Charleville Vineyards And Microbrewery, Box of Chocolate, Mama Always Said Life Was Like a Box of Cliches

I remember seeing this beer tearing up the billboard charts last year and I never quite understood what was going on. Ok so it is a quad, so there’s gonna be some pitted fruits and deep malts and, oh wait what? No it’s chocolate. So it’s a stout? No, it’s a quad. Yeah see, fucking confusing. Anyway, I finally traded for one and here are the results, NESTLE` your ass into this review.

See what I did there? CONTEXT IMAGES, hot chocolate on chocolate action. GOD DAMN IT IS SO META.

Charleville Vineyards And Microbrewery, Box of Chocolate, Quadruple, 10.5% abv

A: This seriously looks like Coca-Cola Classic. Next section. Ok fine, it has a mild wateriness that is black in the center and darker at the edges. The lacing is minimal and there’s a big watery profile going on with middle effervescence throughout. It doesn’t look like a quad, but that’s what the Temecula boys said before they broke their necks on those sick dune runs.

This beer is all good and fun with your friends but drinking it alone you just get hit by the caramel refuse truck.

S: There is some chocolate, but moreover I get a sticky sweetness more like maple syrup or burned caramel. I have definitely encountered more chocolatey monsters than this offering as far as noses go. August Gloop would be disappointed as all hell.

T: Ok there we go, even at a very chilly temp, the chocolate comes through and. . .that’s about it. You get a very mild caramel finish but it is seriously just a one note chocolate that fades into cocoa and caramel. I don’t to make a Rolo comparison because those are more sticky and decadent but this is a watery rolo, it has the chocolate going on, but if you’ve ever had Chocolate Rain, this will seem like the anemic artsy brother who is into interpretive dance chocolate. Not the hardcore 85% shit.

I was so jazzed for some decadent treat, and while the chocolate was still very present, I was all like-

M: This is incredibly watery and almost comes off closer to a porter in mouthfeel with less roasted malts. The sweetness gets a bit old after about 5 ounces and this is clearly meant to be shared. No one ever sits down to this much chocolate unless she’s single on 2/14 and there happens to be Lifetime marathon on. There is this lingering Dr. Pepper finish that makes me assert that this soda character is there through and through with the syrupy notes on the finish. But it’s like the busser fucked up and didn’t put the co2 mix right on the soda machine because it gives too much chocolate caramel and not enough xanthan gum.

D: I guess if you are at a 5th grade sleepover, this would be ideal. However, if you are bringing 10.5% craft beer to a sleepover with 10 year-olds, we have some other things to discuss. The more this warms, the thinner that the beer feels and the big old box of chocolate that I was expecting is turning more and more into a bag of Mr. Pibb concentrate. It doesn’t paint the walls with decadence, it just leaves a mild wateriness that sprays away with the gentlest of Shamwow treatments.

It is so much chocolate and burnt soda goodness, I can't handle this formidable bomber alone. Halp plz.

Narrative: The rain streaked small rivulets down the pane of Jericho’s hazy window. Phoenix never received this much rain and ever since he received that debilitating text message, it seemed to pour even harder. Jericho aka Faded J aka the Feeze had a budding hip hop career in the strictest sense of the word, a graft planting really. He tried unsuccessfully to learn Fruity Loops, then audio forge, then a simple Casio keyboard, until ultimately he decided that Arizona needed a pure lyricist. Notwithstanding the foregoing, his girlfriend dumped him after a staggering 5 months of these charades. “Jericho, your raps sound like change in a dryer and have the rhyme structure of an E.E. Cummings epic,” she would rail at him while he tapped out his sonnets on a Pringles can, crafting his magnum opus, 300 bars dissing a variety of movie theater chains for overcharging on concessions. “Your candy aint even sick, why you always, even, I mean, I am just here posted up chilling with my chick, not a bitch, but you know, like, Cookie Dough bites for like what, sometimes $4.50. . .well fuck that shit.” The local manager of the AMC autotuned the flows and received over 500,000 hits, at poor Faded J’s expense. Now he was sitting caressing the case of Cookie Bites that was sent to him in concession, the bitter chocolate underscoring the pain on his mediocre existence.