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Stillwater Barrel Aged Stateside Saison, Still Waters Run Deep, So Deep, Put the Ale’s Barrel to Sleep

Stillwater has this reputation, at least in beer print media that is untouchable. Maybe the brewer is just a PR master but I constantly see articles about this brewery and the wunderkind owner. This beer is a testament to their ability. Let’s get this out of the way, this beer is awesome, and the fact that it was commercially distributed is incredible, as is the fact the a 330ml bottle was $13.99, but let’s couch that discussion, GRAB YOUR -BALS FOR TODAY’S REVIEW.

The separate of church and Stateside involves a barrel.

Stillwater, Barrel Aged Stateside Saison, 6.7% abv

A: This has a nice yellow haziness with great apple juice notes at the edges. The carbonation is present but not oppressive as the time spent in the carbonation mines, we all remember those days bleakly. Kiss my illegitimate lacing child for me, for her wispy eyes wont remember my dissipate nature.

Call all your friends, tell them barrel aged saisons are happening, watch the crazy shit go down.

S: There’s a Belgian funk to it, with some oakiness, lemon, clove, and tannic esters. This has a slight chardonnay aspect to it and nice vinuous aspect to it, so far so good, like most RPG games.

T: Holy hell, this was not what I expected in an awesome way. This dries like chardonnay and just gives the gumline the business immediately. It is incredibly tart, almost gueuze tart at the outset and gets all peppery and chills out for a second, smashes your Virtual Boy and takes off leaving an intense dryness like you used Lubriderm CQ. That kinda dry.

Smell legit…taste is…WHAT THE FUUUUUU-

M: The mouthfeel is incredibly crisp like biting into fresh Fuji apples that aren’t ready just yet. It is really acidic but oaky at the same time. This is a phenomenal beer and a welcome surprise when I was expecting a by the numbers saison. The barrel made this thing into a crazy beast, like the last seasons of TMNT when they are all mutating and shit. Only me? Ok cool.

D: This is fantastic and almost belongs in a Berliner Weiss or wild ale category the way that this guy went all Temptation on us. It is rough to call it supremely dirnkable because of the $13.50 for a 12oz bottle price and just the dryness. I wont be immature and go for the vaginal joke but, ipso facto, I just did. Buy this, it is a weird but amazing hybrid. Might just give Fantome Saison a run for its ghostly butt hole.

You remember on Garbage Pail Kids where you thought you were approaching some hackneyed premise but then it ended up being one of the best things ever? Well that’s like this beer, Barrel PALE Kids: THE MOVIE.

Narrative: “IF YOU DON’T LEVEL THE GATHERING GOURD, then the souls will escape!” Plestinya pleaded with the sour Ivinicus. “Please, I want to see you make your way to becoming an arch-summoner, but, if we cannot gather souls in this area, replete with drought and death, we have failed as necrophytes.” Ivinicus hung his head ruefully and kicked a scrap of a tumbleweed in front of him. “It makes you think doesn’t it?” Ivinicus began, “I mean, here we are, searching for ourselves, while simultaneously harvesting souls.” “Sir?” “I am just saying, the piercing blue light from the interior of stage coaches loses its luster, slowly but surely, and look at what we have here.” He gestured to the soul gourd, a powerful mage barrel crafted in the Magi epoch of Nev’Naih. “Sometimes I, I just want to see. . .” he thumbed the tab of the tiny barrel, “Ivinicus NO!” Pelstinya cried out as he removed the tab from the gourd and let the souls spill out in a white hot azure light. Each figure presented themselves, changed, for the better. “LOOK! That local grifter has attained a degree in economics! And that failed cattle rustler has developed a Keynsian economic theory DECADES PRIOR TO ITS INCEPTION!” A tacit survey of every soul revealed that they had matured in the barrel and become something greater than the sum of their flaws. “We are basically the shittiest necrophytes ever,” Plestinya noted somberly.

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Armand 4, Lente, Oude Geuze, Belgian Acidic and Sick Wid It

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.