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Tag Archives: beer
Three Floyds Tiberian Inquisitadorer
so much protection, latex, need casual lifestyle, have to have th proflyactic
2011 Horal’s Oude Gueuze Megablend, Composition Fallacy Pounding up in them Guts
I won the fuck out of this trade. I sent a couple of bottles of my homebrewed persimmon Lambic Pediobear and got this amazing beer in return. Etan hooked me up huge with this one, super serious.
For the uninitiated, working through geuze blenders, actual brewers, barrel houses, and De (x=whateverthefuck) is a difficult process. Sometimes you end up with dank shit, other times it is Timmerman’s disguised waiting to spring that $22 trap on your wallet. Most people don’t fuck around and stick to the old 3F, Tilquin, Loonz, but sometimes you put your dick in the oude gueuze glory hole and get some acrimonious treat.
The Mega Blend Geuze is a blend of young and old Lambic from eight HORAL members (3 Fonteinen, Boon, De Cam, De Troch, Hanssens, Lindemans, Oud Beersel and Timmermans). The beer was specially produced for the occasion of the 7th edition of the Tour de Geuze, and again in the 2011 installment. I know what you are worried about, “I swear to fuck Lindemans better not ruin this shit for me, I am having a Pi Phi over tonight to watch the Notebook.” Well let’s see if this shit goes Mega on the Dr. Wily tip.
More Mashups Than a Girltalk Bootleg
Brewed by Brouwerij F. Boon
Style: Lambic – Gueuze
Lembeek, Belgium
7% abv
A: This has that classic radiant orange to it and certainly is greater than the sum of its parts because I have seen some shitty looking De Cam (flat as a sack of placenta) and some even worse Hanssens (murkier than a Kyle XY subplot.) The look makes me believe that those 3F boys had a hand in this with Boon but, appearances can be deceiving. The carb is nice but not some massive gusher, the lacing is largely abated by the acidity but it is still elegant.
No composition fallacy here, shit is better than the sum of its parts. Damn levels detected.
S: This is musky and gives the smell of oranges, lemon rind, acidity couples with rainy day bicycle seat funk. There is a certain wet compost aspect to this like dewy leaves along with the grapefruit and ph1 madness taking place. This will put your olfactory on the ground faster than Diddy’s bodyguard gets ripped out of a Maybach. That fast.
T: Again this is a strange Voltron of all these geuzezes, you get the muskiness imparted that smacks of deep age and light oxidation, some gentle persimmon sweetness that is quickly pushed out of the way to embrace tangelo, kumquat, tart tiny apricots, and a kind of green apple finish. Put your brewer master bible down you limpdicked diacetyl asshole, no one is talking to you.
M: This is incredibly dry like a super oaked chardonnay and just rips the fuck out of your jawline. If yo have ever undergone ZOOM whitening, you will know the depths of this jimmy rustling. There is a bit of a brackish finish that welcomes the next punishing sip, and I am down for the pound like Jason Collins, oh shit, too soon for those jokes? Alright, pretend I reference Rob Kardashian being a fat entitled Armenian fuck or something.
Pop this bottle at a tasting, show everyone you are beta as fuck.
D: This is exceptionally drinkable despite its acrimonious character. I put up with the hard times because the good times are so good, like fucking a Suicide Girl, you know in the end you may lose your friends and parents respect, but you keep hitting it. I would recommend this to anyone who isn’t a complete pussy, which rules out a large segment of the beer community, those who are left are either lumberjacks or don’t even drink gueuze so it will be a tough sell. Here’s a test to see if you should drink this beer, lean forward to your compute screen, if your tits are currently supported by the desk, you need to do some p90 and leave this shit alone.
If you open this, you probably believe you are some kind of gueuze hero, but people know what you really are.
Narrative: David Yost looked out over the Baltimore skyline and slipped his middle-aged face into the tight fitting azure helmet. Throughout the early-90’s children knew him only as the sophisticated blue ranger. He was mercilessly harassed by producers, but they obviously did not know who they were fucking with. Beneath the cool demeanor was a man capable of evoking a mechanical triceratops and conjuring the imagination of millions. Perhaps his perpetually matching garb and needlessly science driven banter was too much for some, but FOX could fuck right off. David slid down a drain pipe and worked his way stealthily amongst the west end projects. The feel of the cool vinyl on his skin was liberating and let him know that, despite his age, he was still a hero to many. His depth and complexity was laudable beyond the mere zord that he contributed the critical mass. Upon witnessing a hand to hand drug transaction David Yost kicked a Baltimore youth in the stomach with a swift roundhouse. The 16 year-old dropped on his Jnco jeans and David felt like he was battling Putties again, only this time with a real purpose. The vials of crack cocaine scattered and some Southpole clad youth could not believe that a white man in a blue costume was kicking the shit out of drug dealers with poise and careful dignity. As the thugs scattered David removed his helmet and bit into a ripe kumquat from the local bodega. The memory of his fallen Yellow Ranger, Thuy Tran, resonating like acid in his heart.
@tiredhandsbeer Artisnale Oyster Stout brewed with Escargot shells, THIS IS MAKING MY SNAIL COME OUT OF ITS SHELL
Alright stay with me here, I know this is a little crazy, oyster stout brewed with snail shells? I guess I should preface this entire review by saying 1) I don’t like oyster stouts in general and 2) I don’t eat snails, unless I am in a third world country and I am doing it for the lulz to show them I am just like thems. That being said, I will skull any beer and have zero regrets, well ok maybe SOME REGRETS.
But let’s bust these shells wide open and suck out the juices in today’s review.
snails poppin slugs at those haterzzz
Tired Hands Brewing Company
Pennsylvania, United States
American Stout | 7.80% ABV
A: The carbonation on this beer is legendary and even the slightest agitation takes it to pre-menstrual levels of anger. I know it looks like I poured this like an asshole, but srs, I was pediatrician gentle with it and it still was all rustled. The slick “light black” inkiness of the beer seems almost deep brown in a way, compared to most imperial stouts that are darker than Satan’s magic. The head is absurd and straight out of a Juicy J video, all dark and excessive.
if you drink this stout, chances are you aren’t a complete piece of shit. Pic related.
S: This has a really sweet tootsie roll sort of waft to the smell, light roast, baker’s chocolate, and a sort of milk chocolate aspect to it on the nose. The hops are really restrained an almost seem to be well integrated with the char of the malts. I will say at the very back end there is this sort of longshoreman brine meets salts sea captain sort of thing going on that almost reminds me of a jar of nickels. It is not all up in the spotlight but the imperial oyster aspects are in the background, spinning salty jams for everyone to rage to.
T: The foregoing is continued and sustained with a sweetness at the outset that is at first almost offputting like some “imperial” stouts from England where you just lul at them for trying, being all turbinado and sticky. But then out of nowhere off the high ropes fucking brine and this metallic aspect comes in and drops ‘bows and puts the roast in a figure four. You think the ref is gonna call it, but oh shit, the snail shell aspect just smashed him with a folding chair. Things get out of hand really quick, but strangely, I had a hard time putting it down because I was fascinated by it.
if you are drinking imperial oyster stouts, chances are you aren’t a complete beta bitch in the permafriend zone. pic related.
M: This has one of the craziest mouthfeels from a stout that I have experienced in a long time. I am assuming that the inclusion of the escargot shells imparted a huge calcium and alkaline boost to the water profile because the water is super hard in this mix. After you swallow, the sugars dont even linger on your teeth and you get this sort of lip smacking aspect that is strange from a stout. This too reminds me of those UK stouts with a really gentle mouthfeel and dainty carbonation, this paired with the crazy sweet meets salty aspects leave me perplexed and straight draining the bottle.
D: This is exceptionally drinkable with the caveat that you must be able to tolerate some sweetness, hard water, and a light brackishness to your stouts. This might be a deal breaker for most people, but I was intrigued by it and finished this with celerity. For not liking the style itself, I would wager that this is about as awesome as this genre can get while still being on style. It’s like having the world’s fastest hybrid in a way, certain concessions will be inherently present within the confined of the category.
for an 8% beer, you hit this beer and this beer hits back.
Narrative: Penelope Brigston slid lazily across the wet concrete and soaked in the misty Seattle morning. The dew from last night gave a nice moisture profile to Vicksburg street and her stomachfoot embraced the pavement with calculating execution. She slowly passed the smashed earthworms, those annelida too ambitious to restrain themselves from walking right into traffic. Penelope felt a small disconnect with the suburban street and thought about all of her taxonomic brethren, such diversity in her family and yet she was alienated from all of them. Hell, she hardly ever wrote to her sea mollusk family anymore and the better part of her days were consumed in either eating fescue or licking Tootsie Roll wrappers. Busy days all around. Her radula worked assiduously tearing apart a discarded piece of romaine lettuce and she savored the metallic taste of the sardines and salt in the dressing. It was a hazy morning but Penelope would face life with both antennae forward, living life out of her shell as much as possible.
New Glarus Thumbprint Saison, Wisconsin Get Its Hand on The Farmhouse Style and Straight Up Fumbles
SAISON MARATHON SOMETIMES REVIEWS MEDIOCRE SAISONS.
Let me say this at the outset, this is not a BAD saison. In fact, it is dead on and falls directly in line with what you would expect from an American take on the Belgian style. That is the whole problem, it is too predictable and ultimately is the most frustrating type of review to write because it is too conformist, too gentle, for some what would not even register as a bad thing, however, in the realm of top tier heavy hitters that we are addressing, this comes off as more of a sessionable belgian golden with aspects of saison interplay. Enough bitchassness and complaining, let’s get on this grizzy.
New Glarus always delivers, just sometimes not to my tastes.
New Glarus Brewing Company
Wisconsin, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.50% ABV
A: This is a beautiful beer, let’s just get that out of the way. The carbonation is not excessive and the lacing is pretty like nana’s doilie collection. There is a radiant golden hue to it that almost reminds me of a Belgian Tripel with some deep gold at the center. It looks refreshing and substantial at the same time like a Charlie Kaufman screenplay.
This is not an exceptionally dramatic saison.
S: This is where they bust out the cookie cutter and makes it fall in line with the ultra-predictable saisons and borderline, dare I say it, Hennepin levels. If we are looking for some crazy lactic element or a crazy blast of funk, this is not where you will hang your hat. You get a nice cornbread waft from it, a light spice, some very faint lemon rind, some banana but more like the yellow runts type of banana and finally a light grassiness.
T: This follows the nose almost congruently and presents the wheat and chewy bready aspect, some recumbent light spice, and closes with a honey meets sod sort of execution. Again, this is not bad at all, but you drink it, the glass is empty, and you carry on with your stamp collection. Nothing to really say about the lingering aspects or any level of ruminating necessary. For some people, the lack of impression might be the hallmark of a refreshing farmhouse ale. For me, this just kinda comes across like a John Hughes movie that isn’t memorable but is temporarily uplifting.
This is a sweet loving beer, but it might not executing things exactly as you hoped.
M: This has a light chewiness to it and a lingering honey finish to it but the refreshing watery aspect is the overriding aspect to this beer. I am not sure if this is sold in 4 packs but it seems to be less of a special occasion saison and more of a “I fucking hate my daughter’s dance recitals” sort of every day beer. In this aspect, it is phenomenal. Usually when I am opening a saison, it is caged and corked and feels like a substantial event, but this beer makes it more of an approachable glory hole where you don’t feel bad for wasting it.
D: If you missed it, this is exceptionally drinkable, but not necessarily the best saison evar. It is kinda like that person you rent Redbox movies with and make out with but know that there’s no lasting potential in this one. Wisconsin fanboys might lose their shit over this appraisal, but seriously go drink Squatters Fifth Element and tell me those two are comparable “but they are totally different beers” yeah I know, and I enjoy one more than another, zero fucks given.
Don’t think about it so hard, take it, put it in your face hole.
Narrative: Julia was never really tall for her age, or exceptionally intelligent for her grade. She not an unremarkable 5 feet 5 inches, shoulder length brown hair, enjoyed baking and flagging innocuous items on Pintrest. When she went to clubs, she would order a vodka soda and keep her composure and remain poised in an unnoteworthy Bebe dress. No one would fault Julia for not taking risks, some would applaud her conservative presentation. Her favorite book is 1984 and she enjoyed watching One Tree Hill. No one is saying that there is anything wrong with that. Somehow, on those lingering coffee dates, all of her courtesans would secretly long for something more deviant, something funky, acidic, or a hateful streak to compliment their own shortcomings. She was too supplicant for the general public for the simple reason that she was just what the world needed.
Russian River Row 2/Hill 56, Off The Charts Drinkability, Despite Those Annoying Simcoe Hops
SIMCOE FOR THE HATERS.
Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Pale Ale (APA) | 5.80% ABV
A: It appears like a watered down pliny the elder with a sort of muted yellow and milder golden disposition, everything just feels like spinning a record at 33 rpm instead of 45 rpm. Muted but relaxing.
I am not a good at beer review but I know good pale ale when inside my mouth face.
S: The smell is a vaporous fog of well balanced hops, straight simcoe to the domepiece, but nothing worth writing home about, some mild lemon elements akin to the Bowser Jr. of Pliny the Elder, the misplaced child of Blind Pig. There is a light pine resonance on the backend.
T: the taste is more refreshing but less fulfilling than Bling Pig. It was like they phoned it in to attract a bigger audience or in an attempt to loop catch the hop loving swing state. That doesn’t make sense though because this is incredibly limited. It seems like they made this as a loophole to attract beerlovers only to bait and switch them with a tame product. Maybe some people want tame, fuck if I know, I beat Chrono Trigger and got most of the endings.
This doesn’t flip pale ales inside out, but it is pretty refreshing.
M: Again, save the journal and the bic pen, this will be forgettable if for nothing else than its balance. Ok, if you enjoyed the movie SERENDIPITY and you love plot arcs that are confusing but immediately resolve. Well here is your beer. I felt it shallow and judged it exceedingly hard due to my strict Russian River standards. It’s like shaking your head at a mathlete due to not being able to postulate non-euclidian geometry. It is still good, but not good as I anticipated. There are some interesting peppery notes, but ultimately yawntastic.
D: This is where this beer shines, which always feels like a consolation prize. Drinkability is the “Best Sense of Humor” of the technical awards. While it is amazing and drinkable, this is hard to find, relatively expensive, and forgettable.
pic unrelated.
Narrative: Life as a cummulous cloud is not as glamorous as it seems. Sure you get to cascade across the sky buouyantly, impressing everyone with your majestic airs but ultimately you just end up as Iowa hail or Arizona drinking water. A fleeting life of gliding above the masses with condescending shapes is brought to task quickly with a wamr front or an affront from a mountain range. A world of Bourbon excellence comes crashing down immediately when the chinks in the armor are revealed. Upon further relfection, the cloud is only as majestic as its lasting quality. What previously looked like a flowing turtle now is a malignant sky tumor, descending in both strength and majesty. A child in a stroller looked up at the descending fog and felt it wet her face with a dew of what could have been.
Boddington’s Pub Ale, Things Are Getting Pretty Pedestrian Around Here
Things weren’t always this way here at Dontdrinkbeer. I didn’t used to always sip on Brabantiae and tell people to finger their dickholes. There was a time that I used to walk to the store and actually buy a beer off the shelf and review it like someone would seriously read that and give a scintilla of a fuck. I guess that is still better than laying your iPhone on its side and doing hundreds of shitty 8 minute long video reviews like other sites. Anyway, to show how far we have come, I am posting one of my first reviews today for your displeasure. You can feel free to still finger your own dick hole.
I hope you have review whiplash, from wales to normal shit. All day long.
Boddingtons
United Kingdom (England)
English Pale Ale | 4.70% ABV
A: This head is overbearing, the agitator has gone overboard, I had to pour in two stages, it’s been like 4 minutes and this head is still relentless and menacing. It is glaring balefully undisturbed, letting me know that it waits for no man. Three fingers, thick and frothy, relentless. It is a pale yellow and looks mildly inviting.
Abel’s cat was expecting some rare walez but was shocked to see this accessible ass beer.
S: its the delicate penumbra between a pilsner and a pale ale, save the stamp, nothing to write home about. You get some sweetness, light cornbread, a gentle type of fuggles/szaz hop. Nothing too lose your balls over.
T: The head is an impenetrable fortress of foam, upon penetration it is like Stephen Crane’s Red Badge of Courage, a straight charge on a single menace, a thin, light flavor with a clean finish. There’s some caramel and light malts but again, this is for islander nations who enjoy having several pints of shitwater in lieu of a couple really good beers. Wait, that includes Americans as well, well shucks.
Enjoy your thick pint cans and agitators. Enjoy it with all your mates.
M: The mouthfeel is like a crew of asian kids with one sick brawler who knows mad martial arts. This sick asian kid is the head, after you defeat this punishing master, the remaining mouthfeel is as thin as a sheepskin condom, light, no coating, a good session ale if it wasnt so gassy.
D: It is what it is, you look across the 8 taps this bar offers, a melange of mediocrity, 5 domestics, guinness and then this, just the pale English Pub Ale to the beguiled Stout that is Guinness. It is a flash of inspiration with a series of 16oz dominoes clicking in predictable, unfulfilling succession. not bad, much in the way a Michael Bay move is not explicitly bad, but nothing surprising. the mild explosions are expected and the plot twists in the palate are predictable and subtle.
This beer is an old standby. I am not sure that it can still get you laid, though.
Narrative: Your friends say that your new English gadget is nothing special, sure, it’s basically a Tivo, but more expensive, and ok it’s not as accessible, but its a Widdickson’s! the best English television recording unit known to the UK! It will record all your episodes of Top Gear and Doctor Who. It even inserts “U’s” into wourds where they do not beloung! Yes this Widdickson’s is the ultimate media device, it automatically pauses all shows and skips any 1-800-Dentist commercials offered. It…it is from England is…that’s what I am trying to get across here.
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.
Founders Imperial Stout, KBS, FBS, CBS, Now it IS time to cut the BS.
The first time that I tried this beer was in a bar called “Blind Tiger” in Manhattan and I looked like Jafar discovering a bottle with a malty chocolate genie inside. Then I got into trading and the generous ass beer community ruined it for me by forwarding delicious morsels like this my way on the reg. THANKS A LOT GUYS. So this isn’t breakfast, it isn’t from Kentucky, it has no health care so it sure isn’t Canadian: IT IS JUST A FUCKING STOUT GUIZE. Alright, so let’s cut the shit and get down to business today.
See that there, that is a real pour. Go to other beer blogs, look at the Vanilla Dark Lord pours, 1 molar unit of beer, FUCK THAT. Embrace your self-effacement.
Founders Imperial Stout, 10.5% abv, 90 ibu
A: This beer is as black as an Al-Quaeda masquerade ball. Deep slick oil tones, khaki bubbles, mocha tones, great middle carbonation. Deep murky ink sitting hatefully waiting for someone to love. Don’t you want somebody to love? Or would you say you NEED- alright. The carbonation is legitimate but doesn’t flex on you too hard. It’s like some officious gym advice that scare you but, just look at those malty traps.
finally a beer drank exclusively by non-virgins. This is a tough, beef jerky making, log slaying, man beer, Equal opportunity inebriator.
S: Licorice, vanilla, bourbon, toffee, burnt cigars, and a caramel finish. A complex and interesting bouquet. Beers like this are a bitch to review because the sweet husk of perfect execution makes me have to point out how the hot girl had mid digit hair and build an entire case against her as a result. This beer has mid digit hair, ON MY CHEST AFTER I DRINK IT.
T: This tastes like KBS, introductory edition. It has hints of bourbon, hints of the big coffee roasted notes, but doesn’t take it over the top. The balance is phenomenal and it feels like a powered down version of a supercar, the Porsche Boxster to the Carrera if you will. It is by no means deficient, just hits a different mark. This beer tastes as barrel aged at they come without involving a barrel. I don’t know the exact availability but wow, this is the flagship of the east coast (psst Midwest, whatevs, geography lulz.) Just fantastic through and through, it’s like the FAMAS in every single first person shooter, you basically don’t NEED anything else, but, its a solid standby.
This stout straight werks it, borderline twerks it.
M: This has a great coating, nice sticky coating, not overly possessive, lets you go out with your friends without dominating your life, just a nice resonant stickiness that makes a mess without making your life messy. It puts a bit of a resin on your teeth but it feels responsible. The oral hygenist that leans over your lap a little longer but not uncomfortably, you know the dreeze.
D: This is incredibly drinkable despite the ABV, despite the IBUs, despite the errant nay sayers, you can love your Founder’s Imperial Stout however you’d like. I could drink this under any conditions, well, ok, if I had my testicles in a vice, I would enjoy it moderately less, but still, could be worse. This is amazing and if not for its overachieving older brothers, this would easily be in the top 100. GOD DAMN OLDER BROTHERS THAT STOICALLY LIVE IN BARRELS.
Nothing fishy here, just an entertaining stout, through and through.
Narrative: “I can’t go in there, I promised that this would be the last time,” Doug muttered to himself while sitting in his 1995 Dodge Stratus trying to create an explanation for his situation. “Don’t go to the coffee store Doug, that’s what the therapist said, you don’t need any more chocolate Doug, you know, AH HELL!” he cried out to himself and swung the door of his unremarkable, poorly made sedan. Doug burst through the door and entered the modest foyer holding several bags in each hand with a menacing grin on his face. “Oh for the love of God, Doug, MORE? Seriously?” he issued a flippant smile and proceeded to walk to the parlor and deposit his treasures. The parlor had become less of a refuge from domestic life and more of a Wonka/Starbucks/Scrooge McDuck den of iniquity. He emptied the bags into the pile and bags upon bags of 85% cocoa chocolate, whole coffee beans and even vanilla nibs were embraced by the pile. “THIS IS JUST GETTING OUT OF HAND, YOU, I MEAN LOOK AT THIS!” Madeline pleaded with him. In Doug’s mind, this was not excess, but the paradigm of balance. “Oh sure, one room with 125 lbs of chocolate, 125 lbs of coffee and assorted toffee and vanilla snacks seemed obsessive TO SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND!” Doug slammed the rich mahogany door and laid in his treasure trove of sweet succor. The sheer balance alone was enough, but there was a special embrace he felt while making a coffee/chocolate/vanilla/toffee angel in his living room floor.
Lost Abbey Veritas V009, Those Hot Crushes Start Out So Well, Then Turn Into a Sour Mess
Here’s a great beer, er, a beer that was great when I had it last July, but recently people have been going apeshit about how it has fallen off. Oh boo hoo, that size 0 rare girl you met in a club isn’t working out 10 months later? Well guess what, take your $35 and fuck right off because I am reviewing this old school, yeah, waving the Lost Abbey flag and letting people know that if you want a legit experience, drink it fresh. Lesson learned. Thank you Tomme Arthur. Anyway, let’s review this size zero beauty.
Maybe this was the bottle for v007, who knows, don’t act like you give a shit.
The Lost Abbey
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 8.00% ABV
A: Murky muddy brown ale with a mucky thick edging that I initially misunderstood as malt until I understood that it was deep currant sediment and grape skins and then shut myself right the fuck up.
So everyone was expecting Yellow Bus meets V007, what is this? haters gonna something something.
S: Wow, where to begin, this has a huge bourbon character, then the figs and currant set in, jumping into the game is an apple/citrus apples aspect before the wood notes close it out. Ultimately it feels like a Thomas Pynchon Novel: the most complicated beer ever made that ultimately leaves you confused and wanting more.
T: It seriously is the most complicated beer ever made. Ok so at the outset you taste a deep caramel with some cherry that subsides into a deep heat that lingers into a sour cranberry. I have no idea how that they pulled this off but it is amazing.
This is tough to explain, it is robustly complex but after only 8 ounce of this, the diversity becomes redundant, like a college admissions pamphlet.
M: Here is how your life will proceed, in succession: deep chocolate cherries oh wait, who is that? Vinegar, wait that’s cool come on in, who else? balsamic fine but don’t be a-? Ok cool, she’s cool too, blackberries welcome, welcome uh sure, oh more dark fruits? Fine, I will just set out more placemats.
D: Well, drink ability reduces down to the operator, but I don’t want to call out the old chestnut that can drink a lot, or drink a few. What I am looking for would be the type of person who would literally drink an entire 32 oz serving of POM or grapefruit juice. He would pass my test. Put simply, this beer is so limited and so complex that if you were to take on an entire 24oz to your dome piece, you are an asshole.
Sure, in retrospect, this might not have been the best idea, but it was bad ass at the time.
Narrative: “Oh I am sorry Guillermo? Do you think something is funny about the plastic bag regulation?” He was berated by his superiors but deep down, Guillermo had an innate sense of humor. He grasped desperately at his job at the Marina Del Rey Sheritan but notwithstanding he had a latent skill that his superiors could not stand. “OH IM SORRY GUILLERMO? SOMEHOW THE KOI POND OVER FLOWING IS FUNNY TO YOU?” His face was beet crimson with this prospect. Guillermo took a sly pull of 23 year pappy van winkel and cooled out for a moment. “Wait, maybe you are operating on cultural stereotypes, maybe you are racist?” The group nodded in accordance and each in turn attempted to determine who was in fact racist. Guillermo secretly was a completely literate and inventive individual who simply enjoyed the fulfilling work of maintaining the grounds of a three star resort. “WELL I CAN’T..ehh…no…nooo…” his accent kicked back in and he looked off into the distance longingly. He was perhaps the most complex grounds keeper that the Sheritan had ever encountered.
dontdrinkbeer 