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Hair of the Dog Adam from the Wood, Fred was Nice, BUT NOW WE ARE TALKING SERIOUS WOOD

Adam from the motherfucking Wood. Not regular Adam. Not Cherry Adam, just gangster ass AftW. This is one of those long standing top 100 beers than I had been meaning to trade for off and on for over 9 months, but now shit is getting real and it is time to see if this little 12 ounce heater from Oregon is going to bring the pain in today’s review.

Adam gives beer nerds wood as well. Poplar and pine.

AftW
Hair of the Dog Brewing Company / Brewery and Tasting Room
Oregon, United States
Old Ale | 12.00% ABV

This is Adam aged in American Oak barrels. First released in 2000, and released again in November 2011 in 12oz bottles. This 12% beer has lots of the typical HOTD aromas: Caramel, brown sugar, tons of raisin and tobacco. Fig, date, and plum fruitiness in that order. This has a fairly strong earthy vinousness as well as oak vanilla. Alcohol: 12% by volume.

This is a complex beer that satisfies your basest desires. Wood, bourbon, fast food.

A: This is not a particularly beautiful beer; let’s just get that out of the way right from the top. I mean look at it. It is murky like melted fudge, there’s hardly any carbonation and the sheeting just coats like sticky caramel. I remember when I opened Matt and I was like “wait. What is hapen.” This is the same thing here. I can safely say that Hair of the Dog has slayed beer nerds on the quality of the aroma and taste of their beers, engaging in the Kuhnhenn style of guerilla warfare with regards to appearance. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

S: This is incredible and the olfactory is pumping out siege tanks. This beer opens up with caramel, marshmallow, Zero bar, light chocolate, a lil campfire roastiness in there and closes with a HUGE bourbon kick like kisses from your aunt on Flag day.

T: This is incredibly complex and changes from one beer to a completely different beer as it warms. I feel redundant listing all the terms that HotD themselves listed but, for reals, you get dark fruits like an imperial quad, dates, plums, just fucking read up there. I will add that the oak and bourbon is overwhelming, like Donkey Kong smashing you in the head with a barrel. Kong so hard.

My face be all like dis when I opened this beer. Lemon knows what is up.

M: This is both hugely sticky like a foam party and incredibly boozy, like a foam party. I enjoy this beer at almost room temperature because it suddenly imparts this complex bouquet like a caramel liqueur. You ever get a girl’s number and then there’s a lingering sense of guilt because you know that you aren’t attracted to Albanian women at all? Well that is how this beer operates, you get that bourbon and then it just overstays its welcome, eating up all your Bugles, changing your DVR settings and shit.

D: This is not drinkable. I will just say it. I will not say that this is not something i did not enjoy, read above, I really liked it. I don’t think Hair of the Dog will get their jimmies rustled when I say that I don’t need any larger formats of this beer. I get it. This isn’t some Ayn Rand novel where you need the notes drilled at you over and over in larger than life representations. Caramel, figs, plums, sleep. That’s how Adam rolls when he is swinging wood.

This is a big, complex beer. People fear complex things.

Narrative: “we should do this more ofTEN!” you open up your posture and lean hesitantly back “oh yeah…i know why dont we, yeah we should!” a slight wavering in your voice. This was all going so well, but God does she grate on your nerves relentlessly. “I’ve got this thing next month and you know, the week is always hectic” you look down at your shoes, the lies in the air palpable in a thick mist that she seems impervious to. The bourbon smells impart a cloud like a Eugene O’Neill novel. “well totally, I will work around you, I will call you tomorrow ok? 2 pm?” You can’t believe you are still standing in the entryway of this apartment complex, this could not end soon enough, yet it started so pleasantly. Maybe it was the way she smacked her food, told the same story 6 times with slight variations, smacked her gum, or asked you prying personal questions. “Yeah no 2pm is rough, pretty much all times are tough, so hey I gotta do this thing but…keep in touch k?…” You lick your gumline and taste her caramel lip gloss. What a strange choice. You rock back on your heels and slink towards your car. “Sure, well I will touch back and we’ll work something out” For all your will, for all her shortcomings, you know in 6 months, your curiousity will return and you will inevitably come back to her. The exotic sweetness, with all its lack of grace, beckons.

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Hair of the Dog, Bourbon Fred from the Wood, I Think I Am Getting a Clue, Oh Wait It is Bourbon Wood.

Hair of the Dog releases can get out of hand. The last time Adam from the Wood was released, everyone on the trading boards lost their shit and the traders who were sitting on entire cases could not be compelled to let bottles go. Well, some time has passed, wounds have healed, and livers have regenerated. This is the often overlooked analog to Adam from the Wood, Bourbon Fred. Apparently the first release had some carb issues and it affected the ratings but I can safely say that this 2012 release is incredible and it appears that the ratings are spiking harder than a 6 man tournament. Let’s get after it:

If you see Fred up in the club, hit him with a bourbon high five.

Hair of the Dog Brewing Company / Brewery and Tasting Room
Oregon, United States
American Strong Ale | 12.00% ABV

A: This isn’t the most beautiful beer that I have ever poured, but sometimes it is inside what counts. To my amazement, this beer was actually carbonated, unlike so many other Kuhnhenn and HotD offerings. Matt was flat, Adam has been tepid, but this just bursts with excessive lacing and frothy tiny bubbles. It was like every time that I had been burned by prior offerings was amended with this jam.

At 12% abv, this will hit you out of nowhere.

S: This is as barrel as it gets, you get coconut, macaroon, vanilla, sweet heat and nice sweet pancakes smell cum de IHOP. Whenever I see trifling ass beer blogs complain about heat on a BA beer, it is like someone complaining about an escort being “too forward.” That is what you paid for, peep game. This is ready to roll and at 12% abv, things could get way more twisted.

T: This is pretty easy to summarize, the castle door drops down and some gentle maple and Werther’s original flavors enter and then HOLY SHIT BOURBON IS RIDING AN ELEPHANT. There is a harem of servants casting vanilla and sweet oak chips to the clamoring masses. The bourbon is so far forward that it is in the engine compartment. No punchlines, no riddles, I am talking white squares with a stamp in the middle.

This beer rocks crazy vanilla, but is smooth as hell. Word to your mother.

M: This has an incredible dryness but also a sticky malt that pulls from both ends like a sorority tug of war. You are up in your glass communicating with the bourbon like Michael and KITT, perfectly integrated. This leaves residual sugars lingering and nice sheeting of alcohol to think about. The 12’s up in your mouth leave that palate shaking like it got Parkinson’s Disease, but it is so damn fulfilling.

D: If you are accustomed to merking Buffalo Trace to the skull, this might be your session beer. For most people, this is too big, too sweet, too complex, and too heated to session up on, however, the 12oz single is a solid banger. If this was in a bomber you’d be forgetting to pick your kids from school, taking apart the VCR and shit.

I just want moar.

Narrative: It was hard for Malcolm Rogers to relate to the guys. They always rooted for the Big 10, what with him and his fencing hobby, he felt a bit outside the ranks. However, there was one thing that Malcolm could consistently offer that would bring even the most stalwart of opposition to its knees: “DID SOMEONE SAY TOTINOS PIZZA ROLLS?” It did not matter the class, creed, or character of his guests; once those preservative laden rolls hit the table, things were off of the hook, hinges and heezy concurrently. No one really thought much about Malcom’s job, or his background. While others traded people on their fantasy teams, he would swirl 18 year bourbon in a bucket and ruminate on habbedashery. He was too classy and refined for his own good. He made horrible fantasy draft picks based on name alone, and his antechamber smacked of Anthropologie; but they tolerated him. His sweet decadent pizza rolls wafted through the KB Home, securing his eschelon amongst the bretheren.

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Hair of the Dog Matt, Matt is a Sick Bro, Boozy, But Super Chill.

Oh wow, another top 100 beer? Look who is on a roll this week and has two thumbs, ::using index fingers:: this guy.

Like most of the Matt's I know, this one is boozy but super chill.

Hair of the Dog, Matt, American Strong Ale, 11.5% abv

A: This beer is flatter than a Taiwanese gymnast. No head to speak of and mild reluctant bubbles at the edges are the underwhelming response after a hard pour. It is a deep dark plum/mahogany color with no middle carbonation, clearly. Look how flat it is, and then, make your own small breast reference.

This beer is almost too complicated for my tastes.

S: Wow, this has a huge bouquet to it. It smells like an “Imperial Quad” with abundant smoked raisins, figs, burnt plums, charred dark fruits and some chocolate body in there. Quite a complicated little brew, but interesting to say the least.

T: Wow, for a flat beer, this is incredibly tasty. This maintains that same Quad character on the taste with a nice malty raisin sweetness, currants, and a mild chocolate flavor. The swallow is a bit boozy but nothing too overpowering. I could imagine this being pretty violent fresh from the tank but it seems to have mellowed amiably. There’s a hot vanilla at the end, like that one violent white kid from Gardena that packs a snubnose heater. You know the one.

This dark sassy brew has an amiable quality.

M: The mouthfeel is hot with bourbon singing the gumline but in a fulfilling way. It imparts an alcoholic dryness with a nice oaky character. Again, this is a strange hybrid beer that would be incredible if not for, ok, the carbonation horse has been beat to death. I’LL JUST HOOF IT TO THE NEXT SECTION.

D: This is way too hot and warm to session up on. Thankfully they realized this and bottled it in 12oz bottles so it is packaged just right. Ultimately it is an anomaly like Dragonforce where you are impressed by the crazy plethora of things going on but ultimately can’t sit through a 2 hour set. Too much heat from the face melting vanilla solos.

After a bottle of this hot rampaging ale, I need to stop internetting.

Narrative: The air was thick and hot like the congealed top layer of a hot soup. The humidity stuck to Brash Proveccio’s face in a spiteful manner. “Alright, no more messing around, stack that product over there, yeah, a full quart” he barked to his lackey’s in a firm, serious tone. “Alright, now what made you think that you could muscle in on our market?” he spit as he talked, boozy and laced with tobacco, it hit the face of Sabas Zapato and lingered. “I just- never thought that, it’s just….FIREWOOD!” Brash slammed his fist down on the charred stump next to him. “JUST FIREWOOD? The likes of you should even be able to touch freshly cut SOFT MAPLE WOOD!” Zapato shifted in his chair nervously. He never thought that his unlicensed gardening venture would land him in this type of trouble. “Tell you what, since it’s just FIREWOOD and I’m the only one in Bergen county allowed to SELL FIREWOOD, how’s about I drop a fresh gross on each and every one of your family member’s driveways?” “NO….PLEASE!” “Yeah, that’s right tough guy, everyone’s going to be significantly late to whatever appointments that they may need to attend, imagine them, movin all that wood out of the way, just to get out of the garage, YOU WANT THAT?” Zapato began to sob and, through the thick, sticky air murmured, “Take all the Alder, all the Almond, any green woods you want, even the Beachwood, please just don’t….don’t make them the victims of fire wooding.” Brash split open a fresh log of Ash wood, he was fired up indeed.

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Cherry Adam from the Wood, Up to No Good. Oregon is a Republic of Hoarders

Popping that Ch-, ok nevermind.

Ok, North Carolina week is put on hiatus, since SOME PEOPLE IN OREGON THINK IT IS OK NOT TO SHARE.

Cherry Adam from the Wood, Old Ale, 10% ABV

A: The appearance has a nice deep ruby and dark brown hue that just doesn’t have a single fuck to spare with regards to carbonation. This beer is like that curmudgeonous guy at the party who just chills and talks shit on people, and cant be riled even for a supplicant game of flip cup. No head.

S: This has a deep boozy smell that stings the nostrils like Sex Panther. The cherry comes through in a muted and grenadine sort of way but it is a welcome reprieve from the Old Ale deep sticky maltiness and old timey stories. There’s dark fruit, oak, and vanilla at the end but no one listens to them, just an annoying little cadre of background assholes.

Cherry Adam in the flesh would look something like this, nerdy, into fruit flavors, complex, but ultimately will resort to alcoholism.

T: The taste has a ton going on, vanilla, oak, deep malts, pitted fruits, figs, and guess what? Fucking cherries. Cherries jubilee but coated with bourbon and set on fire. This is like a complex dessert cooked by a FIDM student that burned them and scorched them with alcohol while watching Sex and the City. It is complicated, but that doesn’t make it necessarily good, it just has longer stories to tell about its childhood, just like all the best dates you ever went on.

M: The mouthfeel has a nice warmth to it and would be at home in the old skilodge for drunks too seeped in cherry love to hit the slopes. Nice hot coating and oaky dryness make this beer shine in a world not yet created, one for alcoholic fruit lovers. One can dream.

Cherry Adam off the top ropes

D: This is just too hot and beats you over the head with a barrage of complex flavors that exceeds the scope of my appreciation. MY APPRECIATION SCOPE REMAINS UNCALIBRATED. I was able to finish the whole 12oz bottle but, I wasn’t all sad looking out a rainsoaked window pane wondering when that Fedex truck would bring me another one. Drinking it has cool bragging rights to that extensive circle of no one, so there’s always that. Try it at a club, work it into her story about being “not religious but spiritual” and see how it goes over. “OH SPEAKING OF CHERRY ADAM I HAD THE BOURBON BARREL AGED VERSION ONCE.” You can’t get less than zero girls, you can’t owe people chicks. But you can drink zero Cherry Adam, which is not a Coca-Cola product.

Narrative: “Gunnar! Get your lunch and permission slip, you’re gonna be late!” Cathy called to her second-born as he grasped the paper sack with a savage zeal and peeled out the doorway, still smelling of Taster’s Strudels. “Oh if they only knew,” Cathy thought to herself and watched the bus noisily speed away. She put on her Northface jacket, a fashion staple of hip east-coast mothers, and hurried to her Dodge Stratus to complete her daily ritual. “What would they think if they knew this was how I spent my days?” she tapped her fingers nervously and looked across the parking lot, disappointed. “Shit, they still haven’t set up, WHAT TAKES THOSE CRATES SO DAMN LONG!?” she took a pull of vanilla brandy and watched longingly as the Puerto Rican men unloaded the cases containing her sweet succor. “Felipe! Hola hola, un caja de cereza por favor!” he began to go for a box of beer. “NO FELIPE! CEREZA! CHERRIES FOR GOD’S SAKE!” she ejaculated with tense anticipation. This was the height of her day, getting lit and hitting the Farmer’s Market first thing, to land a sick stash of pitted goodness. She hustled back to the idling car with her case of cherries, rubbing the errant juice along her gumline. The children would come home and find spoons burnt with carmelized cherries, and empty cartons, but never uncover Cathy’s sweet, dark, pitted secret. So pitted.