@santeadairius West Ashley, This Beers Gets More Tickers off Than Cochran

Alright so changing gears from a Vermont 300 bottle release, let’s peep game on this 300 bottle pre-wale from the west coast Hill Farmstead. Sante Adairius is a hot new brewery running the trap, slanging farmhouse ales, and dropping low bottle count beatdowns on the trade boards. Also, their product is 99.3% pure, that all blue Jesse Pinkman blend. So in today’s review we have a rare+saison+apricot+wildale+unzip pounding things out without remorse. Bay area kids were hella stoked on this and clutch them for good reason, this beer sets my apricots ablaze with careless abandon.

No filter. Srs.  Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace's briefcase.

No filter. Srs. Just look at the inside of Marcellus Wallace’s briefcase.

Sante Adairius Rustic Ales
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 7.30% ABV

A: This is that goon shit, mess up your whole afternoon shit. Just take a look at that burning fireball above, it is like looking directly into Beatrice while in paradiso. That isn’t a play on words because Beatrice may or may not be the base beer for this, it is just that radiant and melts your impure soul to take in those bright orange/tangerine/pure sunlight. The wispy carbonation crackles away like a piccolo pete and leaves no real lacing to speak of, but who is really speaking of lacing anyway? If you said grade A microcock beer nerds, you are correct.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

If you are ever feeling down, lil Westy Ash will come through and puck you hard, but gently.

S: This reminds me of Logsdon Oak Aged Bretta scissoring Beatification’s thighs raw with a musky funk, tart apricot meets Fou Foune’s effeminate brother. The acidity doesn’t get in the way and you get this watery dog groomer’s air about it that the fruit supports nodding in the background on a 2/4 beat. There isn’t a ton of cheesiness or elements in the way of Cantillon/De Cam/Boon, nor is the acidity as harsh, but this is its own jam. Selfmade millionaire wild ale poppin that .45 acidity at haterzzz.

T: This is the absolute perfect beer for summertime. Take that floral/tart aspect from Ithaca Brute and add some apricot tannins and you have a massively drinkable beer that doubles as titty elixir for Yacht parties since this beer is balling outrageous. The tartness doesn’t go overboard and instead serves to compliment the hay/leather dryness, it wilds the fuck out like Bobby Bouchet. The fruit again is just mindblowing and links arms in the same realm as Fantasia (batch 1, not that brett bomb b2) Peche n Brett, Persica, and to a lesser extent, Fou Foune.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

This new banger straight drops the mic on the AWA game.

M: This is drying at the outset with the apricot leading first but it has this murky waterines to it that washes so clean it leaves a sweet apricot life saver flavor that lingers and not unlike a Brazzer’s actor, you gotta get your mouth on it once more. I could crush these without remorse, the apricot jury would deem me an unsympathetic Ashley mass murderer. I love the careful tartness because it allows the underlying saison elements (which are fantastic) to show off in a manner more approachable and ultimately satisfying than say, Upland Peach, which is the acidity show in execution.

D: To double down on everything else that I have mentioned, this is scary drinkable and the ABV is not only present but this beer straight up feels GOOD for you. Like you conscience wouldn’t kick in drinking this before a funeral or a classy bris. The jamba juiciness keeps things lively but the oaky dryness lets you know the refined MILF will also enjoy this as well, inbetween her sips of Yellow Tail Moscato. Get this, actually dont, I need more, so don’t seek this out. Don’t ruin this shit for the rest of me.

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

This beer is original, vibrant, and fucking mind blowing

Narrative: Life at the Behr paint supply store was a mile a minute. Sure there was the time that they accidentally mixed turpentine with the eggshell, making the ignominious muted halogen color, completely off style but mindblowing nonetheless. Yes sir, Ashley West had seen it all in her duties as overseer of the interior vibrant tones division of Behr paints. It was her sworn duty to ensure that no paint scheme stood as too far fetched or offputting. Nothing escaped her trained penchant for searingly bright colors. If she saw a mild yellow that struck hier as too explosive, she’d be the first one to take it down a couple notches to a sublimely genial canary tone. For Ashley, life was all about the Golden Mean, in the Arisotelian sense, the paradigm of good taste. “Miss, do these sandstone swatches look appro-” “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Look at this, I’m sorry, where are we the Luxor casino? You need to mute these down to C11H14 palate, we don’t run some kind of funhouse, you can take these monstrocities down to Tempera paints Mr. Jackson Pollack if you feel like expressing yourself on my KHAKI WATCH!” Another solid day of work for Ashley West.


Perennial Barrel Aged Sump Coffee Stout, Straight Double Yuban on the Canadian Mist Tip

Even since that god damn Barrel Aged Abraxas dropped, people have been losing their shit over this brewery. They make some genuinely awesome beers and their berliners are too legit for any form of quitting. However, like anything else, the hype sometimes outpaces the product and people were stumbling over themselves to nab anything, it was like Sub Pop in the early 90’s putting out all these janky products and people were still buying the grunge shit. Anyway, here’s an overhyped coffee stout that some people have been getting creamer in their jeans over, let’s brew this brah:

The label is dark and metal, the beer is straight Nescafe RIS

The label is dark and metal, the beer is straight Nescafe RIS

Perennial Artisan Ales
Missouri, United States
American Double / Imperial Stout | 10.50% ABV

A: This pours out not unlike some black coffee with a deep slickness to it, nice khaki head on it that immediately peaces the fuck out. The coating is pretty lackluster and it looks like old Czar Jack in the wateriness department. It turns into a Vente drip almost instantly and chins are rested upon fists forthright.

That's pretty much what happened to me.

That’s pretty much what happened to me.

S: This has a huge acidic waft to it of gritty coffee beans the produces a harsh roast with an acrimonious finish. This is not like BCBCS where you are like “ah Tortuga, yeah lime kaffir lime, nice acidity” not like that at all, this just nose fucks you like you used way too much Seattle’s best in a drip batch. If you are stoked for some barrel treatment, keep moving because this has that BA Sexual Chocolate treatment, namely, no barrel waft at all. If you grasp at straws and let this warm up hoping for some vanilla, oak, or something redeeming: be prepared to smell barista musk and more gritty spent grounds.

T: This is coffee forward backward and undercarriaged. There really is nothing else but a huge roasty coffee haymaker that puts you on your ass and leaves you licking the drip brew off your teeth wondering about the chocolate malts, maybe a bit of complexity from the barrel? Too bad, you get cold coffee that gets you pretty dreezed fairly easily. It’s like you keep thinking Jenelle Evans will improve, but its the same one note offputting character that you have come to grimace at.

Thought I was about to be on some coffee radio Rahim shit, it was like Amy Grant small batch brew.

Thought I was about to be on some coffee radio Rahim shit, it was like Amy Grant small batch brew.

M: This is incredibly thin not unlike Eclipse, but wholly lacking in the barrel complexity. At least when you drink thin ass Eclipse you can nod and go “alright, nice mallow, nice vanilla and oak” but here you just shake your head looking into your tepid black coffee and see your fat double chins staring back up at you, wondering if you can ever get partial custody of your unappreciative children. The acidity just dries the gumline and sits on your teeth like a mocha frap poured into Stone IRS. You know how Kopi Speedway or Bourbon County coffee presents a substantial coffee profile that lingers buttressed by the malts underneath? Well this is like coffee first, stout second, a distant last place in this two person relay.

D: If you absolutely love South American coffees and highly acidic brews, and generally dislike stouts, you will anomalously love this coffee stout. I drank about 10 oz of this after committing it to the plumbing vortex of trader’s lament. It would be unfair to say that regular Ryan Bros. Speedway Stout is better than this, since personal tastes may vary, but please trade cautiously for this old roustabout. Well shoot, there goes my donation box from Perennial, go blackout and watch an iCarly marathon and start making some good life decisions.

"You probably just don't like coffee or stouts" solid arguments coming from Twitter on the reg.

“You probably just don’t like coffee or stouts” solid arguments coming from Twitter on the reg.

Narrative: Dwayne Wade just did not know what to do with himself in the post-season. He kicked the opulent white tiger rug in his gaudy Miami mansion and looked out his 18 foot floor to ceiling windows over the ocean villas. “Sometimes I feel like, maybe balling outrageous is only the tip of how ill D-Wade can bring it,” he thought to himself. He walked across the imported marble foyer and remembered a smoking hot Suicide Girl barista that he used to bone and nodded to himself, he would be the world’s most ballerest barista. Problem was, D-wade was too fucking big to fit in standard barista operations. His brash coordination was not the same employed in the brewing of small roast batches. Thrice he pounded the espresso machine and broke the handle while frothing the fuck out of some milk. He was skilled in many things, but he would ruin the fuck out of your morning cup of joe. Just before he was fired from “Grounded Buzz!” coffeeshop, Lebron James entered and purposely ordered a depth charge red eye, served as a press with a 2 min shot. D-wade had never faced a coffee dilemma like this since his period of prestigious academia at Marquette University. LeBron gave him a hulking thumbs up as he cast the green apron into the coffee station and slapped a female co-worker on her ass, spilling a substantial amount of Colombian fresh roast on the floor. Ballerest fucking barista ever, shittiest coffee ever.


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.


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:


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


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


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.


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


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.


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.


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.


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


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


Hill Farmstead Norma, next level lactic maneuver.


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.