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The Bruery Barrel Aged Partridge in a Pear Tree, The Bird Did Not Survive

Going hard in the paint for this one, the inimitable, elusive ornithopter that everyone seems to be breaking their backs to land. Did putting a rare bird in a barrel make it better? Is Christmas observed by beer nerds? Can a wale fit in a barrel? These questions all answered today.

And a fat wale in a cellar tree.

The Bruery
California, United States
Quadrupel (Quad) | 11.00% ABV

A: This beer has a beautiful murky brown hue that is ugly but lovely at the same time, like a pug. The lacing is minimal but for style and abv, this seems about right. The turbid slosh lets you know that this beer is tough to excite and the mahogany hues seem inviting but standoffish at the same time, like most real estate agents.

To most beer nerds, this is the unapproachable .rar deity that will never be seen.

S: The bourbon has been muted a bit and comes off in more of a caramel sweetness mixed with some melted Rolos and stone fruits. I also get some wafts of black cherry and mild char, but they are cameos like the pizza guy in a sit com.

T: The taste sits straddling English Barleywine and Quad, not quite committing to either, but the bourbon drags both parties along like a Victorian love triangle. Boozy Mr. Darcy presents his hand and dances elegantly with your palate as the oak and vanilla take center stage in the proceedings. Mild caramel and figs sit amongst the court looking onward as the malts fall deftly underneath his tender hand. The entire affair is brash but calculated, it is far better than the other ratings would intimate.

BARREL AGED PiaPT!!11One!!! time to pump up the jams.

M: The mouthfeel has a sticky coating and that is removed like vagrant graffiti by the taming bourbon heat. The result is a perpetual motion machine, vis a vis, your arm, that empties your glass expeditiously. I try to savor these rare gems, knowing that it will be a complete pain in the ass to land again, but, tickers gonna tick.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and drinking it in June was a fitting mid-Christmas observance of the summer solstice. Things got pagan and bacchanalian pretty quickly but I wanted more. That’s the problem with gorging yourself on whale fat, only so many whales to slay in the day. I would recommend this, but that’s like a dick who gives a 5 star to a Bugatti Veyron and says “GO GET ONE DONT DENY YOURSELF THIS TREAT.” It’s like “thanks, also, fuck you.”

This beer is exceptional, rare, and noteworthy in its own distinct manner.

Narrative: Cardinal Dolcini had granted more indulgences than the suppressed fiefs could endure. This clip clop of his glorious raiment resonated through the muddy streets. In the filthiest district in Burgundy, he was charged with providing sweet succor to the mealy mouthed common people. The simple breads and sweets were purveyed with grimy hands and impure hearts and Dolcini could only look upon the serfs with loving disdain. The feudal classes ate decadent caramel plums and complained of oxidation in their rich “burned water.” The inequities were apparent. The blessings of the rare treats were largely conferred upon a small minority who held them with incredible avarice, never allowing the merchant classes a single taste. Their vaults contained more treats than could ever be sold in a lifetime, much less consumed, but it was their lineage and birthright to stand proudly above the menial machinations of common libations. “Y’er excellency, sweet cubes, 2 livre.” The sweet cubes were so readily available, so common, so unabashedly predictable in flavor and execution that a titled individual would never stoop so low to consume what would surely be a forgettable tryst.

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2006 Thomas Hardy’s Ale, Finally I Can Drink a Beer That Is Older Than My Clothes

Everyone always gets an alerection when they talk about how old their Thomas Hardy’s is. It’s like all of a sudden sucking down old old ales is hot shit and everyone else missed the boat. Big ups to my homie Anthony for this bottle so we can see what the aleworld was like back in the days of dial-up internet (for the midwest.) Fear no more, I am rocking a 2006 in today’s review, back when your boyfriend still had frosted tips and retainers, shit was popping off. Let’s see if this little bottle delivers or, like Better Than Ezra, leaves me desperately wanting.

Man, 2006, what a fun year, wait, I am looking at the Wikipedia for 2006 and I literally remember none of this shit happening. A Final Fantasy game must have come out that year or something.

O’Hanlon’s Brewing Co. Ltd.
United Kingdom (England)
Old Ale | 11.90% ABV

A: Oh man, you know when tame old England (sans Brewdog) comes out swinging with an 11.9% old ale, shit is about to get real. The beer is completely flat and looks like Dr. Pepper that was left out during your 6th grade sleepover party. No lacing, no legs, no stems no seeds no sticks. You swirl it around and things don’t get much jazzier. It just sits there limp, sad, and swears that this never happens.

Maybe I am not old enough to fully enjoy this beer but, it makes things pretty difficult the next morning.

S: Mmm, that’s a damn fine bouquet, especially for a 6 year old. Well, you know what I mean. It has vanilla, aggro caramel, nice subtle bourbon presence, oak, and toasted marshmellow. It kinds reminds me of a sticky kettle corn with more of a butterscotch presence. Nice wafterburners on this Maverick.

T: This almost goes from O.G. Ale to quad in the way to pulls you gently to stone fruits, plum, currant, and raisins. I am thankful for the relatively small bottle size as this guy is a bit of a turn off after a while. I enjoy the panoply of fruits and sticky gooey campfire treats presented but, it is a bit much after 5 ounces. Maybe I need to put up with month after punishing month of depressing weather to really “get” the selling points of this UK gem but the taste gets to that point of like “ok, ok, enough already” of sticky sweetness like the hostess at Chilis.

I hate to push this bit incessantly but, things are almost always best enjoyed fresh. Ba dum tish. wakka wakka.

M: The mouthfeel has zero carbonation and a light stickiness that just hangs around like an officious gym partner that, while cloying, has a gentle aspect to it that you don’t outright hate. I dont think this will really improve with age and that fresh TH that I tried wasn’t really much better. You ever revisit a game that was bad fucking ass when it came out and then realized that you used to be content with crude polygons? Well, this is a beer from the tail end of the Ps2 era, if you know what I am saying. Go pop in Devil May Cry, tell me if it is still palatable. I will wait.

D: This is not exceptionally drinkable due to the sheer alcoholic content and sticky morass of saccharine notes that jumble up the mix. It is worth trying and showing off your alecock for cellar bragging rights but most people into beer won’t give a fuck if you have a 1996 TH because, like Aaliyah, age ain’t nothin but a number.

It doesn’t matter how old you are, if you were a boring jerk back then, well-

Narrative: “Listen Trevin, I am your agent and, quite frankly, I am your friend. At this point I think it might be time to give it up, seriously, I can’t spin you in different ways for 12 consecutive years, you’re…you’re too fucking old, Trevin.” Theodore Olsmly had changed his name to conform to Hollywood conceptions of name values, he had dyed his hair, undyed it, taken improv classes, unlearning improve classes, holistic acting, deconstructive scenework classes, and even melody workshops taught by the Spin Doctors: nothing worked. Even those gentle poets of Two Princes told him at the crest of 2008 that maybe a solid decade of annoying the shit out of audiences and producers alike, might signal a perfect time to bow out. Trevin refused to do so. He slammed the door of his shanty Burbank studio apartment and tossed on the Reality Bites soundtrack and paced the 405 square foot layout and devised a plan to start auditioning for the estranged older brother turned uncle roles that the writers had heretofore so obliviously overlooked.

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The Bruery 100% Barrel Aged Cuir, I Want a Beer That Says “Daddy Likes Leather”

Ah, back on the sweet Barrel Aged Bruery jams after a nice respite of sour tongue kisses. So this is the $30 100% barrel aged version of their anniversary beer, not be confused with the 25% barrel aged chopped and screwed version. Their new anniversary ale is coming out soon, so I figure I would celebrate the last day of pre-orders with this heater in the two seater.

For all the beer daddies out there who enjoy leather.

100% Barrel Aged Bruery Cuir
Old Ale, 14%

A: Great deep brown hues, like a masculine Belgian quad, this beer just exudes refinement. Its lacing and sticky profile connotes that this beer lives in a furnished loft that smells of rich mahogany. There’s a strange almost violet hue at the edge. The malty foam is like whitewater rafting with Kevin Bacon. I know, I phoned it in and fucked up on the non-pour pic, but use your imagination you ingrates.

This is a decadent gem that should be enjoyed in moderation, preferably out of the navel of a Ford model.

S: There is a huge raisin profile with booze and dark fruits. Again, it feels like you had the solid framework of a Subaru STI and then boosted it further. With compelling results. I enjoy the sticky caramel and bruised fruits all up in the mix. Brown sugar and some cinnamon poke their heads out but see that mommy and daddy booze notes are fighting and go back to bed.

T: There is a great cinnamon sweetness and again the dark fruits are dominate. Finally there is a satisfying molasses stickiness that just floats the wafty barrel notes incredibly well. The bourbon rolls deep with banana clips lighting up the scene indiscriminately. The raisin and stone fruits walk hand in hand in a civil union with the oak and bourbon and you are entirely tolerant of the results.

The heat amped up as it warmed, but the complexity of the flavor makes me not even mad.

M The mouthfeel is thin but enjoyable. I was expecting some huge maltiness but it actually keeps it pretty Callista Flokchart. Unlike its crazy brother Papier, the heat on the palate is noticeable but not over powering. If Papier plays football, this is more of a Le Crosse or debonair fencing type.

Probably shouldn't have taken this whole 750 to my dome piece. I ain't chicken. No regrets.

D The abv comes out bit by bit with warmth and makes it a little too much to take on by oneself. Then again, when drinking a 14%+ beer on your own, a 750 ml might not be the prescribed serving size. I enjoyed it immensely but, I also enjoy tiramisu. Just not a whole tiramisu. I am hardly the paradigm of moderation but this beer will get you more FEDED than Tyga.

Old ales always confuse me, but then I go to sleep and it all makes sense. Def a dank lil treat, 5/5 would read again, 2143 readers found this review helpful.

Narrative: Hitting the nightclubs with sage old Cornelius Woodage seemed like a complete paradox. What with his antiquated elephant hunting outfit, bezzled monocle, and a moustache that could only be deemed nonionic on the most hipster of circles: we just figured he wouldn’t fit in. “Guys, it’s a 3 bottle minimum for any guys, looks like we are sunk.” Cornelius strode up to the bouncer and immediately began to effect his bonhomie on what seemed like the entire line. His old genuine warmth had the tanned and tattooed masses eating out of the palm of his cream lambskin gloves. “Well chaps, looks like fortune smiles upon those who choose the flight not the right!” He clapped his riding boots together and we were immediately admitted. However, after 3 hours of drinking, he brandished a deuling pistol and fired it into a fish tank. All in all, he’s def a solid bro.