This has a nice welcoming baby stout look to it. Lacing that is like a lazy eastern European government, not too oppressive. It smells like a nutmeg bomb went off and the taste is like a watered down punkin pie.
You want to believe Immortals is gonna be good but you have to face the truth, there’s some high moments and a lot of filler. it’s like Thanksgiving leftovers, but nostalgic and tasty.
Flipping the Hoppy Factorial Script. Reducing Polynomials All Up in your Dome Piece.
As if there weren’t enough nerds already into beer, Pythagoream theorum barleywine.
Alpine Exponential Hoppiness, 11.314% abv, Triple IPA
A: nice apple juice color with a bit more darkness, lacing looks like Indian tapestry, nice cumulus head to it. Sick Sierpinski triangle triangle sort of head.
S: Amazing juiciness to the nose with cantaloupe, orange rind, grapefruit, freshly cut grass. A great hybrid between citrus and herbal dryness. It’s like you splashed Andre all over a whole foods. Sick cuvee bro.
Oh wait, a triple IPA with a huge hoppy character, hold on let me call science.
T: There is a faint tart note at the outset, a huge pinecone middle to it, and a mellow orange taste at the end. It looks like a parabola of taste values, graphed over a 3 second interval. AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO THE INVERSE!
M: The mouthfeel is incredibly light and clean. This is definitely not a malt bomb and it is incredibly accomplished as a result. It makes me rap the keys on this keyboard balefully at the frustrating “brewery only” distribution of this beer. This ranks in the top 5 IPAs that I have ever had. It gently rubs shoulders with Ephraim and Dreadnaught with the utmost respect.
I want more of this but it comes out once a year. Halp.
D: If the other sections didn’t clench the “A” review, this certainly nails it on all fronts. This is more drinkable than any lager or “refreshing” wheat beer that I have ever had and it just performs on every level. The alcohol is a lurking ninja that strikes steadily removing your faculties one by one in artful ways. Bottle limits and unavailability are the natural predators of this base level of the beer food chain. That metaphor really didn’t put the applesauce on the pork chops so let me directly state that this is amazing and the average person is lucky that this treacherous beer remains elusive.
This beer is amazing. Darkwing Duck Amazing. Not Launchpad McQuack amazing.
Narrative: “Well well well, Mr. Jensen what do we have here in the bed of this raggedy old Toyota Tacoma? Let’s see, 1000w bulb, 32 temperature controlled pots, nitric fixated soil blends, and a series of 4 multiage fans. Quite the project we have here hm?” Spencer Jensen felt a single bead of sweat percolate on his brow. “It’s just. . .not what it looks like?” “Oh I am sure, looks like someone is about to become a botany major hm? A little science fair experiment?” Spencer blocked the door to his cellar and stammered out a series of incomprehensible excuses. “You see, my mom she enjoys gardening, but no, I mean well we all are starting a fruit garden but the soil, it isn’t quite ri-” Officer Worthington pushed past Spencer and proceeded down the cellar steps. “Oh yeah, great place for a fruit garden down here in this insulated ro-” The flashlight dragged across the floor to a massive lupus hop cone that appeared be aspirating. “WHAT THE-” A single centennial hop vine lashed across the room and entwined Officer Worthington, overpowering him. “NO EXPO! NO! LET HIM GO!” Sticky hop oils filled the room and dripped all over the officer’s clothing, making him smell like a 7th grade TOOL fan. “BURGGHHHHERHRH” Expo pulled the body into the center of the cone, grinding him into a sticky herbaceous pulp. Spencer Jensen had quite the secret to keep indeed.
This is pretty legit, but nothing to get all stoked on. You can leave the stoke safety on. There’s some caramel malt, some booziness, and light maple oaky flavor. It’s like sure, a regular Subaru impreza is nice but, it won’t make a FIDM or OTIS girl all jazzed. You need Duke Ellington for that shit.
It’s a reliable, easy to handle, boozy mess, like dating a coed from the SEC schools. Just don’t set your sights too high, lens crafters up in the cut like what.
This beer is horrible, avoid at all costs. Finally a beer to adequately represent this website. Do not drink this beer.
It tastes like giving a smooch to your drunk old highlander grandpa. The bubbles are a vile scorching oak taste like popov and nair on your mouth. It’s a scorching oral douche that has no place outside of the hateful island from whence it came.
Seriously, I can safely say that, with the aroma, taste, and mouthfeel of this abomination, it doesn’t matter what style that this beer is, it is a chimera of testicle assaults. Ok, so I open it up, it smells like peat, dirt, home depot fertilizer, a rented van, Okla-, well, just horrible. It looks nice enough until she opens her mouth, just petulant candor and despicable things. The foam alone tastes like someone took a swig of Cutty Sark while smoking a cigar and spit it in your mouth.
I can’t underscore this enough, do not pay the $12.99 for this 12oz bottle, dont let anyone buy this for you, this is seriously the absolute worst beer that I have ever tasted.
My face was all like this after only 5oz.
A Total Eclipse of the Stout
Astronomy getting all twisted like a bag of ropes.
Imperial Eclipse 50/50 Brewing Co, Imperial Stout, 9.5% abv, aged in Evan Williams Barrels
A: Not the hardest convict on the block, nice oiliness but not unapproachable. It has a good carbonation that flees cell block 50/50 immediately. There is a nice lacing that sticks around looking all like Mervyn’s cargo shorts.
S: Holy hell, the bourbon has still not settled down at all. This smells like whiskey, oak and raisins all the way down. This doesn’t come across like those tame ass raisins in barley wines either. I mean angry California Raisins after years of being portrayed as a racist demagogues. That sort of pissed.
T: The bourbon shows up immediately and opens the door for a series of cronies, each one more hateful than the last. Filing in succession we get coffee, wearing an eye patch, raisin, brandishing a switchblade, and the mute, fig, silent but deadly with the sais. What a band of rogues this barrel assembled for my palate.
M: It is not overly filling but it is still intimidating given the panoply of items being presented. I don’t feel like I need to sign over the title deed to my tongue, but it certainly is implied. The coating is nice and similar to a breakfast stout until bourbon comes rolling in and busting up the place. If my tongue owned a PS3, he would be smashing it. Now where am I gonna find another copy of bourbon barrel Katamari Damasi on such short notice?
D: Well given the fact that my mouth feels like an oil refinery, I would say “not very.” This feels like a barrel crude oil and not in that cool Abyss ‘09 way. This just feels dangerous like I shouldn’t smoke around it. I don’t care about the different versions, there is something inherently insane about this beer. Some might opine “oh this cousin cuts himself LESS” but that doesn’t matter, it is still patently insane. Usually I would complain about the abv but here it is just the execution. It is like someone with ADD was in charge of the secondaries and my palate is a proximate victim. Coffee splash damage +24.
Narrative: The life of an oil refinerist was not glamorous, hell, it wasn’t even recognized by Google as a legitimate profession. That didn’t stop Slick Crudework. His parents almost named him knowing his future prospects, but that is a story for another time. He had been the overseer at the Mobil platform #42 in Long Beach for as long as he could remember but he didn’t mind it at all. Slick would come into the local AMPM covered in sludge and the recalcitrant Korean man would yell at him but, hey, if not for Slick, would those pumps be pushing out overpriced unleaded for Mini Cooper owners to feel good about themselves? Probably not. “A 211, some henny, and some Listerine strips.” The truth was that Slick did not even want these items, he had heard E40 order these items in a song and wanted to seem relevant. The Korean shop keep presented them to him balefully. He followed his own mucky steps out to his car. Sure everyone thought he was a drunk and overpowering, but who really was the crude boss in this bossocracy? That’s what I thought.
Jeepers Creepers Why You Peeping So Hard?
Not since Ma$e have so many been Peeped upon so hard.
Maine Beer Company, Peeper, American Pale Ale, 5.5% ABV
A: There is a deep gold hue to this beer with tons of foamy white carbonation. There’s some lacing but it is a pretty standard affair, you pretty much know what you’re getting when you buy a Pennywise album. Ironically, this isn’t a beer that I would be peeping on all hard. It is an average outing
S: This beer smells of sweet pine, orange zest, mild pie crust and some light honey. I am accustomed to being olfactory raped by IPAs and DIPAs so this is more of a pleasant walk in the park with an old sweetheart. A sweetheart who gently rubs sweet honey and grapefruit all over your nostr- man, this Pale Ale talk is getting all salacious all of a sudden.
T: This is a pale ale but the maltiness and grapefruit notes make me believe in my heart of hearts that this started as an IPA, but hey, who am I to point hop cones? There’s a really nice breadiness and sweet juicy hop profile that makes this a very relaxing beer to drink. The taste is honestly not that complex but Paper Mario wasn’t a complex game and I enjoyed that so, hey, there’s an inapposite analogy to stick in your cap.
M: This is extremely light and as soon as the flavor is imparted, it scurries off like a Quaker prom date, with no additional fulfillment in store. That isn’t to say that this is somehow deficient, it is just overly EFFicient. Maybe linger around for a bit Pale Ale, watch Just Friends starring Ryan Reynolds at my place? No romancing for this Pale Ale.
D: This is easily this beer’s selling point. It is incredibly refreshing and just extends an entreating hand to pull you along lovingly gulp after gulp. I would almost, this is a strong almost, prefer this to Blind Pig, if only because it is more session able, albeit less memorable.
Narrative: “And therefore, the ignoble pursuits set forth within the ambit of ideals encapsulated in Kratos’s actions in God of War, is therefore, anything but godlike. Thank you.” Walter Currington concluded his opening statement at the Video Game Ethics convention. Not a single eye was left dry after his classic appeals to G.E. Moore with regards to Earthbound and the delicately woven parallels between Banjo Kazooey and Sartre seemed entirely organic. Rick shifted in his chair, “RICK! It’s….your turn….” the grand ballroom of the Radisson seemed entirely empty as casual gamer Rick strode to the podium and placed his Bubbilicious on the handrail on his way up. “I don’t need a lot, I don’t ask for a ton from my games and well, my life.” The crowd hushed intently and paused for his famous Epicurean defense of casual gaming. “Truth is, I was going to come up here and defend who I was, and talk about the simplicity of Peggle and Farmville but…” he scanned the room with his piercing blue eyes, “the truth is, you don’t need an ethical system to tell you what’s good, just go with it.” The crowd waited a beat and burst into applause. “HE HAS JUST REVOLUTIONIZED INTERSUBJECTIVE ETHICS FOR CASUAL VIDEO GAMES,” one excited attendee commented as Rick coolly passed by. Rick had been coming to these things for the free food and gave a couple simple speeches about “Kinect or Wii or whatever, and people just get all into it, and that’s fine, I just want to be a fun guy to have around, not be all serious.” After revolutionizing ethical systems, Rick piled into his Chevy Aveo and put a Smashmouth CD on.
Soddom. Gomorrah. Bedlam.
Ale Asylum Bedlam Belgian IPA
A: It looks like a cross between a standard IPA and a Belgian Golden. You get some yellowing and some moderate hazy light amber tones but the appearances seems pretty tame. The lacing on the side of the glass is like a haunted house and grips the entire way down. It’s like all those death scenes in lame ass 80’s movies with people falling.
S: Citra hop hell. This escaped like a virulent herbal genie when I opened the bottle. You get the Yosemite forest with pine and crisp conifers and then the tangerine and citric notes follow swiftly, it smells incredible. It feels like Pliny the Elder at Christmas time. This beer is 2 legit to quit on the hop presence.
T: The taste has very little of the juicy notes in the smell. At the outset your get the herbal aspects that the high alpha acid hops produce, but then, like a child left after tee ball practice, the hops abandon you to the company of a circumspect Belgian man. His Vanover smells of sweet turbinado sugar but, bineg a child you trust it through and through. Ultimately, no candy is provided.
M: It is light and crisp, I should underscore that it is still a great beer, albeit a bit deceiving on the old hop profile. You could give this to basically anyone and they would love you for it. Unless you live in California, don’t give this away, save these for yourself, they can buy their own Sculpin.
D: The Belgian hardly slows down the traction on these tires, this beer is meant for hot weather and dry heats. Why it is distributed in humid, low temperature places is beyond me but I also can’t understand why people from the east coast wear North Face jackets to bars, so the ideas are congruent. Ultimately you can drink this high ABV, tasty beer ridiculously fast, you can play beer pong with it, you can load it into some Home Depot tube and kill it; the only troubling aspect is your friends healt- I can’t even get that out seriously. Drink this swift and fast.
Narrative: Hermes languished on Mount Cyllene kicking rocks idly in his path. “Ah Hermes, what’s gotcha lookin so long in the gums?” Argos asked, consoling with his many eyes. “Aw jeez Argos, I just got all this old speed and no one seems to want to get that wasted anymore.” “Oh?” Argus questioned with a series of tilted brows. “Yeah, here I was, getting all these people sufficiently drunk and all of a sudden, they cut my distribution to the lower Mediterranean, can you believe that? Then here I am just stuck to kick rocks with a bunch of Stoics, holy hams and eggs!” Hermes folded his arms and felt the power that he wielded. His speed could intoxicate a mortal man several times over. As a concession, he delivered an Edible Arrangement to the failing economy of Greece and hoped that they would continue to drink themselves into oblivion. “The EURO is strong with this one” Poseidon remarked and proceeded to destroy another coastal town, insouciantly.
Oh Wait, #7 Ranked Beer in the Whole World? Things are real in and around the field.
Armand 4, Lente, Geuze, 6% ABV
A: The beer has a radiant hue to it that is mellow but gold, like fresh cornbread in a field of poppies. The carbonation is huge and produced major frothy losses. However, this beer is rare and annoying to ship in from Belgium so, there’s an inherent bias. Dont touch it, dont even look at it.
Please Dont Touch the Lente.
S: The smell is acidic and tart with a tart lemon and apricot to it. There is a bit of white wine tannins and funky wet hay/post dogbath towel smell going on in a great way.
T: The taste is wild tart skittles, pear, apricot, and a deep acidity to it. The prickly tartness lingers long after you swallow and there’s almost a sort of red bull sugary finish. I dont want it to rip my mouth apart, but I know it is coming. Gumline recedes with every sip.
I know something bad is coming.
M: The mouthfeel is light and crisp like biting into fresh Anjou pear, however, the prickliness of the sourness burns and washes hot in a ph2 sort of way. With each sip, there’s a huge frothiness that expands in torrential sourness.
D: This is drinkable at first, simply due to how fantastic it tastes. However, right around the crest of a full 750ml tour of duty, I need some tums before I stoploss my ass into another round with this acrimonious asshole. It is amongst the finest sours/geuzes that I have ever tasted, but the acidity is almost too much and tears up the gumline like a native american treaty. And as soon as it began, the Lente is gone, and, I can deal with that.
Sit back and enjoy the Lente.
Narrative: “Dr. Irisine, line 1,” the loudspeaker boomed through the successful plastic surgery clinic. Dr. Irisine’s heels clicked along the linoleum with purpose. He swung into room 302 lightly on the heels of his supple lambskin shoes. “I am not going to honeysuckle you, this is bad, but nothing that I can’t fix,” he sincerely stated as he looked over his patient’s collapsed mandible. “Now listen, bedside manner is not my strong suit, but, I have seen industrial acid injuries worse than this, a little lye to the face is a walk in the park these days.” Within hours, the consent forms were signed and the patient was lying in a supine position under Dr. Irisine’s skillful care. The face took the acidity hard. It looked like a morbid Gushers commerical, but Dr. Irisine was the best around. His debonair scalpel and suction hose clipped left and right with compunction, excising away the destroyed teeth and gumline. Several hazy hours later, the patient woke up to see Dr. Irisine sucking on a lemon rind while gazing out the window. “Don’t try to speak. However, ponder this for me, what is it about life that condemns some gallant men to suffer horrible acid burns to the mouth and others to enjoy the sweet succor of its fruits?” he dropped the rind on the windowsill and flicked a drop of lemon juice onto the EKG. “Well my dear patient, when life hands you lemons-” he trailed off, spit out a seed and began to whistle the Andy Griffith theme song as he exited the plastic surgery ward.
Time for some exotic Autumn Love. Autumn All Non-Gregorian Steeze.
This is not Sahtea, so now you know which bottle not to purchase. Deal with it.
Autumn week has been fun, after it’s over, you have to drink like a normal alcoholic. Enjoy this final respite free of maple leaf judgment.
Sahtea, Dogfish Head, 9% ABV, spiced ale/Sahti
A: This is murky orange with some yellowing at the edge, no head to speak of, middle body carbonation throughout with small bubbles. Oh wait, you say that’s not descriptive enough? How about you imagine William H. Macy in front of a warm hearth? No? Fine, some mild murkiness like the inevitable job application from an ex-con.
S: Lots of cinnamon, tea, juniper, with an overrriding smell of nutmeg. It’s like a swedish chef spilled a crazy splash into the kettle. It is bizarre but interesting, like John Stamos’s IMDB, you just cant look away.
This is how I felt after I actually tasted this spicetrap.
T: Go bite into a piece of pumpkin pie and chase it with a refined gin, now we are on the same level. This has a bizarre sweetness that tastes like holiday treats, pumpkin, yams, cinnamon, but then a strangely hollow sweetness to it that feels like a synthetic sweetner. It is not bad, but it is difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t had an autumnal festival all up in their dome piece.
M: The taste is surprisingly thin for all of the leaves falling and equinox shift that is taking place. Not a lot of coating just a wafting sweetness that lingers like a poltergeist, haunting your mouth with sweet aparitions. HAS YOUR MOUTH EVEN BEEN SLAMMED BY A PUMPKIN GHOST? Well now it has.
Curl Up to a Nice Movie With Your Pumpkin Ghost.
D: This is not a very drinkable beer. I didn’t find myself wishing for more of it, more than anything it was fun to try and explain the experience to someone. It felt a little bit like Samhain, in liquid form. I can see this beer having a place around a certain season, I just cant think which one, the pumpkin and candy notes make it difficult to place.
I paid $20 for this at a bar, and was all like-
Narrative: Papers, TPS reports, zoning regulations: WHO THOUGHT THAT BEING THE PUMPKIN KING WOULD BE SO MUCH WORK. You didn’t ask for this, being the dauphin of several regal seasonal bloodlines, but yet here you are, in your ostentacious orange house, your burnt yellow desk, sipping on eggnog wondering where it all went wrong. Well I guess Pumpkinonia could have used more regulation of its chief export, rubber, but who are you to interfere with the Pumpkinonian’s laize faire commercial structure? The seed tarrifs, the middle road tolls, cleaning up constant pumpkin guts from the country side was just far more than you bargained for. Then the sweet juniper potion starts to call your name, you are a flawed ruler, to be sure, but who can fault the Pumpkin King for being a raging alcoholic. After all, you smell like a warmed over holiday party 364 days out of the year, but on Flag Day you rest. DING, time to take the PUMPKIN PIE OUT OF THE OVE- BANG!
Framboise de Amarosa, American Wild Ale 7.0% abv
A: There are deep ruby hues with some nice light carbonation and light red lacing. It’s like Hypnotiq’s baller ass raspberry flavor to be all sipping on while you’re cruising in your triple black Challenger.
S: The smell presents an intense cranberry and acidic dryness with raspberry on the nose. The oak is present in the smell and it is has a juicy wine profile to it. It’s like Andre Rose Champagne but with leather seats and a cutty ass Gucci interior.
T: The taste is incredibly drying with incredibly tart raspberry notes. This might be the driest and also the most tart american wild ale that I have ever had. The juiciness was present but largely the dryness wipes out the gumline and presents a huge intimidating bouquet of berries and crispness. The acidity is crazy and stings like an atomic warhead.
M: Again, there is an intense, huge crisp dryness. The mouthfeel seems like it’s an intense merlot with oak to round it out. It’s tough to determine exactly how thin or thick this beer is because the coating is so acrimonious. IT’S SUCH A DEEP BURN, OHHH DEEP SQUATS WITH SICK BOUNCING BETTIES, SICK DEAD LIFT FINISH BROMOROSA.
D: This is an incredible experience with crazy highs and low to it. This is not a figure of balance, nor does it do anything in moderation. It is impossible not to recommend this exceptional beer to others. Clearly, it is not meant to be enjoyed as a sesssion beer and should be treated accordingly. The taste is so amazing that it is hard to knock it for adhering to a certain style so well. Overall it is incredibly bitter and juicy and I am left wanting more.
Narrative: The train of her ostentatious gown dragged upon the split staircase with wanton disregard for anyone walking near her. After all, there were plenty of tailors within her Parlor and weekly soirees that would readily repair any damage. Somehow Countess Brioche sought more than just the exploitation of the endearing faces of the working classes. She sought their unending love. Notwithstanding, her acerbic parents brought her up to speak her mind truthfully and freely at all times, no matter how scathing. “Oh-oh-oh!” The Duchess of Piedmont fell down two stairs to her knees upon the rich velvet of Countess Briochess’s train. “Your steps lack precision due to the mass pressed upon them.” Mme. Brioche commented and felt a slight pang at her ejaculation. It wasn’t fair to cut others so deeply with such a bitter acerbic purity. Somehow, in this acidic repartee, others saw themselves, and their own shortcomings, despite the caustic burns they received. Countess Brioche looked upon a bustling courtyard of servants who despised her, but respected her stinging candor.
dontdrinkbeer 