Tag Archives: golden

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Ale Apothecary Sahalie, Thanatos Has Assembled all of the Saison Gems and Your World Is About To End

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It is not a well guarded secret that I love me some saisons. Shit, didn’t we do something like 34 days in a row of saison reviews? That’s what I thought. Anyway, this banger started some serious buzz on the top saison lists and at first I dismissed it as some farmhouse chicanery, but batch after batch it kept creeping higher and higher until I buckled and sought out this elusive farmhorse. Some people got their tampax all sideways when I said that this was rare, apparently 55 wants 4 gots wasnt rare enough for them. But landing this is kinda a bitch, so take that for what you will. Plus this bottle was like $30 or something, so you gotta ball outrageous to fucks with this. Let’s get to it.

As wit hmany of my other saison reviews, I swear I didn't pour this like a dicktouch. These saisons come out like broken washing machines.

As with many of my other saison reviews, I swear I didn’t pour this like a dicktouch. These saisons come out like broken washing machines.

The Ale Apothecary
Oregon, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 11% ABV (Jan 2013 release)

A: This is just outright beautiful and pours a hazy turbid orange with bright gold hues at the edges. The cabonation is ridiculous and almost to the point of being obnoxious i.e. Upland Lambic steeze. The soapy bubbles keep on coming and its like bath time for the farm hands. The lacing is also pretty ridiculous making the inside of your glass looking like a Baroque sex party, lace and frills all over the place.

If you think you are a saison expert, you probably are a raging pussy. I should know, I am a saison expert and no one can beat my ass.

If you think you are a saison expert, you probably are a raging pussy. I should know, I am a saison expert and no one can beat my ass.

S: This has an incredible nose to it at low temperatures. In fact, let me condition this entire review by noting that at 45 degrees and 60+ degrees this beer is an entirely different experience. When very cold you get this light acidity, pears, melon, lemon grass, floral hibiscus sort of earthiness but a big juiciness to it. As it warms, this thing pulls out its 11% dick and pounds your nosehole with careless abandon. It gets this really offputting fusel and astringent quality and reminds me of pissing off the saison Hulk. You wont like this beer when it is angry.

T: Again, when this beer is cold, it is mindblowingly good and absolutely world class. If you have had Handfarm, think of that but a juiced up imperial version. If you had Clos Preal batch 1 then you will know exactly the high abv saison beat I am talking about. This presents apricot, acidity almost like a musky beatification with less tartness, apple skin, honeydew, lemon and a sorta of parmesan cheese musk that lingers with the juiciness after you swallow. This is just phenomenal. When this beer gets warm, watch out because shit gets real pretty quickly. It gets this heat to it like an imbalaned Belgian Tripel with this boozy pineapple meets gin ester that is really offputting. It is incredible that a beer can be both world class and hateful at the same time. A truly bipolar bitch.

With an 11% saison, part of me things someone pulled a nasty trick on me. BUT I LIKE IT.

With an 11% saison, part of me thinks someone pulled a nasty trick on me. BUT I LIKE IT.

M: This maintains a nice lip smacking dryness with a lingering oakiness to it not unlike fresh Temptation. The acidity is restrained and the abv is masked in a way that is staggering. IF you have a sorority girl you want to put to sleep, this beer will do the trick. “Date rape jokes are not funny” I agree, but we can all agree that having a quiet DG is a vast improvement in any situation. This is exceptionally refreshing at low temps and just starts flipping over card tables if you dont watch your glass at higher temperatures.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable as long as you get to it fast and dont let those sticky alcoholic tones spread their wings. If you sit on this its like a colony of zergling eggs that just need some incubation. You go from exceptional funk and musk, light lemons to face melting pineapple liqueur in a matter for 25 minutes. Again, take all of this under the caveat that you cannot just take Sahalie out to a seafood dinner and expect to hit the sheets. You have to put that saison time in and really enjoy this under the right conditions, otherwise things get out of hand really quickly. It is like “This is the best beer I have had in a long ti- OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME THATS WHERE I POOP FROM-” and the kid is pointing out what the saison did to you on a doll in pretrial proceedings.

Tell me how easy this beer is to land. I don't give a fuck.

Tell me how easy this beer is to land. I don’t give a fuck.

Narrative: Dwayne Johnson was a mild mannered tier of the rural Texas community within the pleasant town of Elderton. His tan Grecian form lumbered to the mailbox and he waved to the mailman with an inviting smile. “Hey Big D!” Thomas Norse, the local postal officer waived to the monster of a human from across the street. As he walked inside he reviewed his Verizon bill and felt his traps pulse with a taut anger. “I…I am on the unlimited PLANNNN-” he thought angrily and clenched his jaw. Dwayne exhaled slowly and regained his cool composure and sat down to his usual breakfast of 2 eggs, 10 oz filet and oatmeal. “I dont see why they would charge me with OVERAGES WHEN I HAVE UNLIMITED ACCESS” he gripped his melon and fiercely bit into an apricot. He rounded the foyer of his house only to see that someone had writted “TOO FAST TOO FAGGOT” on the side of his tasteful raised Bronco. “THAT IS TOO MUCH!” he roared and tore away his tiny tank top revealing his massive frame. He was a gentle soul, but if you got him hot, his genial aspect converted quickly into a 250 lbs wrecking ball that even the most patient DMV employee could not console.

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Logsdon Seizoen Bretta, SAISON MARATHON IS FINALLY OVER. Also this saison is super dank.

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You guize, I didn’t die, and saison marathon is finally over. Closing out like a boss with an amazing PnW saison that people have been jocking harder than Starter Jackets in the 90s.

Looks like orange juicy juice, cream on the inside clean on the outside.

Looks like orange juicy juice, cream on the inside clean on the outside.

Doubling down on the pics to close out saison marathon

Doubling down on the pics to close out saison marathon

Logsdon Farmhouse Ales
Oregon, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 8.00% ABV

A: Just look at that turbid milky mess of saison. The wheat is poppin like cheeks at Magic City and makes me wanna pop bands and sprinkle bills all over it. The carbonation is downright hilarious. I ordered this at Little Bear and the bottle gushed so hard it made the server look like he was pulling off some Urkel shit. The lacing is substantial but somehow looks clean at the same time. Filthy yet desirable, Sasha Grey level saison maneuver.

After a full month in the weeds, time to celebrate...with a saison. God damnit.

After a full month in the weeds, time to celebrate…with a saison.
God damnit.

S: There is a huge dryness to this and the brett profile is more pronounced than a non-regional dialect. You get lemon rind, puppy breath, grapefruit juice, the musk of cookie dough without the sugary sweetness, and finally some pineapple aspects on the closer. If you cannot land Fantome Ete, this is about the closest thing I can approximate that beer to.

T: This is incredibly musky and earthy and almost has a sort of mushroom and Jazz apple interplay going on. There is the classic belgian yeast strain, white pepper in the middle body, and this dry execution like pear skin that is more legit than Trinidad James. This doesn’t go overboard on any aspect because the musk is ratcheted back enough to give the tart aspects enough stage time. This is something I imagine the elementary school grounds keeper drinking after a long day of mowing down crabgrass, earthy and bitter with a tinge of tart hope for the future. Excellent and profound like a Soulja Boy album.

I was gonna try and tie this picture in to the review, but it is a god damn baby kangaroo. Joey so hard.

I was gonna try and tie this picture in to the review, but it is a god damn baby kangaroo. Joey so hard.

M: This is dry but like I noted, that musk adds a complexity that just wipes out your bitter zones and daisy chains it to make you want to take another sip. The brett with the substantial wheat body has this one two punch that if either aspect was ratcheted back, would be imbalanced. You remember how Garbage Pail Kids cards were dirty but at the same time refreshing and intruiging, that is kinda how this beer is because you know it is messy, but you secretly like all the soil smashed in your hair and your skin all dried out. You nasty.

D: This is one of the most drinkable saisons, it is all over shelves, it has an amazing price point, and delivers every time without that Russian Roulette of Belgian bottles. I highly recommend showing this to someone who doesn’t know dick about saisons, show them your dick, I mean, the beer. Damnit. This has the aspects of other baller/expensive saisons and glimpses the tiers of greatness like Tintoretto, but fails to hit that farmhouse perfection like Titian exemplars HF, Fantome, etc, all the other breweries whose jocks I ride like a sybian.

My face when I completed an entire month of drinking the best saisons in the world.

My face when I completed an entire month of drinking the best saisons in the world.

Narrative: James Kurtz pounded each step in rhythmic pain, exhaling a cloud of mist through his strained lungs. It had been an aggressive 26 miles but he had now entered the final stretch and an Oregon morning had never seemed so crisp. He crossed the finish line and walked with an antalgic gait to a pile of leaves and laid down to stretch. He swallowed deep from the cup of lemonade and looked up to the sky, watching the nimbus ornaments drape their alabaster fingers across the sky. It had been a battle the entire way, but he had finally done it: HE RAN AN ENTIRE MARATHON COMPLETELY DRUNK. James pulled off his Camelpak and took a final pull of the saison bladder in his backpack. His physician told him that drinking 8% beer while dehydrating himself was a suicide mission, but he pressed on. Some complained that he reeked of alcohol and wheatgrass, but his pores were a testament to his achievement. With a gentle repose, James laid in the grass and inhaled deeply. Saison marathon had finally been completed.