Well what do we have here? A Funky Buddha limited beer that is bottled in a blank bomber? Sounds like something you could walk down to Binny’s and pick up, right next to the Daisy Cutter, right? This is one of like 28 bottles produced, and this sweet slice of pie is probably extinct, but let’s look back on desserts past in today’s review:
The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery
Florida, United States
American Brown Ale | 6.00% ABV
A: This is turbid and murky like bayou water. If Hill Farmstead uses Vermont water, I am confident that there is a bit of the everglades in this sticky brown ale. The sheeting is minimal and the lacing is pretty lackluster. It’s not the most unfortunate looking beer that I have ever seen but, it’s on the inside that counts, that’s what every person with stretch marks has ever told me.
S: Holy sweet decadence. This beer is like walking into a fresh bakery and it happens to be a pie clearance sale. There are notes of brown sugar, biscuit malt, sweet apple, caramel, light vanilla, and this lovely cinnamon aspect to it. I said “lovely,” we are talking genteel civilized ales here.
T: This literally tastes exactly like a slice of fresh apple pie. I cannot explain it any more directly than that. It begins with a faint graham cracker and cinnamon then cinnamon and allspice come forward with apple aspects. You should pour this beer over a slice of vanilla ice cream and get shit a la mode real quick. This is the slice of American pie that your camp counselor never told you about.
M: This is very thin and makes no secret about its brown ale roots. You know deep down, there was a normal base beer before they piled all of this incredibly strange but amiable elements on top of it. There’s not much coating but, with the pastries and confectionery going on, you don’t really have time to focus on that. How many times have you left the next morning without underwear on? Yeah, that’s what I thought, trollop.
D: This is decadent and excessive, but it is not exceptionally drinkable. Maybe if you were a baller ass 5th grader your sweet zones could take 22oz of this, but for those of us with pubes, the sweetness becomes cloying after a few ounces. This would almost be better served in nib bottles or as a gentle liqueur to serve to your overweight friends when they invariably get dumped for that tiny size 16 around the block. I would still love to have this again, I just wouldn’t eat a whole pie for dinner, because I have a small shred of self-respect.
Narrative: “Well if you can’t perform a scorpion into seconds with a DECENT TURNOUT, then maybe you need to lose some weight.” The 7 year old stood stunned before Sherry Sourmane, the most dour faced dance instructor in the tristate area. She thought of the sweet slice of pie that she had the night before and lowered her head to the ground. “I just..my tummy hurts and…” The room rattled with the clack of a 6 inch stiletto upon the ground. “Out of my sight, you like wretch.” She was a sour, stern instructor, best enjoyed in small doses. When dance class was over she took to berating the parents in turn. Each fully-grown person in attendance received a fully tailored dress down from Ms. Sourmane. John Marks collected his child and walked solemnly to his car. The dance instructor looked down her brow and took a bite of a Home Run Pie and was all too aware of the tu quoque that she lived on a daily basis.