Drie Fountenein Schaerksbaek Kriek, Just Try Pronouncing That Without Sounding Like a Beer DBag (BDB)

You’ve been to the bottle shop. You’ve seen this Belgian treat for $39.99 and you’ve always wondered if you’re worth it. Let’s pop your Sch. cherry in today’s review. You are worth it to me.

Get ready for some face melting, and I don’t mean from cat dander.

Drie Fountenein Schaerksbaek Kriek
6% abv, kriek, no shit.

A: It glows a transparent crimson hue with magenta notes at the edges. The middle carbonation is unparalleled. It looks like a red champagne, but more refined and people actually buy this. No lacing, no stickiness, just cherry sticky shurikens cast pell mell.

Poured a radioactive cherry beer, my face was like-

S: There is an intense drying of cherry skins and cabernet tannins. It feels a bit vaporous but fulfilling. It smells really dirty, like a cherry locker room, where they engage in all their tawdry cherry muskiness. You know the type, the movies are under your bed as we speak.

T: It just infiltrates and the cherry is clearly the hostage in this drying, hostile currant raid. It is incredibly crisp and it empties the vault of your palate and smashes the glass case within your bitter zones and imparts a mild hopiness that is almost imperceptible to the incredible acidity left behind. It hurts my tum tum, but it tastes like burning in a good way.

Feel that acidity light up your chest, embrace the GI problems.

M: It feels like I am being worked over by the cherry mafia, It is crisp and amazing for a moment, then I feel my gum line recede when the incredible acidic flavors impart their magic. It is worth it. Each swallow is crisp like champagne and beckons for more.

D: This is incredibly drinkable if you have a fortitude for incredibly tart hectoring. I could merk bomber after bomber, but I am not of the everyman opinion. Most will give this an offputting vinegar rating and complain about the tartness while I am shooting it all over my chest like a victorious Nascar entrant. That’s how I roll in the kriek.

Feed lambics to 95 lbs girls, observe results.

Narrative: “I love this Farmer’s Market, but I LOVE YOUR CHERRIES MOST OF ALL FARMER JOB!” he smiled wryly and handed the customer her 2 lbs of organic cherries. “I would KILL for these cherries on the east coast!” She turned on her heel and Farmer Job exhaled “she doesn’t know old boy, take a breather, relax.” He pushed past the back curtain into his back lab. The truth was that his entire cherry empire was fueled on the blood of felled cherry trees. He looked at their mangled forms, bleeding out, their saccharine juices imparting life to his super cherries. “Soon, soon my grafts will impart tartness beyond belief.” “BUT HOW MANY TREES MUST GIVE THEIR LIVES FOR YOU GOALS!” an apparition called from his potted apothecary. Farmer Job fell to his knees not unlike the character whom his name is unabashedly derived. “OH GARDENING TENANTS! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME SO!” At that moment, the most succulent cherry blossom opened in his face. It was at those times that Farmer Job was the weakest, that there was one set of footprints in the cherry soil that the super cherries carried him.


Drie Fonteinen Hommage, Paying Hommage to all my broken bottles lost in shipment, RIP

So this beast took quite the fucking effort to land. As far as I know, not many bottles of this made it stateside and the jump across the pond involved quite a few amazing bottles and, in classic form, this bottle came in a lamp box all the way from Ireland. It didn’t speak the language, just a drain on the system, but I married it, so it’s chill. Well let’s see if all the hype is worth this sour unicorn.

This beer should pay Hommage to my Fedex account, so many damn boxes and an international trade to land this ruby bastard.

Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Lambic – Fruit | 6.00% ABV

I remember some nay sayer once told me “Don’t try for that beer, it’s too hard to lock down and it’s basically 3F Sch. Kriek but with raspberries.” Let me be the first to say, no fucking way. This beer is incredible in a waay even beyond the way that Sch. Kriek is amazing. I drank this side by side with Blabaer and I think this one carried the day. Just look at it, it has a radiant glow like fairy afterbirth. The lacing settles down and lets the berries and complex base beer shine like a telecaster sustained note. It doesn’t need lacing, no parlor tricks like a huge head, just balls out acid and musky complexity. You don’t like raspberries? Well too bad, this is like pink interior in a Murcielago, you fucking deal with it.

When this box arrived from Europe, I was all like this, shit was so cash.

Ok so, maybe there are some similarities to this and Sch. (cant spell it, too lazy, TL;DR) Kriek, but it is similar in the way that the way that a base v6 mustang is similar to a GT500 in that women can maybe tell the difference. Those of us who aren’t sexist generalizers will have something to say. There is a musky mossy cardboard finish to the nose of this beer. The raspberry notes do not fuck arond, even with age they are like sage old wise berries and smell delicious and almost too archetypical to be real, like this is a type of lambic bubble bath. The smell makes me think that this will melt my face like Christopher Lloyd in who Framed Roger Rabbit. Toontown up in this bitch.

This beer is mesmerizing and plays with your mind, in a sage wise old way.

There is an super drying tart raspberry taste to it that just tears the enamel off of your teeth. Your taste buds run for cover, but there will be no shelter provided under this oppressive regime. You get the tannins but then a sweetness comes in to stop the dental abuse, a halfway house. The drying nature combined with the raspberry gentleness makes this a bit more refined than Scharsbeer (I tried). It is delicious and caustic at the same time, like a well balanced Taylor Swift album. AND JUST AS BITTERING.

Despite the transatlantic voyage, violent yet classy mouthfeel, and incredible tartness, I love this lil pumpkin. My taste buds are like when Scarlett comes back to Antebellum south after Sherman’s march but, in death there is rebirth. Maybe my sour zones wont be such pussies next time. It is incredibly delicious and I am sure another vintage of this would be amazing. I just don’t know any average person that you could pop this open with at a ski lodge or, on a Grayhound bus to meet your baby’s momma. No pedestrian endeavors here, just raspberry violence and infidelity.

You taste a sip of this Belgium gem and want to embrace its European nature, kinda.


Drie Fonteinen, Tuverbol Lambic, TuverBOL so Hard, But First Tuvers Gotta Find Me

First, mad props to my Irish overseas homie for this one, you know who you are. I always was curious about this uberlambic, so wait, it’s a lambic but it has 10.5% abv, what’s going on here? Sounds like a sorority date rape potation if I ever saw one. The confusion sets in…before the doctor…can even close the door…OH I FEEL THIS LAMBIC KICKING IN [C:/endLivereference.exe]

It's like a regular lambic with a cold air intake, bolt on headers and a cat back exhaust, it doesn't gain much but what it gains IS SO ILLMATIC.

Man, today’s content feels a little weak, might as well pad things out with some pictures, business as usual on this shitty beer site, right?

Initially I thought the prospect of a 10.5% lambic sounded so hard and I was wilding out backflipping like Tony Stewart up in this bitch.

Drie Fonteinen, 2007 Tuverbol, 10.5% abv lambic

A: Well, so far so good, it looks like a lambic, with carbonation lower than a 64 impala. If Doesjel is the baby, this is the abusive father of uncarbonated lambics. The radiance is alluring though, nips all blasting with interest like the freezer aisle.

When I tasted this, I was like aight den, then the alcohol and chardonnay finish kicked in and shit got real.

S: The smell is on the rails too, looks like next stop Lambicville, you get a lemon zest, mild funk that is like the straw at a pumpkin patch and you’re pretty sure that there’s preteen piss in there, but in a musky alluring way that a tiger would find palpable.

T: Wait what. What is going on here? This isn’t lambicville at all, it’s more like Silent Hill. The zesty sour notes are gone and in its place is this sweet but entirely creepy old man who keeps talking about something “rustling [his] jimmies” which is offputting but interesting at the same time. You get a tannic chardonnay presence that isn’t drying but doesn’t really care if you check into its spooky old inn either. The wispy vapors leave some oakiness and grassy notes but ultimately subside into a ghostly almost chlorine aspect mixed with dry white wine character. The alcohol is well integrated and just shakes chains and makes a moaning sound.

It looks like a cute little lambic and OH SHIT IT IS RUINING ALL OF MY THINGS-

M: Ultimately you go upstairs and find a bloodsplattered journal from Dr. Mouthfeel and you find out about his palate experiments that apparently went horribly wrong. Town is cursed yadda yadda, the mouthfeel is actually my favorite part of this beer. If this is 10.5% then sign me up for Sigma Kappa because this might as well be a Peach Bellini. The alcohol just hangs out and slaps people on the back and provides a good old times. There’s a bit of brackish drying and some white grape notes but those are incidental to the refreshing crisp character of this beer. It’s pretty cutty through and through.

Sometimes I feel like something is just not made for my palate. Pic related.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, particularly for this 10.5% abv. If that is above 10% alcohol, then 50/50 Eclipse has something to learn about genteel manners and how to court a palate. You just dont grab for the inner thigh sweet zones, a soft handed dance of lemon, grapefruit and must integrates the inevitable groping much more coherently. Gotta massage the lambic oils, fuck, things got massageatistic real quick there.

Ultimately there is nothing wrong with the embrace of a 10.5% sweet lil belgian treat, even if you know it will someday rip your face off.

Narrative: “Fer fucks sake Taylor, give it a rest and come have a brew with your Uncle Skeeter!” Taylor Pierre was not taking nicely to his exchange family and, despite their kind notions, his host family in South Carolina was not what he expected. At first he thought that the quasi-coastal weather would be perfect for his high school experiment harvesting live cultures for his ale projects- “GODDD DAMNITTT, PEEURRR! You just missed the sickest slam, Rockster just put the damn near people’s whole arm up on CENA!” Aside from IMDB, Taylor PEEURR was unsure of the logistics of this brutal foreign sport and instead preferred orienteering and Pétanque. He lumbered into the living room/dining room/den/conservatory and wrestled with his size 0 jeans and adjusted his 3/4 sleeve cardigan in the sticky southern climate. “And then, watch watch, so McMahon is gonna be like ‘the fuck you ain’t gonna complete your CONTRACT!'” his host “Uncle Skeeter” insisted on wearing his class of ’94 letterman jacket and rubbing the varsity wrestling letter for good luck and would not have his favorite sport impugned with inquiries into its legitimacy or credence. “AND THEN…wait…OH FUCCKKKK…I thought Rey Mysterio was IN RETIREEEMENTTT!” the swill known as Camo left a lasting impression on his adolescent memoires and he sobbed gently while thinking of Bordeaux fields later that evening.


Armand’4 Zomer, Such a Huge Zomer for this, Geuze, srsly.

OH SHIT ANOTHER TOP 100 BEER? You have got to be kidding me. Tis the season indeed, hot in the streets, killing the mixtape scene right now.

Anyway, here’s an expensive ass rare beer from Belgium. For a change.

I think I am getting a Zomer just looking at this.

Ok so this is another one of those 40 euro bottles that cost another $25 to ship to the U.S. that everyone is so jazzed about, and well, it’s basically a perfect geuze. That is all there is to it. Werf it.

Armand’4 Oude Geuze Zomer (Summer) 6% abv

A: This beer is radiant and downright beautiful. The carbonation is a bit obnoxious, but I guess being put in a box and being shipped from Belgium to Colorado to California and then greeting my ugly face leaves something to be desired and the reaction was substantial. Accidentally all the carbonation. But the beer itself has a brilliant yellow gold sort of hue and a deep cloudiness that just cascades sheets of bubbles like a malfunctioning dishwasher, you aint even mad tho.

A beer to share with your son. Not even mad tho. Amazing.

S: I got a huge floral aspect to beer that feels like laying on a cotton blanket in a poppyfield or some other shit that dryer sheet commercials depict my life to be. There’s a nice apricot and tart lemon and its like rays of ethereal light up into my nose holes. It’s like opening the Ark of the Covenant and discovering delicious fruit instead of hateful hessidic rage.

T: The taste is incredibly layered and complex, let me eat the oat pieces and try to get the marshmellow ratio up to explain this. Ok so you get this funky like hot basement musk that turns into sweettarts immediately then washes into an acidic note like a harsh white wine but in a delicious citrus way. It just really shines in this department and leaves very little to be desired except a bit more fruits, but hey, go get on Toucan Sam’s shit for that, it’s perfect in nearly every other way. What do you want from this beer you ingrate?

Alright so pricey perfectly executed geuze isn't your thing? How about a mouse? There you go, ingrate.

M: The mouthfeel is interesting in that it, literally, burns my lips with acidity. The tingle is similar to when I drank Goose Island Rare and there was that hot flash of tingling on my lips, except this time it was the liquid sun spraying summer all over the place. It expands with a Faulkner depth and clarity that subsides into a dry sourness, also like Faulkner, ba dum tish.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I kinda regret taking this whole 750ml to my domepiece. These bottles usually go for like $90 so I guess I don’t win the sharing badge, but, it’s still exceptional in every way. I played Battlefield 3 feeling all like it was summer and my lean frame was embracing the verdant hillside, skipping and tossing marigolds aloft. Shit was so cash.

This absolutely gets the Seal. Top 5 geuze. Go get you one.

Narrative: Summer in Morris, Illinois had a special radiance to it. The rays felt like they were delivered especially for each resident as a golden shaft from Helios himself. The residents went about their business, yet each and every one of the 13,636 residents knew that a special radiant love waited to embrace them right when they stepped out the door to embrace that Illinois soil. Skip Masterson looked up to the sun and smiled nodding knowingly as he headed to his job at the Dresden Power Plant. The residents looked not unlike the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast, a man doffed his cap to Skip while carrying a wicker basket of baguettes and a fresh pitcher of lemonade. Just another picturesque morning in sweet Morris. The summer sun welcomed the Lyondell Chemical Company trucks into town and the children skipped and frolicked in the glow of the summer sun, running after the ammonia sulfide inside the trucks, playing with toy guns and playing pitchpennies into a tin can enjoying the sweet glow of a perfect metropolitan suburban life. Summer was a gift from god and embraced each resident with a sweet fulfilling handshake that pulls in for a comforting hug.