Tag Archives: barrel aged

4

Avery Odio Equum, Proof that not all Sours Are Created Equal (AMBIGUOUS TITLES FTW)

|

Man everyone is all kinda of butthurt about 12oz Black Note and just when the midwest about to sit on a rubber donut, Kopi Luwak Speedway comes out and prolapses their beer anuses even further. I wanted to get away from stouts for a bit to survey something we don’t get enough of on this site: MEDIOCRE ASS SOUR BEERS. Avery has turned out some solid beers in their 13 different offerings, but they have also lobbed some vinegar grenades that are like a Tempe taint after a long bike ride. This is closer to the taint side, but not for the reasons you would expect. IN WRITING WE CALL THAT A CLIFFHANGE-

Odio, sour odio,...would a rose by any other name taste as butyric?

Odio, sour odio,…would a rose by any other name taste as butyric?

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.10% ABV

A: This has a deep muddy crimson aspect to it with burnt sienna meets magenta all up in the mix and very little wispy carbonation that subsides almost instantly. It looks kinda like if you took Consecration and beat its ass so bad that when you get into the beer hospital it is all taped up and all you can do it pat its hand and assure Consecration that they will find whoever did this to it.

You come expecting a fruity treat and leave with a savage bite.

You come expecting a fruity treat and leave with a savage bite.

S: This smelled like red wine vinegar at the outset when it was really cold and then I realized that I was beating a peanutbutter cunt drinking a beer at like 45 degrees, so I went and watched an episode of MTV Catfish to feel better about myself and returned. When I came back, the vinegar had spread its legs and introduced a minor aspect of some cranberry with a light blackberry on the backend, like the smallest dirtiest child in a foster home. There was some serious sour abuse going on here. WHO IS IN CHARGE OF THIS ACETYL HOUSE OF ILL REPUTE?

T: This just seriously goes butyric and tart to the point that it almost has a salinity to it. I don’t mean this in the sloppy labia crybaby way like when people try Cantillon for the first time, I mean this is one note, and that one note is not enjoyable, like the movie White Chicks. You get this intense grenadine meets soda left out after a sleepover, there is a bit of oak drying your gumline and giving you cankersores, the vinegar dryness finishes strong and lets you know that you aren’t welcome in Colorado. I want to say “oh but the fruit profile balances out the blahblahstrokingitblah” but I cannot. The fruit is like when you see a crew of homies and there is the one super small dude who does most of the out of the way tagging. It is hardly the dominant person up in the mix. This is not horrible, it is not as bad as something like Pipeworks Blue Lady, but YOU FEEL LIKE AVERY PHONED IT IN.

Once you open this, something seems very off.

Once you open this, something seems very off.

M: See above, as dry as the scenery and acting in Lawrence of Arabia, painful almost. I let it warm to see if there was some complexity to this, but at best it feels like the beautiful Consecration got wasted and boned the horrible Allagash Vagabond and this beast was the result. AND HERE WE ARE TO PICK UP THE PIECES. This is simply too tart in a way that has no redeeming balance. People who don’t know shit will be like “AHHH YEAHH I LOVEEE SOURSS LIKE THISS, YOU JUST…YOU CANT…HANG” I killed 2010 Weyerbacher Riserva myself, I dont need some weak penis lecture on sour beers, this lacks balance and YOUR TASTEBUDS ARE FUCKING WRONG.

D: Not very.

Alright I guess I have to say more than that unless I want this to look like a shitty youtube review. The biggest problem is the dryness that has no balance from the fruit or barrel characteristics. Perhaps a malties base beer would have offset the effects of the salty vinegar dryness, I don’t know, my job is to bitch and complain. If you come into this expecting some 2007 Rodenbach Grand Reserve treat, prepare for sads. You would be better served with a Duchess, better still Supplication, even more so Consecration. Or, call me crazy, stop being a poor fuck and spend $20 on Bruery Oude Tart and give your grandkids something to be proud of you for.

When it kicks in, you feel it in your jaw. And testicles.

When it kicks in, you feel it in your jaw. And testicles.

Narrative: Francis Brackery bought a crumbling house on a fallow raspberry farm. No one thought to tell him that berries would not grow well in central Nebraska, and as a result he was bitter and acrimonious to the core. Children would come to his house on Halloween, dressed in their shabby Nebraska costumes, Austin Powers, the Mask, lots of recycled items from other wealthier states, and he would give them hard unripe fruit in their pillow sacks. Francis looked out the window and heard the crabapples bounce off of his windows, hard and unwanted. One day while poking around in the cellar, he found a false wall that extended into a substantial underground chamber with rows and rows of crabapple vinegar. “FINALLY A TURN OF LUCK FOR OLD FRANNY BRACKERY!” he exclaimed, knocking a pot over onto his J Crew khakis, burning his genitals severely. The neighbors being from Nebraska were naturally as poor as the day is long and could offer no help. Now old man Brackery just rocks in his glider on the porch, looking into his mangled crabapple burns, thinking of what could have been.

4

Stone I am disappoint

|

I went to the Blue Palms anniversary yesterday and, by and large, the event was pretty chill. Quite the opposite, actually. The 95 degree weather was offset by the solid tap list pretty well. One thing that rustled the jimmies of a substantial number of attendants was the wholesale omission of Stone Barrel Aged IRS without word or warning. If you read this site, you know that I have failed time and time again to land that elusive black beauty and I have dishonored my stout heritage.

Anyway, patrons started rolling in at 12:15 when the gates were opened and, despite the 95 degree heat, wanted to mash out on imperial bourbon barrel stouts. The night before, Ba IRS was on the taplist, when the day of lists were distributed, it was completely removed without explanation. This means if you bought a ticket solely to try that rare beer, you got baited and switched harder than a kid who bought Battletoads.

I went to the Stone tent to see how the cow eats the cabbage and they consoled me, “don’t worry we didnt bring our most celebrated flagship beer that recently had infection issues BUT we did bring you Stone Anniversary 15 on espresso beans.” paraphrased for sardonic effect.

The Stone 15 on espresso was nice but it is kinda like if you show up to the Nissan dealership to pick up your GT-R and they sub in a finely appointed 370z. No one would balk at an awesome 370, but if you were expecting solid bourbon twin turbos, is make disappoint.

Anyway, aside from beer nerd entitlement and victim complexes, here’s some of the noteworthy gems:

20120813-093107.jpg

Alpine firing sQuad was light, fruity, nice plum and fig notes, light up your chest like E.T.

20120813-093239.jpg

Barrel aged Ten Fidy on nitro was incredible, despite the equatorial heat. Chocolate malt haters gonna hate irregardlessly.

20120813-093356.jpg

Avery White Rascal with passion fruit and coriander was a juicy jolly rancher treat. This took the base beer to baller new levels. This beer has another Hawaiian name but my complete lack of journalistic integrity prevents me from listing it.

20120813-093551.jpg

Ivan the Terrible should be out soon enough, but sipping this old gem remind me of simpler times, when stouts from Montana could chill on top 100 lists without impunity

20120813-093728.jpg

Monkey Paw Banana Gose was flat out awesome for the weather, style, and panache. Most people have never tried a Gose in the first place and these two girls decked in Forever 21 gear gushed “this wasn’t as bad as I expected.” BJCP’s finest.

20120813-093943.jpg

The inside bar felt like living in a Tennessee Williams play all sticky dank hot and harboring dark secrets, even so, I braved the line for this 2010 Ballast Point Sea Monster aged in bourbon barrels, on cask. The carbonation was Keira flat but I could pound this beer Knightley.

There were other gems but this half hearted post has wasted enough of your weekday. Get on that grizzy, there is a whole new week of beers to drink.

Standard
0

Re-up the flows

|

Alright I have been slacking, I will pump out some hot new yeastbeats soon, in the interim peep out what I have been sippin on lately, don’t worry, unlike Judy Winslow in season 3 of Family Matters, I won’t abruptly disappear.

20120605-112039.jpg

Barrel aged partridge with the Louis Vuitton belt buckle when it is keeping all the heat strapped.

20120605-112220.jpg

Bourbon barrel hunaphu, for when you want that cinnamon ancho to rock some BALs.

20120605-112333.jpg

Hill Farmstead Norma, next level lactic maneuver.

20120605-112459.jpg

Stone QM Virgin Oak El Camino Unreal, No peppercorn stems no fig seeds no sticks. Put your BALs on the 78 freeway for an Unreal experience.

Enough beer porn, reviews will be back soon, cancel that Welbutrin prescription and flip that to some Valtrex instead because DDB is about to make it nasty.

Standard
0

Kuhnhenn Barrel Aged 4th Dementia, The Perfect Beer Prior to a Parent Teacher Conference

|

Ah Old Ales, for those times when new ales just aren’t new enough and sobriety just seems like such a hassle. The perfect beverage for right before a Parent Teacher Conference, particularly this barrel aged monster. Well, let’s see if this helps you escape some demons in today’s run into the 4th DEMENTIA.

Barrel Aged Old Ales: No Longer Just For Salty Old Sea Captains and Sobbing Divorcees.

Kuhnhenn Bourbon Barrel 4th Dementia, 13.5% abv, Old Ale

A: The bottle was almost completely flat with very minimal carbonation that dissipated very quickly with dark khaki bubbles that fizzled like the plot of an Owen Wilson film. The beer looks like a deep dark mahogany treat. The beer leaves this slick alcoholic coating to the edges that is clear but serves as potent reminder of the beast that you are about to wrangle to the earth.

This seems like a deal for all the sweet decadence that you are receiving, but it ultimately does a number on your life.

S: Holy ABV bombs. Not since Chocolate rain and Dark Lord vacated the premises has such a ridiculously boozy beer appeared on the scene. It isn’t that the ABV itself is so high that it is overwhelming cum de Utopias, it is more that the ABV just doesn’t give a shit. It posts up, leaves muddy alcoholic boots in the entryway and proceeds to rifle through the pantry in your nose. It is unabashed and very apparent. This isn’t the regular old 4th Dementia that I recalled., this is it’s alcoholic brother. I kinda like him more, in a weird way. There’s also some vanilla, toffee and mild figs but, covered in bourbon.

T: Again, don’t smoke while drinking this beer, the abv will ignite and BOY WILL YOUR FACE BE RED. This has an intense bourbon heat at the outset that fades into a deep sweetness and plum maltiness. The vanilla and chocolate is present and lends some complexity with all the oak and dry notes that round out this crazy chimera. Also, alcohol.

Again, this beer is both sinister and sweet. Sticky and evil at the same time. Pic related.

M: This has a hot slickness to it similar to a baby chocolate rain, chocolate drizzle if you will. The bourbon hit’s the gum line and warms your chest not unlike a salt shell from a 12 gauge. The mouth doesn’t really coat in a huge way like an imperial stout, this crazy hybrid feels like a Belgian Dubbel gone on a bender rampage. For a sipping beer, this is nice and relaxing. Also, not that it would really matter but, the lack of carbonation just made the angry abv even more rampant. My mouth was left pleading to the police that he didn’t mean it, and assured them that this beer was a “good one” and that it did not wish to press charges.

D: This is hardly drinkable in the 12oz format and, if they offered bombers that would be remiss to not offer a life insurance policy with it. The average user couldn’t take on this beast, and the average craft kid would likely feel that it was too boozy. The lack of carbonation made it all the more apparent that this beer is not here for you, it is present to shirk the trappings of a normal life. I have to knock this beer on the drink ability and overall overwhelming nature of the bourbon notes. If I wanted to kiss a Kentucky trucker, I JUST WOULD GO AND DO IT OK.

Drink one of these at 2 a.m., the sky is the limit.

Narrative: No matter how often he strayed from the straight and narrow, Clemson Biggs knew that he would somehow end up ok. “Hey, uh, Clem, we noticed that you went and vomited all over the side of your freightliner, again.” Clem pushed back the bill of his worn Bill Earnhardt Jr hat, with the Jr. scrawled out. “Oh, I’m SSSSORRY! I thought this was Darlene’s Coffee sop, I didn’t know we were in the DMVs! Hold on let me check for the illegal of BEING THE FLU!” His drawl was overwhelming and the booze on his breath was palpable. “Well Clem, it’s just, we know you are hauling ethanol and industrial chemicals on up to Truckee and, well that’s a long haul, why not give it a rest hun?” Darlene looked over her note pad and tapped her pen entreatingly. “OH OK, how about I jus never do any OF THE WORK? Oh suuuuuuuuure, everyone hey listen DARLENE will do your works and we just made in the shad-” he slipped out of the booth and knocked over a cardboard cut out of Tony Stewart. “I AM SICK OK? Just gotta get some medicine and then I can make that lil 450 mile drive and then, how abouts, this, YOU SHHHHHUT up?” he cackled to himself at the apparent clever quip that he had just crafted, much to Darlene’s chagrin. “God, when he is good he’s great but, it is just painful to see him this boozed up,” Darlene thought to herself. “Here, slice of apple pie, on the house,” she said as she slid him a piece of mediocre pie. “HOW ABOUT THE PIE HOUS-blarghhhhh!!!” Clem’s gem of insight was interrupted by his own projectile vomiting.

3

Flossmoor Station Barrel Aged Hifi Rye, Keeping it Hifi and I am not even in the Bay

|

This beer was a behind the lines sniper that I saw everyone requesting and I tuned it out until OH SHIT TOP 100 STATUS. Then I realized that it was only 500 bottles and a total bitch to acquire. But I did, so here we are. Just another day in the life of a gosh darn boss.

Oh I think they Hi-fee, giving all my friends high-fi's.

Flossmoor Station, BA HIFI (as the kids call it) 11% abv, Barleywine

Before we get underway, I just want to say, I built a bookcase while drinking this by myself (foreveralone.jpg) and the construction got worse as the night went along, but got more awesome as well.

A: This has a deep dull copper color to it that seems appropriate for the style but at the same time feels a bit too capricious and wispy. I dont get that danger like when I pour Arctic Devil and know shit is about to go off. I know there’s shit, its going off potential remains in dispute. The lacing is as lackluster as that fucking annoying Foster the People album that people with no music taste insist on telling you about on Spotify. Except this is actually well done.

At first this beer seemed huge and imposing, but then you realized it had a heart of gold. Adorable and sticky.

S: There’s some of the obligatory notes with the old toffee, marshmellow, burnt brown sugar, light caramel, and some weird sweetness that subsides into…wait for it…when it warms it turns into this delicious chamomille tea aspect. It might be the cardamon. Allegedly there’s some rye aspect and some ginger family up in this mix but I just get a general smooth sweetness. It reminds me of bigger, burlier barleywines, but with a gentle veneer to it. Like that old Lane Bryan model with a heart of gold.

T: The taste is incredibly well done, the sweetness is balanced out by a mild herbal aspect from the rye and you are left sipping on it, hammering away at your carpentry. This is far far better once it warms up. Don’t even bother trying to chill it down like a Russian Imperial Stout, go straight to 3rd base with this bitch. The barleywine not a pejorative statement launched at those of the YY chromosomal order.

Meeser Hi-Fi,...eh...no....no...

M: This doesn’t go over the top with mouthfeel, the coating is generous but doesn’t go so far with it that it becomes sticky sticky, which is appreciated in this market where everyone just wanted to get sticky sticky on your nono. There’s a crispness from the rye that imparts a mild dryness that makes you want to drink more, but therein lies the paradox, if you drink more, you want more and then you aint got no mo. Quite the business model Flossmoor. Hats off.

D: This is incredibly drinkable and this is where it stands head and shoulders above the tank, damage absorbing bretheren. This is more of a cross over from epic DIPAs and hardcore BA barleywines and the result is this hybrid monster that cannot be destroyed. It’s like when people make the super wise financial decision of dropping a $12,000 engine into their janky ass integra, except, this cost less than 1% to that effect.

Yet ANOTHER top 100 beer? How many beers can there be on this stupid ass list? Well, keep reading to find out.

Narrative: We shall see.

0

Alesmith 100% Barrel Aged Speedway Stout, Modding out my Integra So Hard Right now.

|

Ok, if you are in a store and for some reason they have the 750 bottle release on the right, just remember it is worth 15 times as much as the one on the left.

Alesmith, Speedway Stout 100% Barrel Aged, 2009, 12% abv, some more top 100 beer bullshit, just another day in the life of a god damn middle manager.

A: This has a slick BP disaster look to it, without all the deceased marine life. It isn’t pitch black but imparts some nice deep mahogany notes to the edges, like a hardened cop with a heart of gold you somehow impart a sense of trust in this stout that despite his over character flaw evidenced 14 minutes in, he will make it all right after 90 minutes in your life. Also, nice lacing, tiny bubbles, coffee stickiness, and other things people don’t read.

S: This is coffee acidity, to a huge degree. Also entering the fray is a serious boozy profile that apparently hasn’t had the shithead weathered out of it after 2 years in an oak barrel. It isn’t as recalcitrant as the new Dark Lords, but it still is rambunctious enough to be bothersome. However, some nice bourbon and oak notes finalize the experience and you give it an approving nod into your club, aka YOUR MOUTH, where all the action takes place infra.

Coffee so hard, all up in my nosepiece.

T: Fast forward 3 seconds from the smell to the tasting, first one to show up to your sick rager is coffee, oh wait but he brought, acidity, and then, his other boy coffee, and then toffee. You don’t judge but things seem a little unbalanced in here, oh wait then his crazy friend chocolate shows up doing magic tricks and making observational comedy references. Everyone is put at east with a nice coffee walnut finish: your BA speedway house party is officially underway.

M: This coasts like a bucket of Sherwin Williams. I don’t mean in the way when you hire day laborers either. It coats like if people who cared painted your mouth with coffee and bourbon. We all know how much that costs IN REAL LIFE so this is a welcome reprieve.

I had to trade 7 bottles to land this one stupid ass bottle. Then I shared it with 7 people. So the butthurt is flowing so hard.

D: As much as I want to hometown and keep the drive strong for this amazing beer, this is certainly its weakest point. I can’t in good faith say that I would crack 2009 BA stouts all day while at Havasu doing sick broesque things. Then again, is that the target market? Notwithstanding, this tires a bit after a solid 12oz just due to the complexity and rampaging coffee and toffee double team on your bitter and sweet zones. Enough is enough the tongue declares insouciantly.

Narrative: Kicked out of the racing academy. Well, at least that is what he told his parents that his tuition checks were going to. The truth is that Chase Worthington was never attending a racing school in Temecula. He accepted “tuition” checks from his parents every 5 months and even in the summer session for modding his sick 2001 Mercury Cougar for drag racing or “Straight up Dragging it” as he abrasively referred to it, much to the chagrin of his friends, when present. His friends told him that running the mean streets of San Diego was not to be trifled with, that is, unless one were content to life his life “a quarter mile at a time.” This seemed to be a deafeningly infinitesimal stretch for a racer like himself. Cold air intake, cat back exhaust, chipped, sick body kit; all of the accoutrements were present however he forgot a single thing: his car had only 189 horse power and people grew tired of its inky discharge, regardless of the speeds that it allegedly traveled. This speedway pun was a speedway pun for the racing pun speedway pun, and in the end, they all learned speedway pun, racing.

0

Bourbon Barrel Brrrrbon, Brrr It’s Cold in Hurr, Must be some Chingy in the Atmosphere.

|

Parchment paper is peeping on Brrbon so hard.

Here’s a beer Oregonians actually freely share. This beer didn’t get the best reviews but I feel that it’s pretty legit, by no means too legit to warrant quitting.

2010 Widmer Brothers (Of Hefeweizen fame) Barrel Aged Brrbon, 9.4% abv, Winter Warmer

A: It has nice shiny, new penny look to it with some spider webs on it like at old man Wilkerson’s house, but it looks inviting with a nice moderate translucence to it. The color actually LOOKS like a nice bourbon, I would go grab a Buffalo Trace shot and show you but, it’s all the way over there and you have the ability to press cntrl+T at any time you lazy ass.

S: This is really muted on the nose and you get a tiny hint of bourbon, like a homeless man was in your underwear drawer but you cant quite be sure. The caramel and brown sugar just lights up and smells amazing. The alcohol doesn’t grind all up on your junk, it just eases up and does a nice lil ABV two step.

The dude in white is bourbon, your palate is getting its shit rocked.

T: This has a nice initial oakiness that would be mistaken for hops if it wasn’t so warm and soothing like a negligent ass Thermaflu or something. It sweetens up with some sweet molasses and brown sugar that washes away instantly. This tastes a lot better than I was expecting and upholds the solid lineage from the recent limited releases: Galaxy Barleywine, Pear Braggot, etc. Drop the $10.99, it’s worth it.

M: It is surprisingly light and feels like a strange ninja barleywine. Or a baby old ale with all the oak going on. It’s pretty enjoyable and reminds me that I live in america, where you can put bourbon in a beer and drink it casually, with lunch, brunch even, heck, before your first day as a bus driver, who knows. Moral of the story is that the light character, deep bourbon and generous oakiness make this an awesome beer. Forget what Jamiroquai said, the future is not made of insanity, virtual or otherwise.

Barrel Aged Beer...Too Delicious...Dont Drink...Be...

D: This is incredibly drinkable and, may possibly be the only way that I will ever win at Words with Friends. You can play some wacky 9.4% abv tricks on them and watch them announce some really obscure things at the upcoming X-mas party. I had no trouble putting it away, and the average joe will say it tastes like “A strong…Newcastle…or whats that expensive…Chimay…yeah like sugar Chimay.”

Narrative: The old distillery, a county institution, just didn’t feel right, what with it being right next door to the local elementary school. Three recesses a month the kids would run in from kickball, gagging from the smell of fermenting sour mash. “Ms. Berkowitz, my eyes feel like Home Depot!” the kids would bemoan. It was many a time when a Nerf Screamer landed square in beds of spent mash, never to be retrieved. The smut that the old grizzly distillers left about was not insubstantial. Somehow, the synergy of the two, what with one destroying people’s lives, providing a solid 7 year old product, and the other being the distillery, seemed to somehow work. Jonah Wilkenstein watched in dismay as his baseball cascaded over the fence and landed in a caustic old barrel. “Now that Babe Ruth ball is gonna smell like Uncle Ira, I dont even wannit.”