

Not even hipster excuses can make anise palatable.

T: The licorice is present in a strange resonant way. It imparts a sweetness with the Belgian sugar at the front that is really present and then rides the palate not unlike Ginuwine’s pony throughout. The coffee supports the tail end of it and the chocolate notes are suspiciously absent.

M: The mouthfeel isn’t as thick as I was bracing myself for and it is a better beer as a result. The dryness from all of the complex herbal notes really makes this interesting and crisp. It feels like an imperial black ale with all the hops and grassy notes happening but the complexity is certainly welcome. I cannot imagine how they are breaking even on such an exceptional beer for $5.99 a bottle.

So I didn't like the anise, come at me bro.

D: This is incredibly drinkable, and not in a cop out “for an imperial stout” sort of way, it is just flat out good. The abv is there, the taste supports it, it isn’t overly filling, you can put it away without chewing the inside of your mouth off due to dryness. Just a total package present in a ridiculous inexpensive format. As a caveat, everything that I enjoy about this beer is present in the Stone IRS in a better way, this beer is only redeemed because it is technically a Stone IRS at heart. The anise is horrible.

Narrative: “Rinse, gargle, spit.” The adolescents that visit Raven Perchmoor D.D.S.’s “Bastion of Oral Hygenicide” never really knew what they were in for. The Misfits played nonstop at levels that were uncomfortable even for 13 year old discretion. “And from when thine recalcitrant dental alignment was once begot, now BEGONE!” Dr. Perchmoor chanted as he tightened the bands deftly on the aching face of a My Chemical Romance fan. Some would consider his practice unorthodox, notwithstanding the gargoyles and dry ice buckets bubbles upon entry. However, he did accept HMO insurance and his work was nothing short of amazing. “And you are absolutely sure the ZOOM whitening is your choice? To cast out the vilest intentions of foul stains and the reproach of plaque and murky taint?” “Uh…yes?” He threw the oversized switch and watched the laser burn away the darkness, much to the chagrin of the macabre dentist.

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The Bruery Tart of Darkness, Uh oh, more puns from the Bruery.

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Joseph Conrad said there'd be puns like this.

Bruery Tart of Darkness Sour Stout, 5.5% abv

A: It has a deep black hue with cola colors at the edges. Mild carbonation with tiny bubbles and no lacing. Put that Marciano dress away, nothing to get all Anne Klein over, just an average outing.

S: Some malt but mostly sweet dark grapes with souring and vinegar notes. The last finish has a tiny bit of cocoa but the vinous notes override. It’s like a blacksploitation film set in a vineyard, strange but you enjoy it.

It is lighthearted but still menacing, like this stupid asshole.

T: What a crazy merging venn diagram. It initially starts out with a huge tart almost gueze sourness to it. There are notes of tannins, grape skins, and sour black cherries. The final taste has this transition chocolate maltiness to it. It feels like when a Transformer goes from something bizarre like a bidet into a crazy cyborg.

M: The mouthfeel is nothing like the traditional stout in that it imparts a huge dryness and has none of the coating that you traditionally associate with a non-imperial stout. It performs so strong in the tart category the stout shows up brazenly at the end of each sip. Again, just a really strange finish overall.

It feels high class, but strangely approachable.

D: This feels like eating ahi tuna and ice cream concurrently. There is a huge enjoyability to it, however, the fact that it straddles two divergent styles makes it sacrifice a purely drinkable experience. However, this might just be me being curmudgeonous and oppositional to change.

Narrative: Walter Chambers wasn’t the best pharmacy technician. He wasn’t the best mortician either. Somehow it was his relentless work ethic that kept him powering through both occupations day in and day out. After a solid 3 hours of sleep, he would saunter in, smelling of formaldehyde, dark circles under his eyes. “Yeah, car…car problems and…so did we get that Abilify shipment come in?” His dark wrinkled suit had strange stringent notes that wafted through the CVS pharmacy. “WALTER!” He snapped out of a brief nap and realized that he could see his breath in the ice cold body preparation room. “Walter, I told you to prep the gauze wrap and you go off for a sno-” Walter slipped back into blackness.

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Bell’s Black Note Imperial Stout, the panacea of Michigan winters.

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Oh shit, Black Note strip tease:

You dirty stouttease.

I'm no picture, dont leave me hanging.

It's like that scene where they open the Ark of the Covenant.

I can’t hype this beer anymore than the beer community already has so I will let the brewery tell you what this little asshole is:

“One of the most sought-after stouts in Bell’s history, Black Note Stout blends the complex aromatics of Expedition Stout with the velvety smooth texture of Double Cream Stout and ages the combination in freshly retired oak bourbon barrels for months. The resulting harmony of flavors captures the finest features of all three components: malty notes of dark chocolate, espresso & dried fruits, all buoyed by the warmth and fragrance of the bourbon barrel. Aimed squarely at the stout and bourbon aficionados, Black Note makes a grand statement about the art of the dark. ”

So yeah, I had to pull some tawdry Craigslist endeavors to land that tiny 8oz bottle. Dont ask.

A: Deep, jet black motor oil with low viscosity. This has some mild carbonation, but, I obtained this bottle from less than official means, so that carbonation might be lacking due to transit and/or transfer, notwithstanding the bubbles are a deep coffee brown with nice Yuban coating.

MOAR.

S: There are fantastic notes of coffee, light whiskey, bourbon, oak, huge chocolate, a mild vanilla that fades into toffee. Overall there is a mild heat that is wrapped in a great sweetness. The end of the nose is almost like a bourbon quad with deep pitted fruits and figs. The whole bouquet is one of the best that I have ever come across, no punchlines here.

T: This is a world-class stout. The heat is present and comes first with a warming dryness to the sweet zones, it subsides into a light hoppiness that is hand and hand with the coffee and sweet milk chocolate notes. It is incredibly pleasant throughout and doesn’t overpower on any one aspect and the coating is such that the taste lingers but doesn’t aggressively overstay its welcome. It’s really difficult to come across jokes to describe what is clearly such an incredible stout, BUT I WILL TRY.

It took a lot of activation energy to land this beer, but I feel like a noble gas having had it.

M: The mouthfeel is impressive and doesn’t wipe out your palate on either an alcohol basis or sweetening basis. The balance is like those dubious 13 year old chinese gymnasts. While the carbonation was lacking, it didn’t detract from the overall experience because the beer is simply meant to be sipped and savored so the minimal crackling on the lips is forgiveable, like Jehova’s Witness pamphlets during the last two minutes of your NFL game.

D: This is dangerously drinkable for 11.5% abv stout, and not just for my jaded ass palate. I am sure the average Tri-Delt could put away a few of these if cajoled with enough peer pressures (read: cocaine.) But seriously, getting murdered for just 8oz is particularly cruel when the end product is not a let down. The whole beer is a libation that lives and dies in the winter realm, just warms me up and lights a fire in the hearth of my heart. It’s a little chocolate Lord Byron for me to caress and whisper pre-enlightenment phrases to. SHIT IS BOMB.

Is this stout dope all up in my domepiece? I am positive.

Narrative: To the rest of the world, Max Davidoff was a mild mannered high school chemist. Sure his Ford Focus was nothing to look at, and his wry stoiciometry humor was nothing to write home about, but his basement held wonders that would suspend all disbelief. After years and years of testing, he had finally identified what could only be identified as the Chocoromeda Strain in his tattered notebooks. The neighbors stared in disbelief as the hazmat crews cleared the home and brandished geiger counters with solemn reverence. It was simply not man’s place to tamper with the substrata of the chocolate world. The makeup of chocolate was too dear to be trifled with, but Mr. Davidoff would not listen. The chocolate detonation took place at 11:51 p.m. on Wednesday April 24, 2010. The neighbors ran from their KB track homes to find a murky current of liquid mahogany bubbling from the foundation of the home. The air was redolent of chocolate not unlike a single 42 year old secretary’s home while watching the latest Kutcher offering. The chocomatrix had torn Mr. Davidoff’s frame limb from limb, but leaving him in conscious control of the deep heat and bubbly stratum. A series of unsolved bank robberies evidenced that the perpetrator clearly liked chocolate, but would the local police every believe that the robber HIMSELF WAS CHOCOLATE. “Say cheese and die motherfucker,” Mr. Davidoff quipped a dusty R.L. Stein reference just before he claimed his final victim, the school superintendent. Those new microscopes were pretty fucking important and summarily denied. But revenge is a dish best served like chocolate fondue.

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Halfacre Marty Stouffer’s Wild America….Barleywine? I GUESS.

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I prefer Marty's Stouffer's Stuffing, but his Wild America will do in a pinch.

Halfacre Marty Stouffer’s Wild America Barleywine, 10% abv

A: This is a pretty core barely wine, no typo there. It doesn’t seems to have a crazy maltiness to it but it’s still pretty alluring with this bad boy murkiness that drives all the irresponsible 14 year old girls super cray. All it needs is a red jacket with some zippers. The murkiness subsides and it looks like a ruby amber ale.

S: Nice sweet booziness almost like brandy but not in that Your Boy is Mine sort of way. There’s some sticky caramelized figs and sweet red grape in the mix all like Bill Bellamy, trying to be a player.

It says barleywine, but my heart is saying no. If this beer wants to be with me, it has to rub me the right way.

T: There is absolutely no sweetness on this lil barleyride. It presents a hop forward character that makes you cock your head back like Ed Lover, come on son. The whole profile is overly herbal and feels like they dry hopped it for too long or added copper to the boil, the old currency maneuver. Oldest brewing trick in the book. The notes say that this was “Brewed with Cascade and Falconer’s Flight hops” maybe they needed to calm the cascading down a bit and falconer their asses back to burleywines.

Not quite sure where this beer is going, but it doesn't seem good.

M: The mouthfeel is weak and doesn’t have all the pizzazz of burly wines, it’s more like a haughty Imperial IPA that seems to have lost its way. I dont hate it, but it’s like an illfitting shirt that makes you have mantits, or notits if you are a woman. Take your pick, the tit presentation is calamitous. One thing I do enjoy is this hint of booziness at the finish that is its redeeming quality. Makes me nod like a proud father who threw his stepson into the deep end for the first time because I’m sorry, does the bmx need to be in the driveway every single day, not once can it be on the sideyard where you lovingly build a place for it to be locked u- what were we talking about?

D: Drying herbal assault vs. clean finish. It ends up being a nonstarter and defaults to a normal level beer. It’s like you hope all those conjugal visits pay off, but really you’re just having sex with a prisoner. So yeah, you could do worse Sheila, but you can also do moderately better. It’s a mid-range offering for a Charles Barkleywine, but it’s not a show stopper.

When I think of shit that is wild in America, things like this come to mind, not strange barleywines.

Narrative: The documentary just wasn’t going as planned. The gaean essences were remote in this particular section of the tundra and Marty was having a tough time echoing his animalistic call. “Aeeeouggghhhhiiiii!!!!!” the scream reverberated through the hills and over the nearest ridge. A lone cameraman shook his head despondently. “Marty, hey, I know you were dead set on your ability to communicate with the animals but, let’s go with something a little less ambitious, how about just filming them, huh?” the cameraman hazarded after 5 hours of tense waiting. Marty rose up on his massiive 6’1″ frame and stared down his brow at Phillip mencaingly. “OH, another has come to doubt the innate ability of THE WILD.” “No no, Marty, hey it’s just that, we haven’t shot a single frame and what with all the yelling, I think you’re scaring the animals away.” The two walked for a kilometer in silence and Marty spun on a single heel and faced Phillip. “BE SURE, not to miss this next shot-aaaiueeieieihhhhhoouuu!” Marty called out and a narwhal broke through the ice, tusk and all and began slowly creeping towards Phillip. “ATTACK!” the narwhal lazily waddled over towards Phillip, being filmed the entire time. “Yeah, this is great stuff Marty, real menacing.” Phillip quipped and rattled off frame after frame. Marty folded his arms insouciantly; his project did not go as planned.