Cascade Strawberry, Just Kiss Me Through the Phone Strawberry Style

Oh Cascade, you can be so helpful, or such a difficult minx. Sure, you offer most of your amazing sours online for purchase and that is as awesome as it comes. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER RELEASES? Then I have to actually go and FIND a PERSON to go get them for me. This is one such beer. What will I do when Figaro drops? What will I do then? Anyway, this brewery has a pretty stellar record for knocking out incredible sours like oh I don’t know:

Remember this club banger? Me either.

Anyway, so we have done cherries, we have done apricots, now let’s taste that sweet sticky strawberry. Things are getting sexy up on this page.

Don’t eat the green part of this beer, it makes you pregnant.

Cascade Brewing / Raccoon Lodge & Brewpub
Oregon, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV 7.39%

A: This has a nice radiant glow of deep amber and orange with a slight pinkish hue like rose`, Trey Songs be pouring up cups in the club. There’s minimal lacing and the carbonation is there but doesn’t show off. It posts in the corner just whittling a little wispy white profile.

Age probably won’t change this beer. It will still be strawberries and acidity 15 years from now.

S: This has an incredible berry profile with fresh skins, nice strawberry juiciness, kinda has a stripper scent to it, you know that pink dust that you can never get off of your clothes, I mean, not me, but I have heard. Smells like Bath and Body works meets a Farmer’s Market. The whole endeavor feels exceedingly gentle like a tableshower. You just Googled that shit.

T: This follows the traditional lactic Cascade formula and, while it usually works, this mutes the fruits and makes this come off as a kind of a generic tartness that could be really anything. I love the finish and the dryness but the whole strawberry aspect of this takes a backseat to the abusive acidic boyfriend that tells her what to wear and who she can have in her phone. This isn’t the best Cascade that I have had, but it is still a pretty dank offering. This tastes strangely similar to Sans Pagaie, so you Bruery lovers, just pop that and use your imagination. Feel me.

This is sour.

M: This has a nice prickly acidity that stings and delivers along the gumline but doesn’t take things to the Weyerbacher Riserva levels. It is balanced and pleasant to enjoy. I could see myself reading Parade magazine and drinking this, in about 50 years when my life has become meaningless. There’s a nice chardonnay quality and I am sure you could get a Delta Gamma pretty drilled off of this, but that’s not a feat to record in the annals. No typo.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and doesn’t give me the lambic guts. I enjoy just sitting back, listening to Diplo, mashing on some berries and wasting the night away. Your mileage may vary, you could show this to your friends and they think your dick is small, bent, and dark. Who knows. Final verdict: other Cascades are more accessible, and probably better, but this is still a BERRY GOOD BEER.

Sometimes I think my readers aren’t even strawberrying.

Narrative: Most exotic dancers don’t plan things as far in advance as Jezebel. Well, for starters, her legal name was “Jezebel” and that should show her parents’ limited knowledge of the Old Testament. She was All State in Hurdles and got 5’s on 6 different Advanced Placement tests, this was all a part of her grand design. “But why for you are to be in dancing and not in the college making?” her scarcely bilingual Ukranian co-worker once importuned. “Well you see, the State is broke, the Federal Government wants to offer me high interest loans, and desperate Cuban men pay hard cash immediately that is untaxed and does not need to be amortized,” Jezebel explained. “Oh, I am to like dancing but also would like to be making bakery,” Svetlana insightfully added. Some would look with an ill repute and disdain upon Jezebel’s Keynesian economic theory, but she studied during the day while her clientele were nursing their hangovers and danced at night for cold hard currency that she put in a Roth IRA to drive down her capital gains. Smelling like strawberry lip gloss all the time was not easy, but she was a refined exotic, yet entirely approachable in sum and substance.


Cascade Blueberry Wild Ale, Sometimes a Sour is So Good It Leaves Me With Blue Berries When It Is Gone

Cascade has plenty of incredible rare offerings, but let’s not just sit back and cast garlands upon Oregon and their amazing case per person law. Sure, I love sitting around like the next guy, waiting for one of the 12 bottles of this month’s rage to come my way. Oh wait, it’s just me? Sorry Oregon, just keep hanging onto your bottles, I will toss up a few Chocolate Rains for the next batch of Ruth. BEER NERDS KNOW WHAT IS HAPEN. Bottom line: Cascade is amazing and their distribution is beyond fantastic. Lazy assholes like myself can hang out online, order, and wait until the blueberry goodness just arrives on his doorstep. Shit is cray.

Murder this beer wrote scopin old ass beer drinkers hittin them with that Matlock .45

Cascade Brewing Company, Blueberry Wild Ale, 7.3% abv

A: This has an awesome light purple or a DEEP LAVENDER if you will, radiance to it. The lacing is nice and the microbubbles splash around playfully, thinking of gentler times. The note told me to leave this beer alone, but fuck all that, this beer just took a fantastic journey from Oregon, time to “bust it open and pop a picture with my phone” – Yung Joc.

Please excuse my lack of enthusia- wait what, one of my favorite breweries just made a blueberry sour? Well nevermind, fuck my reader base, they can get their ow-

S: The smell is a fantastic cascade of acidity, musk, borderline Cantillon levels of funk, and of course an awesome blueberry with a blackberry jam presence. It’s like nana made preserves and the whole neighborhood gang is invited to pal along. Oh and nana is a master brewer.

T: The taste has a sharp acidity at the outset and you get the underlying wheat beer aspect like watching your friend drive away with his hand pressed against a blackberry smeared window. The taste is fantastic and simplistic, blueberries for sal, acidity and blueberries for the bears chasing sal. Pretty simplistic really. But the Volkswagen GTI was simplistic and it got countless eurotrash guys laid, so there’s always that. The nice hit of tannins on the gumline adds a minor bit of complexity but really it is a 2 person White Stripes ensemble and keeps it grass roots through and through. Bottomline, this is a fantastic wild ale and I recommend it highly, get your messy jam sesh on.

Sometimes when I am tasting an incredible sour from Cascade I stop and realize there is another aspect and wait, what is that brett- wait no, there's a spoiler on my spoiler. The end result keeps my drag co-efficient so low.

M: The mouthfeel is as to be expected from a blonde ale base that has gone all apeshit in souring barrel treatment and bunked up with berries for months on end. You come out sweet, but secretly so tart inside. I am not saying that the blueberries raped the shit out of the blonde ale, please, this is a family blog. But before the Goof Troop activists get all nuts, I will say that the drying is minimal and the blueberries add a sweetness that makes you crave the next sip.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the sour notes don’t slow shit down. I dont even know why this isn’t an outright session sour, having less than 2 bottles of this in your cellar is pointless like an Uzi with a beam, mashing out on sours in a ‘cuzi full of steam. I ordered plenty of bottles and sure enough, I will ship plenty of these to midwest traders and then I will be a whiny bitch in 2 months about how I can’t taste this amazing beer. Boo to the fuckin hoo up in this piece.

Wait, you are a sour, with blueberries, from Oregon...
Did we just become best friends?

Narrative: “No, no please just the wash-” Rodney Blahberre opined to the car care specialists. He wondered to himself why every position had now changed itself to a new lofty title. Servers were table maintenance technicians, janitors were municipal waste engineers, Lawyers were still giant assholes, but beauticians that were failures still called themselves “stay at home wives,” which irked old Rodney. Being the empirical beast he was, Rodney laid out all the plans of a failed, boring, wife-based business: a hair and antique boutique. No one walked in with an express desire to buy a wagon wheel and obtain a shitty perm but, well, here we were at Rodney Antiquated Everything: Cuts and Huts Emporium. One day, Rodney realized that this business model, without the assistance of subservient wages, would soon capsize, he hired a series of Portugese people, whom he offensively referred to as “Porties.” The level of racism was staggering around the Cuts and Huts Emporium, particularly to those poor Iberians. After taking a brief tour concerning the failed Southern American colonies and the relics left behind, he lost interest outright. His business was in ruin and he couldn’t offload all these Mayan artifacts. Rodney popped a delicious blueberry in his mouth and left the amazing history to other highhanded sources but everyone in his tour group recognized that he had just accomplished something berrincredible.


Cascade Sang Royal, In Oregon they Call Sours a Royale With Cheese, They Have the Metric System.

When I first started drinking sours, I would go fuck around and try those $20 normal Cascade sours, and they would beat my ass mercilessly. I landed this beer to show it I’m not afraid of it. It’s like Pennywise the Clown, except I’m getting drunk in California instead of Maine. Holy mixed metaphors.

Another gem from Oregon's artisan beer scene. WHERE THEY BE GETTING ALL THE CHERRIES FROM THO.

Cascade Sang Royal, 9.35% abv, Wild Ale

I can’t hype this beer anymore than saying it is a pretty rare sour and here’s what the bottle has to say about itself, unabashedly: “Sang Royal is a big NW Style Sour Red Ale that spends over six months of lactic fermentation and aging in oak wine barrels. Sang Royal is from select stock that is matured an additional six months in Port barrels and refermented on Bing Cherries.” Alright, let’s do this shit.

A: The appearance is a deep murky ruby that looks like a burnt brick color that barely gives up the ruby when you put some light on it. Give a guy some ruby, ya know? It’s got an eggwhite frothy head with microbubbles that dont go anywhere, they just post up in the chill zone and look all light maroon.

When I knew that there was a box with 4 of these gems coming to my house, I looked like this all week, watching for the Fedex man.

S: You get a sour fuji apple smell, tart candy, sour ropes, maraschino cherry, and sour warhead smells. This has a great smell to it and doesn’t introduce a wide bevy of funk to the olfactory aspects. The OLFACTORY IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS. If you agitate it, much like a Django Reinhardt concert, things get mildly funky.

T: This has a huge tart bite at the outset that reminds me of those skittles that used to be covered in sugar and road salt. It pans away to a wide shot of two cherries, both tart to the core acrimoniously discussing the ongoings of the plum factory. Starwipe to the headmaster grape who oversees the entire operation and roll the credits. This isn’t as sour as the lambic and crazy geuze painstrippers overseas but it is a great sour with tons of stone fruit and juiciness to it to compliment the initial sour shock that it presents. It’s like that movie KIDS, where you think it’s just gonna be overwhelming and shock footage but then they reel you in, except this beer doesn’t rape a teenage girl at the end. Oh, spoiler alert.

This beer is a hybrid of something badass and something dirty, but the result is a sick cherry massacre.

M: The mouthfeel is dry, as you can expect from something this juicy and tart, the old gumline deconstruction sets to work hard with those juicy juice notes drilling your soft enamel like pilsbury crescent rolls. AND YOU NEVER GET ENAMEL BACK.

D: This beer becomes more drinkable as it warms because the cherries finally get their shit together and stop letting sour just hit on their chicks and they mobilize an offensive. I could put away a bottle of this, but then the pesky lambic tum tum sets in and you get the bubbleguts due to the crazy acidity so I GUESS you should share this one. For the haters.

A couple bottles of this and I'd be communicating with a bell asking for more sour cherry potations.

Narrative: The broken Stairclimber took on a life of its own at this Winnipeg gym. Carl Delgado sat 10 meters away and just enjoyed the scene, shrewdly sipping his cherry smoothie, enjoying the deeply puckering acidity boosts that he added to it. “So obviously Kaitlyne is THREATENED BY ME-” a frail minx of 19 years prattled on into her iPhone while blindly ascending onto the 5 foot high platform. She was promptly served a platter of shit and swiftly caressed the sweet embrace of the collapsed stairs and recounted the potential for legal action to her equally vapid phone counterpart. Carl nodded and smiled, this was better than the entire CBS lineup. With this endless spring of dark, sour levity, how would he move on to other pursuits? He could watch college undergrads simply fall down all day long. A sip of sour cherry smoothie was all he needed to garner contentment in his soul.