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Southampton Imperial Russian Stout, Small Bottle Runs for Big Beer Ballers

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This brewery has a reputation, at least in my tiny sad existence, for tiny bottle runs, and massive whales. I have been trying to land their ridiculous Berliner Weiss since before it was cool to drink 2% beer, with no success. Here’s my consolation, lucky bottle #229 of all 650 of them. I like my stouts like I like my steaks, MEDIUM. If you thought I was gonna go with “rare” or “well done” that’s low hanging fruit my friends.

I didn't pour it like an asshole, this beer must have PTFD, post traumatic fedex disorder. That's a thing.

Southampton Imperial Russian Stout, 10.5% abv

A: This is about as deep and murky as it gets, T5 levels of blackness on par with Abyss and Hunaphu’s. As you can see above, the carbonation is outrageous in the classic sense of the word: causing outrage. There’s no reason for that much foam unless its the late 90’s and you have some glowsticks. The lacing is like a Baroque armoir, ornate and frilly. After about 5 minutes this excitable asshole settled down and stopped weaving tales about his Fedex journey.

There's something amazing about this beer, and it feels like I am bothering it, but that's fine because I know in its mimicry is a deep strength.

S: This is fairly muted on the palate but got better as it warmed up, like those shy recent divorcees that always order the salad. There’s some chalky chocolate, cocoa, sticky vanilla, and a subtle macaroon. Then, wearing a cape and goggles comes COFFEECOCK to dominate everything at the end. Javatastic COFFEECOCK all over the place.

T: Well if you weren’t on board with Coffeecock from the last section, you can stop now because it just goes deeper in the same vein. That was not a euphemism you sicko. There’s a bitter drying at the outset that fades into a delicious baker’s chocolate like brownie batter, and as expected, coffee, well you saw that coming. I think this is slight underrated and perhaps its the small bottle count that makes people say fuck it, like when I decided I could live without the entire Step by Step DVD box set, I can imagine what happens in Season 3. Cody gets a horse or some shit.

You can cellar this beer for 10 years and you will still be an asshole for not sharing.

M: This beer has a huge sticky coating that lingers well after the first drink. The coating just sticks and does operation grill maker over in short order. The coffee and deep chocolate makes you feel like you were just mashing on some serious bowl licking for hours on end. Don’t act like the foul spatula of indulgence has not soiled your lips.

D: This isn’t exceptionally drinkable unless you have insatiable salivary glands and a post-menopausal rapacity for chocolate. That hits a fairly small niche, maybe the coveted pre-pubescent market is what they were seeking but I am pretty sure 9 year olds dont have Fedex accounts. Or…do…they….

fucking around with a beer this big seems like an inherently bad idea.

Narrative: Baron Southampton was the regal son of Lord August FitzRoy, but the cut of his jib was not unremarkable. He knew that this title was entirely created by his hateful old father as a fading sign of regal power in the days of an expanding merchant class. Just across the channel the barbarous franco-massacre had run the cobblestone streets red with the blood of an oppressive regime, leaving the largely mercantile class staring with despondence at the titled land owners. Baron didn’t give a shit. He spent the majority of his days walking the regal gardens, burying items of value in a spiteful manner to hide them, throwing rocks at the champion hunting dogs, and berating the help for streaking the sterling silver. This dark tiny master hated the opulence that he was subjected to and lashed out accordingly. He wished to be one of the masses and apprentice in a trade, press the rough hands of the working classes and see the Carolinas. Sadly, the common man would never look upon a Southampton, and he knew it. The Southamptons were few but poised, out of reach of the commoners but held just close enough to remind them of their failings. His cousin from Austria Count Berliner Vyass was the most acerbic asshole from his lineage. He did not even allow the proletariate to look upon him at all. They were rare and untouchable, that’s basically the, that’s the jist here, it’s what the underlying narrative is trying to convey, in case you missed it, just tossing you a bone.

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Central Waters Kosmyk Charlie Y2K Catastrophe Ale, Willenium Jams Bumping so Hard Right Now

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What’s gonna happen, ain’t nobody know, two zero zero zero the new millenium, hold up, Willenium.

It's hard to write a review when you are listening to Will2k on repeat

CWKCY2kCA, 10% abv American Barleywine

A: The beer looks like a burnt penny that comes from an age that remembers the value of pennies as something more than things to flick at small children. There’s some mild lacing that peaces out pretty quickly, patting its pockets like it hasn’t a dime to spare, but we know better. It is a deep amber with no lacing and a strange wateriness to it. Not even mad tho.

I got this beer as an extra thinking it was an English Barleywine, not even mad tho.

S: There is a burnt toffee, basically burnt everything like they reduced the malt too deeply in the boil with a 240 minute harassment session. Mild hops for the style, sticky marshmellow, and a general sort of Payday smell to it. Relax, go nuts, that whole bit.

T: There is a huge smoky brown sugar like old mammy done burned the oatmeal, then there’s a piney bitterness that shows me where all those high alpha acid assholes retreated to in the boil. It has a mild raisin sort of finish that thankfully doesn’t make the final cut entirely hoppy. The entire finish is very pleasant.

I hate when people reject an amazing beer based on its color alone. So much derp. Derp everywhere.

M: It is very light and not as boozy as I had expected for a 10% abv beer. There’s some light malty residue but it comes off so fresh and so clean clean. However, your girlfriend and friends will not drink this shit. Let’s not delude ourselves craft nerd, come now. Shave that neckbeard and join the rest of the world in enjoying a shocktop if you have those delusions.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable in the way that a Bad Girls Club marathon is consumable. You will feel like shit after a few, but it secretly makes you stronger.

This beer is threatening, but familiar at the same time. I can get on board with it.

Call it a cop out, but I am too tuckered out for a narrative, enjoy this meme instead:

ULTIMATE MEME MASH UP

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Pannepot 2005 Grand Reserva, Because I Had So Many Amazing Memories of Nothing From 2005

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Oh well, another day and another top 100 beer, ho hum, just another day in the life of a gosh darn overseer.

This review is actually the ultra-baller 2005 Grand Reserve bottling of Pannepot, but oh well, you get the idea, ONLY MORE BALLER.

Pannepot 2005 Grand Reserva, Quad, 10% abv

A: deep chocolate brown with a slightly offwhite head that produces nice lacing. Not exceptional carbonation but it is the 2005 batch so complaints dont seem to be in order, henceforth, the beggars become the choosers.

I wasn't a huge fan of quads but, after you have some top tier shit, you want to catch em all.

S: This seems to be its weakest trait with the anticipated huge dark fruit bouquet being rather muted, more of just a general sweetness without pronounced notes, it’s like when I tried to learn Clarinet, you know the greatness was there, the notes were just a little fucked up.

T: The smell does not indicate the incredibly rich profile of this beer, deep roasted almond notes, burnt currant, s;ightly boozy character with minimal heat that is displaced by a nice finishing sweetness. The taste more than makes up for any other shortcomings, it’s a rich kiss from uncle quad and there’s serious boozy wincest.

I know I am experiencing something amazing but at the same time, I can't help but feel like a total piece of shit for not sharing.

M: the mouthfeel lingers for just enough time, but leaves you wanting more, like each song in the first 2 Ramones albums. The coating is just long enough to make an impression, but not long enough to be overwhelming. As far as quads go, this is pretty light on the maltiness and I think given the character of the fruit notes, it is better as a result

D: Most quads wear out their welcome either due to overpowering booziness or an expansive maltiness that takes over your palate and stomach like japanese kudzu. this is a great beer that you could substitute for any beer in its class and people would welcome the complex sweet notes and high abv. Give this to any Newcastle drinker and bankrupt your friends overnight.

Struise are in Europe but I pretty much imagine shit is popping off like this after hours

Narrative: This was easily the worst High School Reunion that Jacob mellors had ever been to, and he had seen his fair share. His obsession of crashing High School Reunions started simple enough, play the role of the muted Magic the Gathering player, the forgotten 4th chair trombone, lay low. It worked like clockwork, the open bar started flowing, old enemies regailing each other with carrer conquest exploits, soon Jacob, soon. His latent abilities went far beyond the scope of the pedestrian masses that he regailed. At the strike of each gala, 3 hours in, he would emerge as the forgotten socialite besting the former nerds in volairean wit, intimidating the portly former jocks with a panache and bravado that oozed confidence. It was this latent power that fed him at night, the knowledge that his unknown ability was his greatest asset. However, he could not drink so much that night as it was mid-november and class reunion season was in full swing.

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Bruery Marron Acidifie, This Sour Will Give You Acidife Reflux, But in a Tight GI WAY

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Here’s another oversight from days past. This was an incredible sour that I just assumed would be everywhere, always, forever so I didn’t buy enough and here we are, I am ruminating on beer’s loves past and there’s a Who’s The Boss marathon on. It’s not rock bottom, but it is google mapped on the way.

Stupid sours getting in the way of my cutty Corona pics.

Marron Acidifie – Sour Brown Ale – The Bruery 8.5% abv

A: Deep brown with a ruby hint at the edges, mild carbonation with soft bubbles, just look up there, god damnit, how much can I hand hold you through this process?

This beer is dark, but inviting. But with the hidden alcohol, you know a dark surprise awaits.

S: There is a crisp vinegar/acetic note and the cherry notes start giving your olfactory senses the business, with tart sweetness lingering. You get an imperial grenadine aspect to this dangerous beer.

T: Supremely refreshing bite at the outset which sets into a tart bitterness and cherry tastes that mellow out after swallowing. Great cleanse and finish to the palate, like biting into a crisp sour red apple, if such a thing even exists. It tastes like the sweet blood of a sour patch child.

THIS BEER MAKES ME SO MANY FEELS

M: Thin but unpredictable, this beer doesn’t coat that well but it doesn’t need to, it is too busy avoiding your phone calls after it wrecked your hotel room. The light body with big bite makes this incredibly unbalanced but ridiculously delicious. Give this to someone who “isn’t a beer person” and watch as their conceptions fall to pieces after you forcefully drag them out of Plato’s cave and show them the sour side of life.

D: Absolutely fantastic. Give me this while I am chopping wood, making beef jerky, or snowmobiling and it will be right at home doing MAN STUFF. Alternatively, it is refined enough that you can serve it at the foreign delegate convention and there will not be a dry monocle in the house. All day, every day, I want more please.

It is not only delicious but it holds an endearing quality that you will not forget. No it is not "retarded" like this highhanded comedy above.

Narrative: OH GREAT JUST MY LUCK, THE ONLY JOB INTERVIEW I CAN LAND AND HE’S HERE. It wasn’t the first time that your life dreams had been stifled by Reuben “Ruby” Tartstein. From the spelling bee where he cooly not only spelled every word but gave the entymology as well, to the senior prom where he won both king and queen with his androgynous air. I CAN NEVER SEEM TO SHAKE THIS POISED BASTARD, AND WHO WEARS AN AMBER SUIT TO A JOB INTERVIEW. It seems like this guy can pull anything off, charities, lumberjack competitions, fencing; he does it all. No matter how badly he abuses you, you know he means well and it is just the mark of an eccentric genius. “And it became quite evident why they call it KEYnsian economics at THAT POINT!” The receptionst burst into laughter at his high handed jokes. You cannot compete with this man, but you love him just the same.

1

Upright Fantasia, Come Along and Ride on a Fantasia Tick Voyage. Coolio References 50% Off

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Here’s a familiar situation, a small run of rare Oregon beers come out, for two week you sit back and watch everyone ask for Blabaer, Vanilla Dark Lord, Black Note (read: things I have already reviewed on this site) and then after two weeks, the reality sets in and people become more reasonable. This is no exception. I have to thank a super generous trader for hooking me up with this peach gem. Absolute Peach O ring all up in my dome piece.

Plenty of peach sours rolling out these days, life is NOT THE PITS.

Upright Brewing, Fantasia, 5.75% abv

A: This has a golden hue to it, like the wild ale that the Argonauts were seeking out. There’s minimal wispy carbonation that just gets phoned in like 11:30 am orders to Dominos on a Sunday. But hey, this ain’t your first rodeo, you know how wild ales roll, all go and no show homie.

Me complaining about this rare peach beer not being sour enough is the pinnacle of first world problems.

S: There’s an acidic and musky nose to it that reminds me kinda of Stetson cologne but with a huge peach waft to it. It reminds me of puberty, smells like awkward kids who need deodorant and sticky peach o ring hands. I like it, not pubescent kids, peach O rings and drinks derived therefrom.

T: This has a fantastic (ba dum tish) crisp initial sweetness of basically anything made by Haribou, nice peachy tang to it that doesn’t overly dominate on the sour spectrum, but it reminds me that life ain’t all about cash money hoes, all a sour knows. There’s a tartness that resounds into a chardonnay sweet note without the oaky dryness. It almost reminds me of a classy ass energy drink, for those discerning truckers who need to jack off en route, but balance it out with a high brow beverage.

Unlike these generic asshats, I would actually seek this beer out again. This beer will actually make it.

M: The coating on this beer is super crisp like juice and doesn’t coat that well, but it would be weird if it had some malty ass base, syrupy peach goopiness. So not a whole lot to comment here, go sip some peach juice mixed with some grapefruit tartness and you’ll get the drying effect down dead on. I don’t need to pad out each section ok, it’s like this one guy I met from Portland said, oh out of space on to the next section-

D: This is incredibly, edibly drinkable. I could cold clock this bottle like a session sour and it has a strange resemblance to a shitty unblended lambic that I once made, albeit, this is the perfect version. My shit 2000 and late. Another crazy aspect to this is it’s relatively low alcohol content and delicious crisp finish makes me wish that I had a solid case of this to share with the bros at Havasu, me and the brahs just chilling at Coachella cracking sick brews and listening to Arcade Fire, a totally solid band.

This beer tears up my gumline, but I forgive it.

Narrative: In the early 16th century life was devoid of peaches for the most part, and all the canon of musical theory was rigid and predicated largely on ecclesiastic works. Then a tree of divine mystery sprang in a Prussian grove, shattering the rigid contemplative nature of formal music. It was really just rotting peaches, but, when moves into the country they inevitably will eat a lot of peaches. With enough fermenting and pitting, the sugars turned out some majestic works in C minor for the clavichord. Baroque composers were known to beat their mistresses savagely after imbibing the strange succor of peach alcohol. This carried stringent, diaphanous connotations. On one hand, the lithe tones of the Fantasia school created a refreshing lightness, it also meant 16th century wives got pounded on in more than a euphemistic fashion.

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Deschutes The Abyss Imperial Stout, Total Abyss of the Heart

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Every time this beer comes out, I shrug it off as a “widely available” top 100 stout and act like I dont want it. Then I can’t get it and the butt hurt ensues. Anyway, I landed this the old fashioned way from Sunset Beer in Echo Park and figured now is as good a time as ever to start giving sick props to this gem that most people have already had their way with.

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I opened this at my housewarming party when I bought a house and pretty much everyone wanted nothing to do with it. My house was all the warmer with this potation lighting up my chest like E.T.

Deschutes The Abyss, light pilsner, PSYCHE, Imperial Stout, 11% abv

A: This looks like an Exxon valdez rampage. Pure black with shimmering darkness like the gulf of mexico. Huge khaki carbonation with sticky lacing. If you spill this on your clothes, just throw them out. No middle carbonation, at least not much that I can see. It reminds me of those villains from Pirates of Dark Water, oh well, Google it I guess, my jokes aren’t for everyone, you gotta earn that shit.

Ever since I started drinking Abyss, I never win because these stouts make you fat as fuck

S: There is a huge chocolate profile, not similar to most stouts, it registers sweeter more of a syrupy bitterness like those bags of syrup you add to soda machines but with a ton of awesome coffee balance. As a side note, I feel like Deschutes sometimes ends up with too much sugar attenuation and they defy the status quo here with this chocolate syrupy note that remains balanced.

T: Very sweet on the first taste that coats the bitter zones with an overwhelming hop presence that subsides into a tarpit of gooey coffee notes. The heat is there but the alcohol is overridden by almost distracting sweet notes. It is reminiscent of if you subjected a normal stout to a 120 min boil. It just feels like stout concentrate in a good way.

I only got a single bottle of Abyss this year and I was all like this as a result.

M: I can’t overstate this enough, it coats harder than a single guy at 1:45 a.m. at a club. Chocolate robitussin with teeth staining presence. It will linger with you, whether you want it to or not.

D: I don’t know what crazy cold conditions or type of Siberian misery that I would have to endure to put away several bottles of this away. Perhaps the people in Bend Oregon have a tough gulag life that I can’t comprehend from my Mediterranean climate throne but one 22 oz bottle of this is plenty, anyone who “wishes” for another bomber seems questionable, but understandable.

Making a beer this delicious and alcoholic just seems like a dangerous idea.

Narrative: “So this is how product liability lawsuits happen,” Warren Dolce thought as the maroon viscous liquid glugged out of the cocoa butter vat and all over the factory floor. “Of all the things to skimp on, I don’t think that the pressure control valve and the blow off valve were proper,” he reflected “at least not for the chocolate refining tank.” Thousands of wanting Cadburry eggs would remain wanting frosting yokes, in endosperm stasis. The chocolate crude gurgled up to his jaw line and Warren reflected, “perhaps the basement lock was not the way to cut costs either, here I am, 3 floors down, about to endure the prophetic Death By Chocolate, to be honest, I kinda always knew that it would end this way.” He exhaled into the mucilaginous depths watching the bubbles struggle to the surface. “A sweet death, to be sure, but who will finish my screen pl-”

3

Mikkeller 10 IPA, Oh wow, ten types of hops, hold on let me call the Prime Minister

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Oh wow, another one of those cute vintage reviews that you have to suffer through, back when I was all serious and hardline on beer content that no one gives a fuck about. Oh well, just suck it up, I am sure there will be some slams against community college students soon enough.

MIkkeller Ten, Ten Times as expensive as things you can just get from California.

Mikkeller 10, IPA, 6.9%

A: it appears traditional enough, orange hues with light amber hues, HUGE foamy head that is relentless and annoying like Jehovas witness followers. The head lingers like a watchtower pamphlet to your chagrin.

No amount of cute hedgehogs can make this beer worthwhile.

S: smell has a huge floral bouquet that raises itself like an avenging ghost for thousands of fallen hop friends, it reminds me of those angry flowers in Ursula’s cave in the Little Mermaid that are relentless and drag you back for more.

T: The taste is fairly predicatable, with some bittering notes and some herbal finish but nothing to really make it fall out of the rank and file of standard IPAs, with the exception of a nice maltiness that links up with a sort of herbal finish that makes it delicious, but inaccessible and cumbersome to enjoy at length due to cost prohibitions.

Would I like to pay for another overpriced Mikkeller beer? No. I always say no.

M: the mouthfeel is awesome with great balance for the single IPA style, very drinkable and a superbly balanced IPA for the new-comer, it is a college freshman dewey eyed and receptive to many tastes, with reciprocal affection in turn.

D: This beer is exceptionally drinkable, economically infeasible. There are cheaper alternatives that are better suited and better equipped. Go with those, leave this section alone unless you find a patch of it exceptionally cheap.

It's a mediocre IPA, get over it and drink something else. Space Gorilla has spoken.

Narrative: “wait wait, the MSRP on this car is only 20 grand, how did this final invoice total over FORTY THOUSAND?!” The auto dealer sighed and decided to err on the side of propriety “well, when you walked through the doors of Encino Hyundai, I knew that was a man who likes comfort and the finer things in life, so sure, I could have put you in a run of the mill Elantra and think nothing of it” “yes that is exactly what I was looking for” “BUT THEN i thought, no, you know what, what is a car without a suede roof, prada leather, 4 navis, and optional hydrogen cells” The car gleamed under 7 clear coats and was quite a sight to look at, but at the core of it, a mediocre compact sedan that has been polished to a strange refinement. The core experience is nothing to write home about, however, a certain panache has driven up the price inexplicably. “Listen I am not saying that the ostrich interior is too gaudy, it is, but I just cant afford this.” The car dealer looked remonstratively at the car and ruefully pointed to the fishtank in the truck. “Well….can I show you our new…Santa Fes?”

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Three Floyd’s Behemoth Barleywine, She Works Hard at Eating Well, That’s Why I Love Her

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This is a fav. amongst the midwest kids who like their barleywines big, boozy, and slutty. Finally a barleywine more epickz than the Soulja Boy v. Ice T conflict.

Behemoth is one of my least favorite Final Fantasy monsters. Such an asshole.

Here, enjoy some Zozo Behemoth music while you read this:

Three Floyds Behemoth Barleywine, 10.5% abv

A: The appearance looks like a malty double ipa with a faint gold but notes of deep honey. There’s some wispy lacing and hydrophilic foaminess, and, like a Lewis Black set, it burns itself out pretty quickly and mellows.

Deer god this has a lot of hops for a barleywine, as true today as when it was written.

S: The smell is that of a malty east coast IPA, oh how they love those balanced profiles. This seems like a quintessential American Barleywine, which is basically to say that it smells like a “triple” IPA. I know that category is still in vogue but that is basically what is going on here. There’s a huge sweetness and honey backing to the nose with a really mild vanilla but seriously, it’s citrus hops through and through, C-word hops: Chinook, Cascade, Cetc.

T: The taste has a sweet malty beginning like an unglazed cinnamon roll that quickly turns bitter and rolls into conifer Christmas tree sale extravaganza. The label promised “caramel malt notes” which admittedly are accounted for, but that’s like saying that a car has a powerful v8 engine and fail to mention that it is connected to a motorhome. I am not saying this is a bad beer, but it just has too much emotional baggage to be worth dealing with its massive malty rack. You weigh your options.

Not sure if above image is relevant.

M: The mouthfeel is sticky and sweet that maintains that same clinginess analogy from the last section, but this time it imparts a lasting sticky pine sap taste along the gumline that reminds me of when I would taste my hands after climbing trees. Whatever, you had a childhood once too, stop looking at me like I’m some deviant tree taster.

D: I guess this could range from “yeah fucking right” to “wow, that’s 10.5% abv? I will have another.” I guess it all comes down to how little you care for your liver or seeing the sun rise. If you want to see those majestic ruby pillars caress the sky and coax a new day of illumination, then stick to lagers, this will drill you like a BP exec. Except this beer won’t apologize. Overall I would say it is unbalanced, hoppy, aggressive and might get better with age, just like BUCKY O’ HARE (first Bucky O’ Hare site reference.)

This beer is ambitious but just a bit off the mark.

Narrative: Behe Mot was just an archaic monster trying to adapt to a changing world of sin. He rented a modest condo in Ithaca to embrace his bulging grotesque frame, and draped himself in clothes from Charlotte Rousse so no one would think twice. The truth was that terrorizing the vices out of people was a whole different game since the Book of Job. It was the pulpit of irony that Behe Mot was originally created as a scourge for questioning God because, as he stood in line for the Cinnabon, he himself questioned the existence of a God. The extra dollar for nuts and frosting seems hateful and punitive in a way the Hebrews never envisioned. For the mountains bear food for him, and all the beasts of the field play there, but no one is down to fuck old Behe Mot. At least leviathan would land some of that sweet sea tang, poor Mr. Mot had a life of fatal obscurity, for only God could release him from the hell that was an upstate New York food court.

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Jester King, Black Metal Imperial Stout, Austin, Texas Turning Out Something Besides Meth and Sunburned Hipsters

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I remember seeing people going all apeshit over this beer last year and whenever I looked at the reviews I was like “I can buy a Speedway stout, I am not paying Fedex to bring me this shit.” Anyway, a year older, year dumber, this finally got some limited distribution to the west coast, so my laziness and $12.99 got the best of me. WATCH WHAT HAPPENS.

Why is the blackest metal usually performed by people from the palest places in the world?

Jester King Black Metal Imperial Stout, 10.4% abv

FUN FACT: I wrote this entire review while listening to Hammerfall. If you aint know Hammerfall, you and Spotify need to have a chat.

A: The appearance is about as dead on as stouts can get. It has a fantastic depth and hateful depth to it that is as dark as a Norwegian winter and a jet black pallour of that goth kid no one bothered to talk to, now look at him, dot com millionaire. The lacing is non-existent but that foam looks like Banana Republic khakis, except there’s actually something dark inside, unlike that racist ass store.

This beer is a strange hybrid of greatness that is awesome in its own right.

S: There is a mild raisin, chocolate, light coffee, and a big sweetness that finishes with a fleeting acidity. I am not unstoked for this, but knowing there’s no bourbon magic dust in this, my stout arousal is around 6/10.

T: The taste delivers in a huge way about and beyond the nose of the beer. There’s a delicious coffee initial note that lays the groundwork for a baker’s chocolate 85% cocoa dryness that is just sweet enough to be fantastic. At the end the light woody and mild hop notes round out the palate. This is a solid non-BA offering and does a ton with the malts presented. The alcohol is smuggled in like prohibition Canadian whiskey. 7th graders could class it up and drink this while listening to KoRn and complain about how their middle-class parents don’t understand their middle class adolescent life, like if this stout could just get its own car it would totally be out of here, like now.

There's a deep childlike satisfaction that comes from this beer. No beards necessary.

M: The mouthfeel doesn’t go full on apeshit like Hunaphu’s but it hits a fantastic lingering coating and frothiness that lingers long after the sip, let’s call it 40 seconds and just go about our lives, jesus why does everything have to be a competition for this guy? The label says “It is best enjoyed while pumping out blast beats, summoning trolls, or enjoying a nice leisurely reading of the Necronomicon.” God damn, extra points for the awesome label and classy 750ml packaging. I came into this wanting to dislike this beer but left with ebony teeth and a nod of approval.

D: This is not exceptionally drinkable but is a great beer to share amongst friends. Not that I am some raging labia who can’t handle one, I can rock this all day long. Other mandolin players might not be able to handle the face melting 24th fret solos and wicked sick runs it sets forth. I could beer bong this no problem and still have room for spicy Thai, I try to write to the common 8th grade Newsweek audience. Writing beer reviews for 8th graders seems on point. Super cutty.

This isn't the child that I never had, but it feels familiar.

Narrative: Sarai bore the silent communion with God and nodded solemnly as her name was changed to Sarah, my princess. Her fallow belly was infused with a deep power to change the world and eventually she begot Isaac, which by all accounts was the beginning of power black death metal. In a roundabout way, the humble beginnings in the fertile crescent would have never foreseen that in a mere 6000 years beyond their legacy that Norwegian and Swedish youths would push the nature of dithyrambic dissonance to face melting power. The Ark of the Covenant possess a power to smite and destroy a man where he stood. Likewise, man built in the image of God sought to control this mixolydian speed and fire within their own fingertips and scales progressively were run faster, hammer on pull offs harder, screams higher. Finally, as the lost scrolls prophesied, a deep unworldly power was discovered: THE PINCH HARMONIC. When man discovered how to mute a struck harmonic, the screeching power of simple melodies hit black, evil levels. This dark art was furthered by low class Ibanez guitar owners until the black science was reduced into a fine art. This deep communion still takes place at forgotten realms within the midwest, wherein the metal bands have been banished to obscurity for their blistering, shredding ways of worship.

0

Arcadia Bourbon Barrel Aged Shipwreck Porter, For When Your Life is a Total Shipwreck

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So you take a porter, completely rape the style and boost it to a staggering 12% abv and then put it in a bourbon barrel and the beer nerd kids get all half chub, then you add some wax to it and the beerection is so hard that a kitten’s claws couldn’t scratch it.

When this thing breaches your hull, you're going down.

Man, this beer was a huge pain in the ass to open. They went for the 6 coats of wax option and I sure worked up a hunger for 360 calories of beer after going through that shit. IRREGARDLESS, notwithstamping the formgoing, the beer-

Arcadia BA Shipwreck Porter, 12% abv, Baltic Porter

A: Ah imperial porters, always a hazy venn diagram for beer nerds to debate about Imperial Stouts and other very pressing style classification issues. This has a nice water inkiness that produces a night frothy mocha head, but I’ve definitely heard this one before, more specifically it is a porter through and through in body and spirit. It is candid in a “did the neighbors see us through the window” sort of fashion. Straight up porter blood, no B’s and C’s.

For some people, barrel aged porters complete them, these people need an ottervention.

S: The nose of this beer has a nice toffee and brown sugar note to it that reminds me of a honey ham glaze with a nice oaky finish. The chocolate dallies in like a fat kid in PE class, but eventually makes it there. Very nice smell to it and I sure wish I landed more than just one of these but, then again, I have enough to take down as is.

T: This has a fantastic initial sweetness like a butterscotch kiss from See’s Candy, a nice boozy heat to the middle, and then a gentle chocolate coffee finish as a nightcap to the sip. I am liking this style more and more ever since Hill Farmstead went and fucked my world up with Birth of Tragedy, but this is an amiable substitute. As a side note, I paired this with a tuna melt and the two parties could not be reconciled, it tasted like shit all the way through on both sides like a Family Law case. So, dont pair this with fish, is what I am saying, or maybe don’t get divorced, I GUESS.

Sometimes just a little barrel aging is all it takes to turn that liverfrown upside down.

M: The thing I love about Imperial Porters is that you know exactly what you are getting: a ton of flavor and very mild filling and coating on the interior surfaces. That’s a Home Depot joke for all the painting contractors. Moreover, this beer washes clean and after just 12oz you start feeling it and watching iCarly seems like an acceptable thing to do.

D: For the huge bourbon presence and sweetness, this beer still gets a high marking in drinkability for its versatility, small format, and sheer deliciousness index. I would recommend giving this to a sorority girl and shaking your head ruefully when her palate rejects it forthright. This is a gentleman’s drink, to be consumed on boat decks with passing ironic references to the title. Again, BA imperial porters aren’t all over the place so this is a great one to spread around.

Some people think imperial porters are a weak substitute for the real ultra kush imperial stouts. I see them as something altogether different.

Narrative: Devin Worthington threw his back out at work. Well, to be more specific, he was reaching for a Payday in the vending machine and torqued his C-2 vertebrae, but that’s splitting hairs. After the first two days of watching endless daytime dramas and Court TV he began on a new venture: shipbuilding, in bottles. At first glance, the old impossible bottle schtick seemed like something you’d see in a glass case next to a wooden wolf carving or perhaps a beanie baby collection in a finely appointed trailer. However, his new passion called for a tiny nautical lifestyle and he put a pot of Progresso clam chowder on the stove to celebrate this ambitious undertaking. The manuals set forth the traditional mast raising technique from inside the bottle, but fuck that, Devin wasn’t some land loving labia, he wanted the real deal: mini-long handed tools. The epoxy got all over the inside of the bottle and his expensive tools proved as useless as his disability checks. When he sobbed over breaking a tiny balsawood mast, he knew his life was the real shipwreck.