0

Hill Farmstead Fear and Trembling Cabernet/Bourbon Blend, Infinite Resignation is the Last Stage of Fatih

Believe it or not, I have actually been trying to ratchet back my reviews of all these HF gems lately. No, it is not due to the confusion surrounding the Ephraim release, and no it is not due to my latent bitterness being unable to land an Ann (her?) I simply cannot forego reviewing some of these old school (relative to Hill Farmstead lifespan) treats.

This porter is suspending my universal beliefs for my individual understanding of what a porter can be.

Hill Farmstead Brewery visit their website
Vermont, United States
Baltic Porter | 9.30% ABV

A: Just like all well-done porters, this has that signature thin bodied nature to it that splashes into the glass without heft or massive sheeting. The carbonation is generous and looks like a Coffee Bean drink with khaki foam and microbubbles smaller than 3J’s role in Family Matters.

At a certain point you should at least try to mask your affection for something.

S: This is a bit smokier than I would have liked but imparts a nice char, super Charizard if you will. Then again I am not a fan of char in the first place so I guess take that with a grain of char limits. There’s chocolate, a slight red grape aspect that is more of a tannic dryness, and a bitter coffee aspect. I could have used a bit more of the refreshing porter aspects to this instead of toeing the imperial stout line but, you mess with the Baltic, you get the horns.

T: Thankfully this campfire session eschews the roasted wood and goes a ‘smore route with a deep chocolate, cocoa, vanilla and a touch of mallow foam. The dryness from the oak is present but doesn’t put both hands in your malt bowl, just enough to be noticed. There’s some plum and stone fruit aspects and a smoky finish at the verrrrry end that sneaks in like the littlest roast puppy in the litter. There’s a great complexity and it’s tough to knock any of the three variants of this beer.

If you don’t enjoy dark beer I could always serve you a baby sloth in a chalice, your decision.

M: The mouthfeel is slick and light, dead on to porter, but not quite going into an overweight stout territory. The carbonation is fine and feels like 700 thread count sheets, a sateen duvet in your mouth. But you drink beer so you probably have that Walmart all-in-one bedsheet that single moms love to tolerate. I liked this better as it warmed and the barrel characteristics became more pronounced. You want that deep dark fruit, go get it.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and masks its ABV very well. The light body and huge flavor profile is a haymaker that clears your glass pretty effortlessly. I would say the imperial porters from Hill Farmstead are improving steadily as I would rank them as follows:

Birth of Tragedy > BA Everett > Fear and Trembling

For anyone who gives a shit about bottles that are nearly impossible to obtain. Me recommending a 300 bottle run of something limited beyond belief is kinda like polishing an apple on my shirt and talking about which of my Ornithopters is my favorite.

Some people think imperial porters are just stouts in disguise, haters gonna hate.

Narrative: “And go, take your last bottle, first born in your cellar and cast it into the Fedex truck, for a return blessing shall be forthcoming.” The anonymous message seemed suspicious, yet highly credible to Mark Wallerstein. He had been trading beer online for years, but never before had he received such a divine command. “Is this some kind of LIF or someth-” he thought and suddenly a message appeared “NO, this is not a lottery it forward, only when you sacrifice your most precious bottle can you obtain that which is truly worthwhile.” This was a bit creepy but Mark began solemly wrapping his 2007 Cable Car in bubble tape, aware of the intense burden laid at his doorstep. He was to suspend all belief in bartering and give up his most precious to become elevated to a state of fear and trembling. He would exchange rationalism for hope in the ultimate gesture of beer bonhomie. Just as Mark was about to ship his final and only Cable Car, a UPS worker stopped him. “You see Mark, only by knowing that you could give up this sick wale, could you demonstrate your right to receive this:” and on that very site, his bottle was spared and he was given a bottle of Dirty Horse, unblended, 1983. A divine blessing indeed.

Advertisements
0

Hill Farmstead The Birth of Tragedy, Apollonian vs Dionysian and Everyone getting Twisted

Thus Spoke Aleathurstra

Ok so what’s the deal with this asshole? Well it’s the imperial version of an already badass porter, Twilight of the Idols. It is named after a Nietzsche work, it has bourbon, coffee, and a nice alcoholic heat to it. It’s like they read my diary.

Hill Farmstead Birth of Tragedy, 11% abv, Imperial Porter aged in bourbon barrels

A: The appearance has that classic imperial porter sheen to it, like the coat of an alcoholic panda bear. Black and slick in all the right places, it beckons to slippery asphalt and car crashes that New Englanders no doubt survived in obtaining this succulent potation. As a side note, my bottle had hardly any cabronation, wah wah, here comes the wahhhmbulance ready to pick some nits.

Ok ok, bourbon barrel aged porter, let's settle down.

S: This has a crazy powerful bouquet that smells like melted chocolate, toffee, boozy vanilla extract, and a mild hint of bourbon heat. There is a sweetness that is perfectly balanced by mild alcoholic heat, just like your old bus driver.

T: This is an incredible porter and I know that I ride this brewery’s jock like its jock will soon be discontinued, but it’s really that good. Top 5 porter and guess what, one of the other spots is held by, that’s right Barrel Aged Everett. I can’t get over this brewery, like the haughty 14 year old girl, who just wont accept that her 22 year old boyfriend wasn’t really in love with her. Ok so, it has a nice sweetness that enters and has a set allowing the alcohol waft to permeate and suddenly you forget that you are at a drive in, then a mild coffee pick me up before the bourbon mellows it all out. Just ridiculously pleasant, koala foot massage pleasant.

Just. Want. More Sick Porters.

M: It is thin, like a porter should be, no fat ass imperial stouts up in this mix. It is just light and coats just enough to be rewarding but then hammers its point home. The alcohol is like a stage director in all black watching every movement, making sure that the pilgrim chocolate kids dont miss their entry cues. Holy mixed metaphors.

D: This is incredibly drinkable, I am trying to tame myself from powering through the entire 500ml bottle with little success. It is thin, hot, and sweet, oh wait here’s a patently obvious female entendre. Nope, keeping it classy here. It is totally drinkable and I wish it came in sick sixers or at least tall boys to take up to the lake. PSYCHE. This beer is meant for hearths and post skiing discussions, luge comparisons and other highbrow Vermontean prose.

Do want more.

Narrative: “Existing within the framework entitles you to undeserved, awkward sexual interactions. That is the nature of a collegiate degree” the professor boomed to the teeming auditorium. His teaching methods were unorthodox but shattered the line between biology, psychology, and will to power. “You see, this is the only time that your biological willing will be in comport with the acquiescence with your biological counterpart.” Several students shifted in their chairs and looked left and right, largely Asians and Latter Day Saints. “The supple and demean curve hits its apex at precisely 20 years of age. It is at that age that alcohol enters a golden period of divine inspiration of inhibition where each person may assert the fulfillment of the Dionysian condition while still feeling confident in the missteps guided by the Apollonian age. You will have sex, it will be terrible, but it will be compulsory.” A scandinavian girl had seen enough and left promptly. “You see, all of dark willing is urging, and that is controlled ultimately by a tempering of the passions, and 20 years old is the exact age when both sides meet in a murky confrontation of rationalized bad decisions. It is in this moment that you will be the most alive, the most willing, and consequently the most powerful. You will never receive as much affection, as easily, as everlastingly as this year of your life my college juniors.” The student body began to look left and right with much trepidation and embarrassment. As much as his homework made little sense, the handjobs were rough and undeserved, the kisses pounding and syncopated. It would take the purchase of a Dodge Challenger and countless dates to recapture the ethos that was ejaculated into the air of that auditorium that day. “Only then, will you all become ubermensch. Now, go make out.” Class dismissed.