1993 Fantome Ete, A Ghost That is Old Enough to Drink Itself – TRANSUBSTANTIATION INDEED

If you got into beer in mid-2013, please exit this review immediately and keep spouting your typical “FANTOME IS BAND AIDS” rhetoric, this review isn’t for you.  Go attend a homebrew meeting or cicerones anonymous while we discuss some grown ticker shit.

Today we have a geriatric gem from before the Spin Doctors were cool.  TRICK STATEMENT: Spin Doctors were never cool.  Regardless, this is a ghost from the bygone era, some early 90’s discman shit that was pumpin hot in the streets of Soy back when people were watching DOUG and still dialing 411.  This was right around the time that Fantome became “Fantome” and not Brassiere Prignon I believe, but before the iconic ghost showed up.  The early bottles had these creepy bas relief women on them which almost evoke more of a spectre haunting vibe than the cartoon ghost.

Anyway, it is Ete, except 22 years old.  JUST HOW YOU LIKE EM AMIRI- predictable age jokes.  We still doin em.

Jared from Subway is eating fresher than we are for today's review.  HE BE GETTING THEM FRESH VINTAGES.

Jared from Subway is eating fresher than we are for today’s review. HE BE GETTING THEM FRESH VINTAGES.

Fantome, Soy, Belgium

Saison, 8% abv

A:  The label unsurprisingly looks like shit and I half expected this whole affair to be a nightmarish descent into buttery cardboard world, getting my urethra swapped with rolled up sepia photos.  WHO HASNT BEEN THROUGH THAT. But the carb was substantial even after two decades, it pours with a pillowy cloud of retention and a hazy murkiness that shined radiant and turbid. The cork was in really good shape too, not the necrophage blackness you usually get with old bottles, them Brabantiae corks be looking like wet death cast upon the Swamp of Sorrow.



S:  The nose is a magical musky melange of honduran fruit harvesters sleeping in an old rickety barn next to some sweaty leatherworkers.  The chubs were not insubstantial and the sheet depth of crazy lemony goodness coupled with wet Brooks leather saddles, crushed leaves after a rain, and a sort of brulee’d orange peel rounded out the experience.  It has age, in that inexplicable amazing way that isn’t quite at “thrift store/elemtary school yearbook” levels of oxidation, but just old enough to put it on you because it isn’t self conscious about itself anymore it is mature and through with all the games and it fucks you back in a selfless way that has been through enough bad cellars to not care anymore, just primal nose fucking, no need to call back or put on airs, an authentic mature presentation that you hold in austere reverence simply because it aint about all that drama.

I shared this with Alex from Upright Brewing, a halogen filled romance that would span across time.

I shared this with Alex from Upright Brewing, a halogen filled romance that would span across time.

T:  The taste has this cheesy, gristy, dupont left in a time machine sort of creaminess to it like the water from Oikos yogurt.  You get Trix cereal milk, clementines, peeled tangerines, this brie rind, a really strange like earthy oiliness from some budding diacetyl tones that reminds me of some cave aged cheddar, and a long citrusy herbal closer that just lingers in the air like the sustain of a hollow body guitar.  The whole affair cannot be imitated and the age takes those regular tomes to crazy new depths in the crypt.

This is an exceptional beer from a bygone era of bricklined mash tuns and 1 hectaliter batches, foraging for random items, and making beer for local consumption. It is inimitable fresh and with the brett metabolization given years to perfect its craft, it is like when Edmond Dantes gets out of jail in the Count of Monte Cristo and he has all these bad ass new skills and you can only golf clap at the revenge he takes.  OH SHIT SORRY I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO READ DUMAS SHIT OK BACK TO THE TWILIGHT REFERENCES.

Old ghosts inhabit you make you want to touch the no-no and listen to Tiger Army

Old ghosts inhabit you make you want to touch the no-no and listen to Tiger Army

This would probably be at the pinnacle of fuckery to be like “seek this one out guize!” since I will probably never come across a ghost this ancient again, unless I get hella into Sepultura, tarot cards and exorcism, alas I have already graduated from the 8th grade. SHUCKS.

You review grocery store hefe’s and people say you are falling off, you review 50 bottle runs of Summation, people say you jumped the shark with homebrew reviews, but with 22 year old bottles of Fantome the WAT Index is so scrambled that I am confident people will just write this DDB shit off altogether.

Good riddance. the beer game was better when it was just Dre, Scarface and Esco.


Fantôme Saison D’Erezée – Été, Slaying that Elusive Ghost Whale.

If you know your saisons, you better have your PK meter ready and Fantome should be on your radar. You may have had Hiver, maybe Noel, or even Printemps if you are a crafty ticker. Hats off to you in your ghost hunting efforts. In today’s review I slay the purple gear god tier boss of Ghost saisons: Fantome Ete. This hasn’t come to the United States in years, and even when this was released, it was incredibly limited. How do I know this? It has a 163 wants, 1 got ratio on a certain site and is as elusive as MewTwo to get your hands on. So in honor of Saison Marathon crushing the non-existent competition, let’s get your Masterballs our for today’s review

Had to lay out so many traps , and service so many Traps, to land this elusive phantasm.

Had to lay out so many traps , and service so many Traps, to land this elusive phantasm.

Brasserie Fantôme
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 8.00% ABV

A: This is a messy orange juice smoothie looking beast. I mean seriously, go look at the clarity on something like Surly Cynic and then compare it to this pulpy microcarbed slimer. There are fine microbubbles throughout with a wispy head that escapes as quickly as the ghost appeared. This looks like an Orange Julius that you get from the mall, and like the mall beverage, you can drink it while scamming for 9th graders. I am not here to tell you how to live your life. Dany Prignon was a little disappointed at the lack of mousse, but I was not disappointed because the mouthfeel was off the charts incredible, but more on that creamypie in a bit.

When a saison tastes like juice, who cares if you know cursive, pound that shit.

When a saison tastes like juice, who cares if you know cursive, pound that shit.

S: This is just Jamba Juice and Robecks demolished right into your glass. I remember going into this thinking that some serious pepper/clove was going to be present but it seriously just went orange pulp, apricot, tangelo, grapefruit (acidic though, not like mid alpha acid hops), and a crazy pineapple waft to it. There is a brett musk to it that is acidic as well, like rolling peaches in some old comic books, more bomb than Bullet Bill. I would kill several members of One Direction for another bottle of this.

T: This is incredibly lactic and comes out the gates swinging with a tart apple, high pulp orange juice, pineapple, and a sort of creamsicle vanilla finish to it that is just fantastic. I have never had another saison like this, it is incredibly turbid and messy, but its like an episode of You Cant Do That On Television where you secretly like being slimed by this juicy ghost. Get it on my face plz. If you have had Extra Sour, imaging that beer, with absolutely zero booziness to it, less dry, and more sticky and sour throughout. It is hard to make comparisons to this since it is so unique, but if you took Hill Farmstead Mimosa and added a puree of peaches to it and a smashed up Bisquick roll into it, this is what you would get. Absolutely amazing.



M: This is the creamiest saison that I have ever had. I can safely say that there is a serious yogurt aspect to this and the swallow has this sweet soy milk thing happening that compliments the fruit in an anechoic chamber of pleasure. Only ghosts can know the peace from this rustling. There is zero dryness to this and it is juice all the way throughout. If you have had one of those Jarritos sodas where they emulate the Orange and Vanilla popsicles, you will get an idea of what is going on here. This is bizarre and comes across like something that Funky Buddha would hazard, but it takes a mad genius in Soy, Belgium to inject that phantom.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and not only does not have any trace of alcohol to it, but it seriously tastes like it is good for you. I cannot fathom how there are no adjuncts in this beer because the fruit profile is so pronounced. In line with the other strange/rare reviews from Saison Marathon, I cannot stress highly enough that you need to lock this one down, which equates to a huge cock stomp to my readerbase, I know. If you can’t land this, dont spray liquid nitrogen on your labias and smash them with a hammer just yet, Dany Prignon and that ghost hunters may make more next year. We can only hope, otherwise bust out that Ouija Board.

When this ghost finally arrived on my doorstep I was all like

When this ghost finally arrived on my doorstep I was all like

Narrative: Coming this fall to SYFY NETWORK: Ghost Listings, a show where experienced Realtors are SUED by former clients for not disclosing that the house that they placed into escrow WAS AS HAUNTED AS SELENA GOMEZ’S VAGINA. “When we first moved in, I figured, oh it is Bloomington, Indiana, hearing people moaning is normal. When I saw the walls start to bleed, I was pretty sure that this wasn’t the garden variety midwest depression that I was told about.” A cursory glance around the turn of the century Craftsman home would not reveal any imperfections, but slowly Mr. Walmsly noticed that something wasn’t right. “Well our daughter started talking about how Purdue was a ‘pretty nice school’ you know, giving up on life, suicidal ideations, that sort of thing.” After living in the home for 3 months, Dave Walmsly discovered a copy of Alien Ant Farm’s “TRUant” in the attic and knew that no living thing could own such a thing. “I was pretty convinced that it was haunted at that point, no conscious being would put themselves through that.”

Our team caught up with Chase Eldridge, noted Indiana Real Estate mogul and discussed the transaction. “This paper just says, ‘this is a matter of GRAVE importance’ what is this, is anyone with your crew even an attorney?” he quipped to our investigative reporters, immediately hostile to our story. “I just don’t know what you are even saying, so in this document it says that the ghost from that house is suing me? Is that even possible, like who does the ghost have jurisdiction over, sorry guys I have a 2pm meeting I have to-” it was clear from his evasive maneuvers that HE HAD SOMETHING TO HIDE FROM THE GHOST LISTINGS CREW. We went out back in the property to the orange/lemon/apricot garden and saw a smoky white mist of collected particles, sobbing gently under the portico. “He just, he said I could stay, and then he started touching the tip of my tail, my ghost tail here, like in a jerking motion, slowly at first-” it was clear at that point that Chase Eldrige was not only a real estate deviant, he was a ghost fucker as well. Another case closed on GHOST LISTINGS.





Fantome Dark White BBB Saison, Black Hat, Black Shades, Dark White Ghost, Oh Behave.

Dany Prignon kills it in the saison scene and spares no hides when it comes to strange new takes on what was almost a completely lost style. This is my favorite style of beer from one of my absolute favorite breweries. I try to swing things around from brewery to brewery, but this particular beer was so damn strange and phenomenal that I had to give props to the ghosthunters in Soy and tell the haters to count those funky spokes. Bring your flashlight, we are telling ghost stories.

The BBB stands for Better Business Bureau, which is srs bzness in Belgium.

Brasserie Fantôme
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 4.00% ABV

A: This does not look like your typical saison outing and it looks more like a biere de garde in execution but aint nobody complaining. The carbonation is actually ratcheted back from the usual “cork hitting the ceiling levels that this crazy ghost loves to present. These bottles can be dangerous. There is a deep copper meets watery bronze look to this that goes off the beaten hay/golden/orange juice look of many other saisons, but ain’t nobody complaining. I enjoy the light lacing, little spotty foam like a jacuzzi that has too many people in it.

If you open this at a tasting, you instantly become the pimp of the year

S: This has a light lactic tartness on the nose that is faint and reminds me of Fuji Appleas, you get a little bit of musk like puppy fur, and there’s some hay and faint herbal aspects to this. Everything feels like it has been turned down a couple notches. It is a gentle Fantome, the most chill of the ghosts, timid but sweet in execution.

T: This has an incredible musk meets light tartness to it like lightly salted hawaiian rolls. The mild honey pokes its head through the curtains and sees that its stepdad, lemon peel, has attended the rehearsal. All is well. This is simple but incredibly refreshing in the sweet meets light funk and light tart. Everything is just gentler and drapes a bretty shoulder over your shoulders to comfort you.

If you plan on getting into Fantomes, say goodbye to your expensable income. srs.

M: This is incredibly light and crisp as the same time. The watery aspects wash away clean, leaving you no time to ruminate over that should have been. The splishy splashy aspects make this on the Hill Farmstead Clara level of refreshing drinkable. If this bottle wasn’t $15.99, it might actually be sessionable, but I don’t know how hard you ball. I could drink this all day while watching a Night Court marathon, but that is how I roll.

D: Again, just exceptional in the way that it is present and memorable but doesn’t make the entire date about itself. It lets you tell canned anecdotes and nods lovingly in a refreshing manner. I love how the crisp tartness washes away immediately and the light funk gives it a solid backbone to lean its ghostly ass upon. My only complaint is that a beer this refreshing and simple should COST LESS, but that is hardly a fair criticism to lay upon the beer itself. Beer don’t know about no economics.

This is a little darker than I expected, but no one is disappointed.

Narrative: Construction of the trebuchet was not going as planned. Despite Leonardo’s assurances of improved design, the siege would invariably take longer than anticipated and the fields of Milan would remain in Ducal control. Salvatorri doffed his cap and kicked a rock in front of him and looked out upon the Palazzo. “We-a never-a gonna finish this-a siege!” he bemoaned in what could only be deemed a completely racist dialect. The counter balance was all off and the projectiles wouldn’t make it over the dominating granite walls, design to repel Papal control. Just then, a fantasm appeared out of the olive groves, glowing a deep golden hay color, wearing an anachronistic bowler cap. “Weeeeell hey fellas! Plannin a castle takeover? THAT SURE SOUNDS SWELL!” the ghost smiled and draped his ethereal arms around the 15th century soldiers. “mio Dio!” Salvatorri exclaimed, but was instantly put at ease by the gentle approach and amiable smile of this old ghost. Some would call him, Booberryesque. The lazy approach to things and finesse put all of the Romagna troops at ease and soon enough, the old catapult was as good as new. Later, while impressing Milanese people into forced servitude and accepting plenary indulgences for killing traitors, that old easy going ghost showed up again, wearing a pair of overalls and a straw hat. Salvatorri continued pushing a dirk into a wailing serf and winked back and that old trickster ghost.


Fantôme Extra Sour Special Original Creation, The Tartest Ghost To Inhabit Your Liver

It is no secret that I love saisons, within that penumbra exists Fantome, a ghost who haunts the cockles of my heart. So what happens when Fantome releases ~600 bottle release of extra sour, incredible saison? The world fucking ends, that’s what. I had the hardest time landing this. I tried to hit up my Hill Farmstead friends and they sold out immediately, then I bought one online, OOPS OVERSOLD IT, so they returned my order. I gave up hope. All was lost. UNTIL MY FRIEND TIM SAVED THE DAY FOR NO REASON. So here’s to Fantome, here’s to Dany Prignon, and here’s to Tim. Saison week just wouldn’t feel right without an epic Fantome up in the mix.

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.

Brasserie Fantôme
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 10.00% ABV

A: This is just a radiant turbid murky little lightning bolt that looks messy, but inviting at the same time, like sticky cinnamon rolls. The carbonation, as usual, is out of control. Some Fantomes you just set down and let them get their shit together because you look like a 17 year old pouring his first beer with these saisons. The lacing is minimal but the whole glass just radiates light like when you corrode something in Borderlands, yellow edition. This is staggeringly pretty, Ithaca Brute levels of prettiness.

At 10% abv, this doesn’t feel ruff at all.

S: The smell takes the normal saison offering and kicks up the lactic and pineapple elements to a juicy new realm. There’s a huge funk monster that is musky like wet leather and makes you think you left your bike outside in the rain. You get a slight element of peach and pear from the acidity and some old attic aspects from the closer. A strange, yet incredible quaff to it.

T: This is the smoothest 10% that I think I have ever encountered. The abv is masked brilliantly and there’s a creamy tartness at the outset like an orange julius, You get some residual wheat aspects from the middle body but it washes away into a funky pumpkin patch hay bale sort of musk. The whole beer is aggressive and takes saisons to dangerous new territory.

Fantome is serious business. Let the shortsighted n00bs have all the BA stouts.

M: The mouthfeel is dry, but not excoriating, the abv just sits back and orders the tart drones to do palate strikes. Again, this beer is not SOUR, per se. I have read reviews where douchenozzles complain that it wasn’t some lactic bomb that makes Cantillon blush. This is about as tart as a saison can get while being remotely to style. Some would argue that the 10% abv and huge fruit presence almost takes this into a new realm but to me it feel like a heavyweight boxer who tricked officials into letting him tear up the lower classes. On that note, this bottle was $35, so I doubt many lower classes are enjoying this.

D: This is scary drinkable, to the point where it hits the “MARVEL vs. CAPCOM 2” level where you can trick the fuck out of your friends with this trojan horse of a beer. You can drink this bad boy anywhere. Pull this out at a baby shower, enjoy your 10% treat and it looks like pineapple Ocean Spray and no one is the wiser. So, someone hook me up with another bottle please.

This beer takes saisons to SHOCKING NEW LEVELS. Tap low punch repeatedly to recover.

Narrative: Jerry’s Juice Emporium was failing miserably. First and foremost, people in Nebraska had an aversion to produce on par with 15th century Marseilles serfs. The midwest contingency just did not see what natural things growning on trees had to offer when Brach’s could make fruit snacks that were far more portable. One day, Jerry had the ultimate idea of leaving fermenting barrels of apricot and orange preserves mixed with the wheatgrass out back to make a SUPER SMOOTHIE BOOST. The usual crowd from Curves would pass, or sometimes enjoy a 700 calorie Milk Chocolate Protein MooMax shake, but never fruit. “Wait, what’s this here, HUNGER GAMES SMOOTHIE!” one patron who was likely named Tanya exclaimed. “Well no, it says hunger grain, but you, nevermind, sure.” She hurriedly ordered the juicy hay concoction and immediately felt as rosy as when she was 16 years old, just prior to her first child. “Imma keep my eye on you! I BE FEELING LIKE KATNISS ON THIS ONE!” The high alcohol content was completely masked and more empty pre-diabetic housewives came in droves. And that is how Belgium conquered the dustbowl. Fin.


Fantome Clos Preal Batch 2, Ghosting Harder than a Terran Nuke

You ever watch a Megadeth video and have no idea what the fuck is going on? That is kinda what is going on with this fantasm. The ornate packaging is so high handed for the amazing artisinal fantome saisons that you are accustomed to, but you feel special. This was only available in Belgium as far as I know and the hefty 10% abv caught my eye. I love this brewery and this style, so let’s see if Fantome continues to exorcise the dead in today’s review:

Ghosting harder than a Terran nuke.

Brasserie Fantôme
Bière de Garde | 10.00% ABV

A: This is as fantome as it gets, nice eggshell carbonation that releases the crypt with billowing white foam. The cork is released as willingly as a Mexican parking ticket, with less corruption. The golden hues have a cloudy brassy tone to them that keep things in the saison cut. Black strap you know what that’s for.

At the outset, I am not sure what it is that I am celebrating with this bottle. RIDE THAT GHOST YOU PUSSY.

S: This has a strange waft at first, not the imperial apples and hay that I was expecting, no this beer has gone down a different road altogether. There is some citrus but it is mostly just funk to the max. I am talking incense dealer at Venice Beach levels of funk. There’s this musk that is kinda like the potted plants aisle at Home Depot and a rich acidity on the backend similar to zested lemons.

T: This is incredibly dry from the outset with a pithy citrus aspect to the finish. The bready notes work to mask the abv amiably. This starts going into a strange new realm of non-saison that I am not confident that I agree with. I wanted more of the citrus aspects, but instead I was treated to a fennel extravaganza, pushing fox tails into my gullet. Unless I am getting bullied by some poor Bolivian kid at a Fresno elementary school, I don’t need to eat weeds.

These saison ghosts are the best ghosts.

M: This is drier than your Statistic teacher’s sense of humor and lingers just as long. There’s this acrid assault on the gumline that borders on brackish and even Noel Coward thinks this is a bit salty. As this beer warms the abv starts waking up like a Snorolax and, if you’ve ever woken one of those up, you know shit goes off the rails real quick. There’s this charred wheat aspect that makes an entire 750ml tough to finish to myself, but maybe I was meant to share this. Maybe I shouldn’t be such a selfish asshole maybe?

D: This is too big to bee drinkable, too rare to be opened often, too ornate to take places without people clowning the shit out of you, and if you drank this while working on an IROC Camaro, people would seriously question your political affiliation. This was pretty solid and I love Dany Prignon, but just didn’t knock it out of the park for me. I have heard that Extra Sour is the second coming and resurrection of Ann’s ghost, so I would love to pursue this saison love to its logical conclusion. I will keep you P(gh)OSTED!

This mischievous ghost will hit you when you least expect it

Narrative: The first day of 9th grade was especially trying for Thomas Caraway. Tommy Hilfiger overalls were not only dated, but also a wildy unacceptable fashion decision in a world of waiting derision. “HEY FARMER TOMMY WHY DON’T YOU SU-” He learned to tune them out and calmly stride to Geometry with the cool poise of a 14 year old who just wasted $120.00 of his parents money. It wasn’t that he was a bad kid, he was sweet enough, it was just a question of leadership. He wasn’t a follower, but he set himself out as more of a chairman without a board. Thomas was a bold innovator in a market that abhorred change and friction. He pulled out his iphone and began to ironically play Puddle of Mudd around other kids in the cafeteria, much to their chagrin. When he was sweet, it was irascible, when he was bitter, it went too far. He was a strange kid but, you never could really dislike him for it. However, his bucket hat justifiably got struck in the genitals on not an isolated occasion.


Fantome Saison, The Original Belgian Incorporeal Gangster Clapping Funky Stacks Like Rack City

This was the first Fantome that I ever tried and it changed the game for me and saisons. This beer took artistic license and made it clear that old saisons aint nothin to fuck wit. Anyway, I love this brewery, their saisons open up my ghost trap and get my pK meter blasting off the charts. Just don’t cross my streams.

Glassware fail, as usual. I have been pining for a Fantome glass since back when the Fantome ghost was in a corporeal form.

Brasserie Fantôme
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 8.00% ABV

A: Huge grapefruit juice hues, great tiny bubbles, and archipelago lacing rounds out this beer. It has a solid pineapple and orange juice hue with murkiness to it that enhances the glow. Some people complain about the inconsistent nature of this beer but every. single. bottle that I have ever had of this beer had rocked a serious ghost erection through and through.

The ghost will wreck you and embrace you like Bruce Willis in the 6th sense AT THE SAME TIME.

S: There’s huge Belgian spice, nutmeg, clove, and almost brettanomyces funkiness to it. It almost has a wet cardboard muskiness to it. A bit of tartness on the finish that makes this both complex and interesting. There’s some nice fruits like granny smith apples, white grape, and tangelo. This ghost gets all up in your faceholes.

T: Wow, this is unlike any of the other musky spicey saisons that I have previously encountered. This almost has a wild ale character to it. The initial taste is a sweet biscuity hefe taste with some honey notes, the spices kick in and give it the taste of a tart apple baked good. I love the incredible funky sour finish. It is really impressive for the style and imparts an incredible citrus note at the end. As it warms you get some white grapes and tropical fruits. I could drink this all day long and the abv is hidden like a funk ninja.


M: It has a great murkiness that expands with a funky wheat tone. The coating isn’t overly aggressive but its has a great wheat profile that expands into a biscuity chewiness. Just like all the other foamy carbonation superbikes, this Fantome imparts a huge foamy peelout that is satisfying.

D: I initially was not a huge fan of this style but I must tip my hat and admit concessions to this amazing saison. I gave this to my girlfriend and she noted that it was “pretty good” which is the equivalent of a gold star on her scale. I could give this to any, single, person and rest assured that he or she would enjoy it immensely. The universal appeal is off the scale. I am perpetually in search of Fantome gems.

Santa knows how to fucking rage it. If you have Fantomes in your fridge, you can rally so hard.

Narrative: Lakitu loved the cloud life. Day in day out, tossing refreshing spined monsters down upon the earth. “HEY THERE OLD LAKITU! STILL RUINING PEOPLE’S SHIT?” Lakitu gave a knowing nod and proceeded to throw a spiked beast from 300 feet shattering the small dry cleaning business below. Some would say “hey lakitu, why not just be a refreshing cloud, you know, water the crops and all?” Maybe for a standard refreshing cloud, but Lakitu was born with bite. His acidic temperament fueled his anger and made it rain, not unlike Yung Dro in an Atlanta strip club; notwithstanding instead of dollars it was hateful monsters showered upon the masses below. Life could be worse, you could be an asshole like that Bullet Bill.


Fantome Magic Ghost, The Perfect Beer to Enjoy on Easter; Hereticale Statements Abound

Errybody knows that I love Fantome. I once almost shanked some school children in Boyle Heights for a Fantome stemware glass before I realized it was really just a Fruitopia bottle. That raised even more questions as to why people in Boyle Heights were still drinking outdated ass soft drinks, alas I digress. This is an amazing beer that has been chugging along on the hype train for gosh knows how long, now I finally get to try some of this mutagen and take the Pepsi challenge.

No Easter jokes about Divine resurrection, please.

Brasserie Fantôme
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 8.00% ABV

A: Holy hell, this is one of the most interesting beers that I have ever laid my eyes on. Seriously, look above. Aside from March 17th, when was the last time you opened a bottle and your saison was as green as Battletoad pubes? This is incredibly beautiful in every aspect, the crisp white bubbles are smaller than my business acumen and the green hue is vibrant like popping a bottle of high class ecto-cooler. I can’t get over how radiant this beer is, seemingly offputting, yet amiable at the same time. The lacing is minimal but, who cares, if you popped this out at any party, people would think you have a carbonated appletini and you’d finally strike up a conversation with that high school junior you have been eyeing for AGES.

With this beer, at first you have no idea what is going on, then you win the game.

S: There’s that Fantome ghost again, fucking things up for the better, imparting musk, hay, apple, honey sweetness, a crisp pear, some fresh honeydew, and an amazing apple note that just begs for springtime like a Parolee awaiting a Good Behavior hearing.

T: It was never made clear that the Secret of the Ooze was, but I am sure that Fantome had something to do with Tokka and Rahzar. This mutagen has a fantastic saison body to it with a light wheat aspect that is the underpinning for a light kiwi tartness and some serious green tea action. I am talking Hipsters in summer green tea, the hardcore shit. The spices don’t muddle this affair and they serve as a percussive element to the din of the core saison. If this is 8% abv, then send the kids to bed, shit is about to get ruined in your house real fast. There is zero alcohol taste in this beer nd the fruit and tea interplay almost makes this feel good for me after and equally destructive P90x orkout getting a sick swole on, deep saison pump n0x shred on the dorsi tip.

This amazing saison seems like a novelty act until it pounds the shit out mouth, left all green teethed.

M: The mouthfeel is like a frothy waterpark in some hot inland city. It is exciting, foamy, mildly remniscience of a septic element, but ultimately all the pre-teen piss in your mouth can’t ruin the experience, the beer I mean. It washes away clean with an herbal aspect that lingers longingly like that girl you shouldn’t have made out with in the first place but she works at GNC so you still get sick deals on metabolic enhancers. That sort of clinging. Mutual love predicated on usury.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable, and I mean that in the scope of the other already vaporous Fantome beers, not beers at large. I know a beer is good when I start contemplating what massive whales (TSHYEAH RIGHT) that I have to obtain more bottles of this. Ultimately no one wants my tawdry ass wares so this may be the last time that I get to taste the sweet succor of this magic ghost. However, seek this out if you are in a state not inundated with beer lovers that swoop up all my sexy ghosts. Shit is PHANTASMTIC.

You know what this would pair well with? Arby's. You know why? Because this beer would taste amazing with damn near any solid food. Even Gamer Grub.

Narrative: “Yeah, here she is, the old Barrow’s Theater, not much to look at but, hey with a little spit and elbow grease, you might be able to make your horticulture echinacea dreams come true,” boomed the real estate salesperson in the interior of the badly charred left veranda. Andrew and Summer surveyed the premises with the utmost acuity, noting the burned Rococo banisters, the singed velvet curtains, each a reminder of that tragic day. “So uh, exactly how many Arcade Fire fans died on that fateful day?” Andrew interjected, setting the salesperson to unease. “Well no one remembers that hardly, I mean, who even listens to Arcade Fire anymore, right?” He was avoiding the question and Summer knew it. There was the faint lingering smell of burnt Toms shoes and Burt’s Bees products in the air. A light breeze tickled the fairtrade crystal chandelier and plinked out a few notes from the hit single from Godspeed You Black Emperor, “Storm.” Andrew turned to descend the split Victorian staircase and saw a rail thin apparition standing at the foot of the vestibule. “You here for AF? Yeah, I didn’t even want to come, been into them since ’08, but, such a directed change.” Andrew’s mouth fell agape seeing the ethereal figure push his gawdy blunt cut bangs to the side of his gaunt cheeks. “I mean, the builds are solid but the reliance on flanger fills are so post-Decadedence, you know?” Andrew came here to start an echinacea farm, but he had hit the motherload of hipster ghosts.

. . .

Ultimately, Roger Venkman had no trouble disposing of the unwanted celestial interlopers and hipster ghosts proved even less valuable in death than in life, somehow. Yet, Andrew’s echinacea farm took off to a resounding success largely in part due to the soil cultures imbued with pure, incinerated vegan flesh. It was that touch of herbs and ghost that made all the difference.