Brooklyn Monster Barleywine Ale, The Monster Under Your Bed Is Your Uncle Drunk on Barleywine

I went to Manhattan once. It was loud and humid and everything was needlessly expensive and people ran like Korean commuters everywhere. On that trip I tried some random gems that I picked up at some liquor stores in the village, with a staggering markup. The KBS bottle that I enjoyed was $9.59 for a single 12oz bottle. Ruminate on that one Michigan, the next time you think about complaining. Anyway, let’s get all into Monsters in today’s review:

I went all the way to Manhattan and drank this there, that’s how dedicated I am to, drinking things kinda in the eponymous settings.

Brooklyn Monster Ale
English Barleywine, 10.1% abv

A: Deep amber hues with transparency, no lack of clarity, nice middle bubbles, medium carbonation, bubbles that stand firm like an undergrad’s convictions, albeit lacking substance, not unlike an undergrad’s conviction.

Whenever I see a barleywine, my hopes are sky high, then I see that it is an American style barleywine and I be all like-

S: It has a thinner character than most American barley wine profiles but the understated notes are good, some cherries and currant on the nose, Oak, ginger and caramel in the waft. It comes across like a halfway home between American and English barleywines, really, master of jacking trades for none. It is interesting but nothing earth shattering. Earth remains unsheltered, albeit, not unimpressed.

T: The taste really lacks the fruit aspects and has some grape skin, plums, woody dryness, and an herbal hop finish to it. Maybe some barrel aging would have done this more justice, however, it seems lacking in a distinct note to it given the traditional aspects but, no one ever complains while driving a Honda Accord, they just wish for a Lambo.

After having so many amazing barrel aged barleywines, it makes it difficult to take the non-BA offerings seriously.

M: It is much thinner than I expected for the ABV and maybe the lack of maltiness is an attempt to embrace the English side, but, then again I hate when English people do things. They just end up more unreliable and expensive, by my experience. So, is the mouthfeel of this Aston Martin worth the entry price? Yes. Could you spend your time on a bolder more experienced barley wine? Sure. Again, this is a solid beer, a welcome extra, but not something I would seek out, living 3500 miles from its blast radius.

D: It is exceptionally drinkable as a result of the mild malts, thin mouthfeel, great hop character, and juicy dark fruit. It feels similar to a watered down quad more than a barley wine but, here I am just complaining about my struggle buggy while a SIDNEY BICHET SONG IS ON!

This beer, like 50 Cent, will make your whole block feel like summa.

Narrative: “Oh god, they know, they have to know.” Chet Warrington was breathing deeply in the presence of his inlaws. “Allo! Es quite a oice moyning eh soire!” His faux cockney accent resonated through the stone archway with an echoing falseness. His father in law sipped his Earl Grey tea knowingly and utter slowly, “My dear son, I fear not your intention, but cast upon this trepidation, it is ceremony redux outright.” Chet tried to casually laugh off the statement utter to him, which he had no idea how to interpret. These coy englishmen were so dapper, so poised, but so difficult to grasp. “Eres a lump of tea et ees!” He recreated his character from Pygmalion impeccably and smiled a goofy smile to the Earl whose crisp Burberry suit remained uncreased. The lesson he learned from this whole debacle was that it was a fool’s errand to emulate the English, for they were all knowing, and inimitable.


Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv, BX straight put a choc. gem on them.

Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, mad wallear for this skully cap

While not swimming in the Hudson river, smashing glass bottles at abandoned train yards, or contemplating traveling to better places, people in Brooklyn make chocolate beers.

Brooklyn Chocolate Stout, 10% abv

A: Spoiler alert, this big stout has a deep black finish to it like a matte black that you see douchebags downgrade their Range Rovers with. The lacing is beautiful, it tells your future and, oh wait, whats that Brooklyn, sticky chocolate and schmeboygahs? I am listening.

S: This is very simple, it has a roasted barley and a deep chocolate finish to it. I hate it when beers are this direct but it is like a Madden character with all the points stacked on one attribute. In this game, this is an obese secretary who LOVES. CHOCOLATE. If this were an X-Man, its mutant ability would be reminding people to buy lotions from Bath and Body works and then visiting Godiva. BUT WILL SHE USE HER POWERS FOR GOOD OR EVIL?

I love stouts, I love chocolate. I mash on this beer not unlike an elated turtle.

T: This just continues with the simple oat and chocolate rigamarole with a deep silky finish. There is a bit of coffee but the main attraction here is clearly the chocolate, if this redundant ass review wasn’t evident. There’s some sweet hookah cocoa beans and a bit of tobacco but seriously, how else can I say this? It is like a negligent ass Willy Wonka creation.

M: Surprisingly, the mouthfeel is out faster than a dead beat father. It just imparts the chocolate like a drunk uncle, and then stumbles out the door with a silky oat finish. There’s a bit of coffee that dries it out at the end but wow, this really makes me want to try Black Ops if this beer is this good.

With 20 years on this, it will be even better, I aint even mad.

D: This is scary drinkable and amazing through and though. I hope that these are either expensive or sold in really small formats because, wow, I can’t believe how easy it is to put this away. Stouts this big usually have a huge drying effect or a filling expansive nature. NOT THIS ONE. This is that silent old standby busser that always shows up for its shifts and does a great job, no questions asked. Thank God I dont live in Brooklyn so I can avoid amazing inexpensive be- ah shit.

Narrative: Prilly looked out intently upon the icy vanilla slopes, past the polar bears enjoying Coca-Cola, past the ice cream mountain, and blinding white pillars of creamy goodness. This wasn’t the life he dreamed of and he knew it. Vanillalopolis was a humble community of artisans and yeomen farmers, however, something never felt quite right to Prilly. He longer for a deep, thick succor. That ambrosial decadence that could only be found in succulent cacoa beans. The ongoings of Vanillalopolis just seemed so pedestrian by contrast. He tossed a vanilla snowball at a passing marshmellow bunny and watched it scamper away, leaving flakes of pure white coconut. “Someday Prilly, for really,” he mused to himself. Just as he was raking the vanillacones from the recent harvest he struck deep into the ground and, up from the snow white soil came a bubbling crude. Mahongany gold, Alabama tea. He dipped an index infger into the gurgling pool and tasted that deep chocolatey decadence that he longer for. The news reports reported that the septic explosion was completely unforseeable and Prilly’s family received a substantial settlement from the Wrongful Death case.