Hill Farmstead Juicy, Super Nintendo Sega Genesis, When my Cellar was Off-Shelf Man I Couldn’t Picture This

December 6, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

Saison marathon wouldn’t be complete without tossing a new upstart that gets no fewer than 10 ISOs a day, the newest club banger out of those Vermont ballers. This is a wine barrel aged New Zealand hopped saison and continues that proud lineage of Norma/Ann/(HF X beer + wine barrel) that seems to consistently deliver. Any way, enough pageantry and Biggie lyrics, Saison Marathon needs to address NEW HIGHLY SOUGHT SAISONS.

Protip: you will probably not find this for sale at any bar. Don’t ask. Don’t be that guy.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 7.40% ABV

A: This has a bit of a deeper bronze/amber aspect than most of the HF molly dropping saison raves that I am used to attending. This may be less of a light show, but still is a foam party nonetheless. The 375ml gushed harder than an overweight woman after a first date. After it finally settled down, the pour was more tame and left little lacing and seemed more watery than I expected, but perhaps the barrel aged treatments provide some working over to the residual sugars, maybe every beer doesn’t need to leave your glass looking like a haunted house, ever think of that?

This is pleasant, yet terrifyingly drinkable. Approachable, but haunting in execution.

S: This beer is incredibly interesting in the respect that it approaches citrus from both angles and just chinese finger traps your olfactory. You get this dry musky pineapple meets kiwi sort of fruit profile from the hops, but deep down you know it is that trickster alpha oils trying to lure you into its Econoline van. Then at the same time, you have traditional/acidic aspects more akin to “real” fruits like apricot and lemon from the saison and light lactic aspects. Both nose holes filled, just getting jumped in from rival citrus gangs, tatting juice tears on your cheek.

T: This is drier than I expected, but maybe we should cast our prejudices aside. Maybe being raised in a barrel gave it a predisposition for citrusy violence. “Nature vs. Nurture in the Farmhouse World” is the title of my forthcoming Woman’s Studies Thesis where I explain why there are not enough female eukaryotic in the saison industry. Enough fucking around, this tastes like a brett C profile at the outset, like looking through an old yearbook, trolling for digits, that musky paper taste when you lick her picture, those Tommy Hilfiger overalls in Geometry and when she would sit you could see- wait what. So you get brett and then a nice substantial wheat profile like a Hawaiian roll that is sweet but lingers with a flash of bready grist that subsides into this lemongrass and apricot jamba juice boost on the backend. There isn’t as much juice in this as expected largely due to the dry profile, but it ends up more refined as a result. Maybe that girl from Purdue wasn’t as hot as you had hoped, but she was a anthropology major.

Close your eyes, this saison might remind you of a certain transatlantic phantasm. Ethereal farmhouse spirits.

M: This is nowhere near as dry as E. but presents a smattering of elements from a series of the other accomplished entries in the Hill Farmstead catalog. You get this honey aspect that reminds me of Anna, but a sort of substantial wheat aspect that pushes me closer to Arthur, and with loving dryness and light acidity, old Norma watches the fold with loving care, slowly knitting an afghan for the coming Vermont winter. It ends up being a Voltron of several good qualities but not overdoing it on any one area, like playing as Yoshi in Mario Kart. One thing that bothers me is when the uninitiated saison asshole seeks this out because “IS GOOD RATEING!” and complains 1) wut this isn’t sour or 2) saisons are a simple style, etc. Fortunately, if someone is actually drinking this, they likely know what they are in for.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I can see why people wanted multiples of such an exceptional beer. The ABV hides under the porch waiting for citrus mommy and hop daddy to stop fighting. The 375 is almost a punishing format for a beer that disappears this quickly. It would be like if Live Oak finally bottled their Hef and then used 25cl bottles. My room would look like a CRV depository. In sum, another amazing beer from HF that pushes another elegant etching into the arabesque of the saison world. I can’t think of an analog to seek out to emulate this, which is something noteworthy in the beer world.

If this were a larger format, I would be Gucci Mane faded all day long.

Narrative: Turritopsis nutricula floated lazily in the Chardonnay medium. Barefoot Winery would have never suspected that the salt conditioning of their barrels would contain this prolific common rider, dancing lazily in the fluid. He was a resilient jelly, not insubstantial in grace or refinement. Some would argue that he was out of place in the lower end wine game, but he held a deep secret: NUTRICULA IS ETERNAL. I say that not in the Aristotelian way that he will remain in history forever, he was literally immortal. Whenever the changing tides of acidity or oak would affect him, he would embrace the citrus and float daintily down and respawn buds anew, changing his tissue to embrace the tannins in a new life. He was the lazarus of the depths of abject alcoholism, each time reborn with new strength. This diversity and power came from the polyp, for only by returning to life’s beginnings can one truly apprehend the beauty of a $7 bottle of wine, sometimes the negligent beginning of another life. Turritopsis would wait, elusive, ever changing, fortified by alcohol, oak, and juice; the Tuck Everlasting of the beverage world.

Hill Farmstead Ann, …………………Her.

November 14, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

THE SAISON MARATHON HAS BEGUN, GOD HELP US ALL.

This is the infamous wine barrel aged saison that I have received no fewer than 4058230985 requests to review. As the grand opening to the saison marathon, I will finally review not only the highest rated saison in the world, but also one of the best beers that I have ever had in my entire beer drinking life. For the uninitiated, this has been heralded as a revelation for the saison style and is an exemplary demonstration of the raw talent seeping out of Hill Farmstead like open prodigious sores. This was a 180 bottle, 1 per person release and if that alone was not enough, shockingly, no one wanted to trade a beer that is damn near perfect. No amount of Daisy Cutter would make it happen. Let’s approach perfection in today’s inherently flawed review.

Let’s get these jokes out of the way: mayonegg, way to place Ann, her? bland, egg, ann hog, is she funny or something? etc.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: This is almost dead on to the style and presents a milky yellow discountenance with incredibly fine microbubbles that present a huge amount of cling. The carbo looks like tiny beds of golden Roe and lace the glass for almost an instant before crackling away. Ann is turbid and has a sort of watery golden hay look to the body with eggshell white bubbles. The bottle gushed a bit upon opening, but that happened with Norma as well and she was damn near perfect as well so, hard to really fault it on that front. A very beautiful beer, and while not at radiant as say, Ithaca Brute, it has this dirty radioactive property to it, just how you like your women.

Respect Ann.

S: This is incredibly complex and I took my time to let this open up to its full bouquet. If you drink this cold, you are 1) an asshole and 2) doing the saison world a disseervice. I would heartily recommend that you let this breathe up to the low 60’s, and it will offer up a deep upside down Spoderman kiss of honey, lightly lactic lemon zest, a faint wheat profile, a gentle amount of funk like sorting through old Marvel trading cards, and finally closes with a fantastic white grape element. At the outset, this beer strays dangerously far from the typical non-BA saison genre, but is better for it. If the outstretched hand from saison to AWA makes you uncomfortable, go drink a Sanctification and think about what could have been, ain’t no one asking you to the Beer Sadie Hawkins Dance anyway.

T: This is lightly tart at the outset with ripe canteloupe and lemon notes that leave a bit of a drying aspect, this gives way to the malt profile which is creamy and reminds me of a fresh grands biscuits, albeit with honey and light pear up in the mix, if that wasn’t enough, the final sharp chardonnay aspect comes in and starts power sanding down the bitter zones with a sand blaster. The crisp finish makes your palate all pissed and wanting another hit of that sweet saison methadone.

After Ann, whenever someone tries to offer me any other beer, I be like-

M: This imparts a huge white grape and pear skin note that is a bit creamy and brackish almost at the same time, which might be confusing for those who don’t have their sea legs in saison/american wild ale territory, notwithstanding, it is beyond excellent in this respect. The mouthfeel has a milky froth that immediately subsides into a drying chardonnay aspect. Like so many gilded age politicians, it gives and takes away with the same hand and your native american tastebuds are left reeling in its wake: discontent and wanting more.

D: This beer effectively will ruin not only the saison genre at large for you due to its complexity, but it will also in a lesser way ruin beer in general for you. It is kinda like how hooking up with 16 year olds is illegal because it makes hooking up too easy and denatures the value of making out in general. Landing this beer is so hard because it is a cautionary tale as to how drinkable and good beer can be at its apex. This doesn’t present a decadent profile like some complex gueuze or imperial stouts, but it imparts a staggering amount of drinkability and just outright uplifting citrus notes. The abv is not only perfectly masked, it comes across as though this beer is actually somehow good for you. The panacea effect is substantial with a beer that is this approachable. You could give this to a teething infant and it would recognize it as a potent elixir, HP/MP fully restored like staying at an inn. I cannot say enough good things about this beer. It is unquestionably the best saison that I have ever had and amongst the beers that I have ever had.

This is how people usually look when they find out that you drank Ann without them.

Narrative: Ann Portinari has served as a seraphim figure for brewers and beer traders in general. Those tedious days of spraying out tanks and cleaning up spent grain were a silent appeal to power. There is a divine undercurrent to manipulating the properties of life, casting away life sustaining wheat to generate even simpler cultures, using them for an ontological purpose. It is in this fashion that each batch is a silent prayer to Ann, an appeal to immortality in a manner that only Herbert Spencer can truly identify. So much beer has been cast through livers and into drains in flailing attempts at benediction or salvation. Ann drapes her wings lovingly over those drunk assholes on a nightly basis, fumbling through their phones to text ex-girlfriends, she is life giver and destroyer. Some would opine that in malt liquors her presence is not felt. Why when Molson needed her most were there only one set of footprints in the mash? It was during those times that the sweet muse carried them. Ann was an overseer of more than beverages, for in alcoholic drinks, man seeks to abrogate reason and become a god by mashing out on 2 full samplers at Denny’s. No dick pic has been sent without her careful intervention and oversight. In brewing parlance, when one has sparged and sparged in endless toil, she lifts one up to beatific perfection, making all other endeavors seems trivial by contrast. In this respect she is both instructive and destructive, sure that cab is $42, but what are you going to do? Leave your car here and then pick it up before streetsweeping at 7 am? Fuck that, Ann has wrapped her golden shroud around you, do sick burnouts and show the world your value.

Hill Farmstead Society and Solitude #4, If You Haven’t Seen Parts 1-3 You Might Not Be Able to Follow

July 31, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

I know, I know. In my Fear and Trembling review I said I would ratchet back on the Hill Farmstead reviews, but a DIPA this good and the generosity that I have unexpectedly incurred warranted some sticky new hop beats for the club. Can’t leave hops alone the game needs me.

If you don’t like drinking REAL juice, and Wakefield Berliners are too nutritious for you, this will do JUST FINE.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: This has that classic Hill Farmstead milkiness to it with a creamy opaque orange glow that is turbid and frothy at the same time. There’s a ton of sticky lacing with generous carbonation that stacks and layers like US Weekly magazines in a hoarder’s home.

The number of amazing beers from this brewery is too damn high. Add some filler once in a while, brew a red ale or something.

S: The smell is incredible with notes of tangelo, grapefruit rind, tangerines, and blood orange. The pine aspect is muted but oversees and doesn’t micromanage, the sign of a true leader. The subordinate malts seem light and support the olfactory profile like a keystone in a Gothic cathedral.

T: This has a nice citrus aspect to it that is lighter than Abner in the fistfulls of pine needles, the citrus aspect is unmistakably well done and starts to infringe upon the classic Citra taste that I have become so indoctrinated to. The orange rind lingers as though there was pithy orange peels tossed into the boil, but I somehow know that they did with with no adjuncts, Vermont rolls au natural with a nice supple hop rack.

Unlike your horrible Comcast internet, this beer has always got you covered.

M: The mouthfeel has a dry oiliness from the hops that imparts an acidic bite and lingers, handing out fliers to the exiting taste buds. The entire affair is incredibly pleasant and the 750ml growler seems inexplicably too small as a result. The greatest problem in this review would be separating this amazing DIPA from their other incredible entries, Double Citra, Abner, Galaxy, the list goes on. I would say that this is better than Abner and Double Citra, but falls just short of Galaxy single hop. It is robust but presents a great diversity that keeps it memorable. At this point though, it is like selecting WHICH Lambo best expresses your personality.

D: This is exceptionally drinkab- oh hey the growler is gone. It is just that easy. 8% has never been so fleeting, the citrus kiss is a deep acidic wateriness that clips along like a Jetski with two naked Ford models on the juice ocean.

This brewery will keep rolling out awesome DIPAs, I have a pretty good idea that is what is going on.

Narrative: Blammo Corp. was in dire straights and the new toy line was simply not working. The citrus acid battery only served to get nerdy kids beat up at school and prevented home school kids from getting laid. Finally Bill Walmsly had hit rock bottom and pulled over to a roadside fruit stand after the pre-Chapter 11 meeting. He sighed and kicked a rotting strawberry and sat watching the lemon yellow sun sinking into the horizon. “Ahn sometimes…chu know you jas…see the son and es like…naranja.” Bill looked up and saw a sage old Bolivian man polishing a tangelo on his worn Tommy Hilfiger overalls. “Ahn sometimes…you jos say, I don’t need material theengs, es solo importante a ser feliz.” Mr. Walmsly nodded and listened to the broken English of this migrant labor Erasmus and rubbed his chin. “If we can convince kids that they don’t need toys…WE WILL MAKE A KILLING.” The following Friday, Sabino handed out a ripe pluot to each of the board members and continued a bilingual phillipic which seemed to last hours, “en see, chu give kids all the fruitas, and they say, well why can’t we ride the bus then, maybe you don’t need a car when estas dieciseis?” The members looked around confused, Sabino had failed to captivate their minds with his pro-citrus resignation from establish society. Mr. Walmsly injected “and on that note, we will now be selling mango flavored action figures coated in cayenne pepper and grapefruits with fireworks inside of them.” Old Bill had done it again and saved the company from certain ruin. He never forgot that stoic old Sophist, Sabino. A gorgeous marble bust was placed in the grand foyer of Blammo Corp.

Hill Farmstead Fear and Trembling Cabernet/Bourbon Blend, Infinite Resignation is the Last Stage of Fatih

July 21, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

Believe it or not, I have actually been trying to ratchet back my reviews of all these HF gems lately. No, it is not due to the confusion surrounding the Ephraim release, and no it is not due to my latent bitterness being unable to land an Ann (her?) I simply cannot forego reviewing some of these old school (relative to Hill Farmstead lifespan) treats.

This porter is suspending my universal beliefs for my individual understanding of what a porter can be.

Hill Farmstead Brewery visit their website
Vermont, United States
Baltic Porter | 9.30% ABV

A: Just like all well-done porters, this has that signature thin bodied nature to it that splashes into the glass without heft or massive sheeting. The carbonation is generous and looks like a Coffee Bean drink with khaki foam and microbubbles smaller than 3J’s role in Family Matters.

At a certain point you should at least try to mask your affection for something.

S: This is a bit smokier than I would have liked but imparts a nice char, super Charizard if you will. Then again I am not a fan of char in the first place so I guess take that with a grain of char limits. There’s chocolate, a slight red grape aspect that is more of a tannic dryness, and a bitter coffee aspect. I could have used a bit more of the refreshing porter aspects to this instead of toeing the imperial stout line but, you mess with the Baltic, you get the horns.

T: Thankfully this campfire session eschews the roasted wood and goes a ‘smore route with a deep chocolate, cocoa, vanilla and a touch of mallow foam. The dryness from the oak is present but doesn’t put both hands in your malt bowl, just enough to be noticed. There’s some plum and stone fruit aspects and a smoky finish at the verrrrry end that sneaks in like the littlest roast puppy in the litter. There’s a great complexity and it’s tough to knock any of the three variants of this beer.

If you don’t enjoy dark beer I could always serve you a baby sloth in a chalice, your decision.

M: The mouthfeel is slick and light, dead on to porter, but not quite going into an overweight stout territory. The carbonation is fine and feels like 700 thread count sheets, a sateen duvet in your mouth. But you drink beer so you probably have that Walmart all-in-one bedsheet that single moms love to tolerate. I liked this better as it warmed and the barrel characteristics became more pronounced. You want that deep dark fruit, go get it.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and masks its ABV very well. The light body and huge flavor profile is a haymaker that clears your glass pretty effortlessly. I would say the imperial porters from Hill Farmstead are improving steadily as I would rank them as follows:

Birth of Tragedy > BA Everett > Fear and Trembling

For anyone who gives a shit about bottles that are nearly impossible to obtain. Me recommending a 300 bottle run of something limited beyond belief is kinda like polishing an apple on my shirt and talking about which of my Ornithopters is my favorite.

Some people think imperial porters are just stouts in disguise, haters gonna hate.

Narrative: “And go, take your last bottle, first born in your cellar and cast it into the Fedex truck, for a return blessing shall be forthcoming.” The anonymous message seemed suspicious, yet highly credible to Mark Wallerstein. He had been trading beer online for years, but never before had he received such a divine command. “Is this some kind of LIF or someth-” he thought and suddenly a message appeared “NO, this is not a lottery it forward, only when you sacrifice your most precious bottle can you obtain that which is truly worthwhile.” This was a bit creepy but Mark began solemly wrapping his 2007 Cable Car in bubble tape, aware of the intense burden laid at his doorstep. He was to suspend all belief in bartering and give up his most precious to become elevated to a state of fear and trembling. He would exchange rationalism for hope in the ultimate gesture of beer bonhomie. Just as Mark was about to ship his final and only Cable Car, a UPS worker stopped him. “You see Mark, only by knowing that you could give up this sick wale, could you demonstrate your right to receive this:” and on that very site, his bottle was spared and he was given a bottle of Dirty Horse, unblended, 1983. A divine blessing indeed.

Hill Farmstead Galaxy Single Hop IPA, A Double IPA with a SINGLE HOP. Hoparadoxes abound.

July 14, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

You knew it was coming. Don’t act surprised when one of these HF bruisers ended up on IPA week, it was just a question of WHICH ONE. Abner? A solid choice. Harlan? Maybe next time. Double Citra? We shall see. I figure with all of the consternations and bemoaning surrounding the Ephraim news (DONG only, joining the ranks of Pliny the Younger and Exponential Hoppiness) it should be underscored how amazing EVERY OTHER Hill Farmstead beer is. Today’s review is on plenty of top 100 lists and we might as well address this amazing hoppy citrus warhead in today’s review since these Vermont bombs seem primed to blow.

For those times when the world isn’t enough, YOU NEED AN ENTIRE GALAXY.

Galaxy Single Hop IPA

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: Just look at that beer, it looks like the golden reactor inside of a platinum unicorn melted into a radiant mess of radioactive hoppy lupus materials. The golden radiance pulls light in and magnifies it tenfold. I enjoy the turbid cloudy look to this beer, it flexes a haziness to it in a way that would make most saisons blush. That’s just how Galaxy aka the “G DIPPA” rolls in the trap.

It is getting harder and harder to land Hill Farmstead growlers. Pic related: it is that hard.

S: If you have ever smelled galaxy hops, take that platonic idea and magnify it 350 times with some Humean/Lockean/empiricist sense impressions. This may be one of the best smelling beer that I have ever smelled in my life, it reeks of citrus, pineapple, tangelo, grapefruit rind, and a very faint hint of conifer on the backend. It is like a jambajuice gangbang that a park ranger stood idly by to watch, and I love it.

T: This carries on the citrus tradition in a manner that is almost just straight up juice in execution. The fruits drive hard to the hole and impart the aforementioned fruits and start flirting with those listed usually on tropical starburst. You get orange and clementine, mandarin, and the elusive naartjie pokes its head in there for a moment. I can’t underscore this enough, this is citrus with hop oils instead of that annoying Vitamin C all up in the mix.

This is not the most balanced DIPA in the world. Fucks given: 0.

M: This is incredibly light on the palate with the grave exception of the huge hop AR-15 oil rifle that it fires wildly. It is like the little guy who is a demolitions expert in movies, you know shit is gonna get wrecked real quick. There’s a light creaminess that balances out the intense fruit flavor, but it doesn’t toss an albatross around the neck of this raging hopbull.

D: This growler disappeared instantly. I don’t know how else to qualify that statement but, it’s like when you do rails of bath salts and all you want is the loving caress of your Pier 1 Imports dealer. You pour yourself a glass and it is instantly gone. The ABV slides in like so many Greek phalanx into Troy. This is the beer that launched a thousand ships, and then smashed them all. It reminds me of this kid I knew 10 years ago when the WRX first came out and he upped the boost to something like 22 psi on the stock block BOOM hop destruction, but entirely bad ass in the interim.

When my growler was gone, I was super sad.

Narrative: “Hank, he bought more equipment, will you say something to Taylor? This is really getting out of hand.” Mr. Davidoff walked into the garage and saw a mash cooling unit and what was clearly a lauter tun. “Hey, Taylor, sorry didn’t mean to startle you there-” he walked forward and kicked a bag of grapefruits. “HEY! Uh, just science in here, science fair project, that orange battery that I was uh-” Taylor mumbled as he kicked a book titled “Sparging for Dummies” underneath an indoor hydroponics hop growing system. “Listen son, it’s pretty clear you are trying to make beer in here, but son, you are 14. There are far easier ways to land booze than this, and I don’t know if I approve of you drinking.” Taylor’s hands began to sweat “wha? BEER? I don’t even know how, do they even sell strains of cultured yeasts for wild saisons? No, didn’t think so, just science fair and testing that hypothesis that I was er telling you about.” A bolivian man arrived with a wheel barrel full of malted barley sacks and sleepily began unloading them on the Davidoff’s lawn. “You know what, if you want to try and make high-end saisons instead of scoring 4Loko down by the train station…I guess I am ok with that.” Mr. Davidoff threw an arm around his son and spied a freshly emptied 15 gal rum barrel. “THAT’S MY BOY!” high fives were dispersed pell mell.

Hill Farmstead, Civil Disobedience Batch 2: CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE IS SECOND TO CRIMINAL DISOBEDIENCE

July 4, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

Happy fourth of July. To my international readers that seem to love using Google translate to make my page already less not more understandable, cheers to you as well. For today’s review I figured I would do something symbolic and the idea of doing Budweiser crossed my mind, but it seemed contrived and predictable so I thought I would go more ABSTRACKT with Civil Disobedience, that which The United States is predicated upon.

Civil Disobedience sounded like a good idea until the war of 1812 happened. That was basically Vermont’s fault anyway.

Hill farmstead, Civil Disobedience 2: THE REVENGE
Oak Aged Saison, 7% abv

A: This beer has a radiant yellow/golden hue that looks like the contents of a treasure chest in video games. The carbonation needs an entire preamble to address sufficiently. It would take the full Too Short discography to describe the amount of head that this beer imparts.

“Oh great, another Hill Farmstead review of a limited release, I wonder if he likes it.”
Maybe I should be like the mouthbreather neckbeards on other beer review sites and make an uncut 8 minute video of me rambling talking about Prima Pils or some shit.

S: Hill Farmstead just knocks it out of the park with each release and the nose on this one is incredible, to say the least. There is a pronounced grassiness with a lemon and orange peel zest. The Belgian funk is muted and the dryness from the oakiness is present in a majestic way. It is like watching Raven Symone develop from Hangin with Mr. Cooper into a proficient thespian. The maturity from this barrel has imparted a great smell, not unlike the Cheetah Girls themselves.

T: The initial taste is that of a chardonnay dryness that melts into a crisp peppery orange peel finish. The entire experience is fleeting but makes you want to take another sip immediately. The esters are similar to a Belgian pale ale but impart this incredible crispness that just assaults the gumline in an incredibly refreshing manner. They say 27% of Americans die from heart disease, I want to see the number of people who die from drinking this amazing saison. That’s right, zero, so ipso facto, this is incredibly good for you and makes you immortal. Thank you Vermont, +1 to you.

It grinds my gears when people refer to Batch 2 as the “bad batch” when it is still head and shoulders above more than 90% of the saisons out there. Gears straight grinded.

M: The carbonation is so well done on this that, I sat hatefully waiting for the massive head to subside. The mouthfeel just laces and sets up sticky Victorian interior drapery to your mouth. It is incredible.

D: This is off the charts drinkable. There is no other way to address this. You take a sip and the dryness couple with the fantastic orange and peppery character to create a fantastic self-fulfilling prophecy wherein your glass is drained. You look around the room like in a text adventure game, although, no amount of keyboard banging will replace what has been imparted.

My face whenever a box arrives from Vermont.

Narrative: Sure, Chip Dexter didn’t go to college, didn’t need to with his flashy veneers and his $10,000.00 vocabulary. You didn’t know you wanted an extended warranty or a Dyson vacuum cleaner, but then Chip arrived and all of a sudden you had a volcano insurance policy on your Kansas home. He was a swift fast talker with the gift of gab and people loved him for it. Sure he had nothing to say and just reiterated Huffington Post articles relentlessly but, in small doses, you cared for old Chip. One day Chip found himself visited again and again by a confused eHarmony.com user. As all riparian trends go, Chips well of smalltalk ran dry and it was discovered: CHIP HAD NO SUBSTANCE AND WAS NOT FIT FOR LONGER TERM RELATIONSHIPS. Yeah, old Chip was a whore, but he didn’t care his crisp Michael Kors suits and dimples kept him company enough.

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Hill Farmstead Biere De Norma, Norma-tive Statements Abound

June 27, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

In continuing with our theme this week of beers that were not easy to come by, we turn to lovely old Norma. This was a Hill Farmstead release, 180 bottles released to the public, 1 per person. Do the math on that one and figure out how easy this one was to lock down. Oh, and it is also completely amazing, so there’s also that going for it. Let’s develop the record in today’s review:

Norma-tive and Prescriptive ontology both declare that one must rationally seek out this tart gem.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Bière de Garde | 7.00% ABV

A: This pours in a similar vein as the other Hill Farmstead offerings but instead of the hazy straw this looks a bit more amber with some murky orange tones at the edges. The radiance is undeniable and the halogen lighting doesn’t do this one justice. The carbonation was incredible and took a while to subside into some tattered lacing on the edges like zombie clothing. Norma is beautiful.

The sour nature will burn your face off and make you stronger as a result.

S: The lactic aspect of this beer is undeniable and straight out of the gates it sets to work scorching my eyes and nostrils with tropical juicy fury. The funk is really apparent and there’s a certain hay, fallen leaves, and cobweb panache to this beer that delivers the tartness with a strange aplomb.

T: This just gets to drilling my bisucpids right away and there are no fucks to be given about my dental care. I get ripe oranges, tangelo, papaya and acidic grapefruit sans the bitterness. There’s a solid malty backend on this beer that is like fresh buttery sour cornbread that exudes old barn musk. If that makes this seem undesirable, let me rephrase that, it is incredible and well worth the repeated failed efforts it took me to land it. Incredibly puckering and musky at the same time, like gym class at the Sunkist fruit factory. We’ve all been there.

When this finally arrived in the mail, I was like BOOYA! Borderline racist caricatures from Tostitos.

M: This is as dry as Diane Keaton’s vagina and just as refined. Every aspect of this beer exudes poise and refinement while completely tattering my incisors and gumline. Despite the punitive aspects, I come back for more, obediently seeking tart lashings. Again, the review uses off-kilter comparisons that might convey negative aspects but I mean this with incredible reverence, this is a great beer. It is hardly a Biere De Garde, but awesome nonetheless.

D: This is fantastic and the acidic notes make you come back for more, while working in tandem with the voluminous carbonation to push it down your facehole with staggering speed. I want more but, I think with minimal effort we can get a tally of the bottles that are gone, so cue the sighs.

And eventually, the delicious bottle was gone, anger sets in.

Narrative: Nana Acrimom was a silent old matriarch that ruled her farm home with loving care and a tender arthritic hand cased in iron. The children would scamper home from school up the dirty path reeking of the floral presentation that only autumn in Vermont could deliver. The leaves were crushed in their hair and trousers with careless abandon. Nana Acrimom had a special method of allowing her tart apple pies to cool in the barn amongst old cars and her leatherworking equipment. When the children would dig their hands greedily into the tart batter, the musk from the barn would rise to the sky sending a cascade of old denim, dust, and dried hay into the air. They wouldn’t have it any other way. Later, the children each underwent orthodontic surgery for enamel destruction, but those special summers eating face melting pastries were the bee’s knees.

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Re-up the flows

June 5, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright I have been slacking, I will pump out some hot new yeastbeats soon, in the interim peep out what I have been sippin on lately, don’t worry, unlike Judy Winslow in season 3 of Family Matters, I won’t abruptly disappear.

Barrel aged partridge with the Louis Vuitton belt buckle when it is keeping all the heat strapped.

Bourbon barrel hunaphu, for when you want that cinnamon ancho to rock some BALs.

Hill Farmstead Norma, next level lactic maneuver.

Stone QM Virgin Oak El Camino Unreal, No peppercorn stems no fig seeds no sticks. Put your BALs on the 78 freeway for an Unreal experience.

Enough beer porn, reviews will be back soon, cancel that Welbutrin prescription and flip that to some Valtrex instead because DDB is about to make it nasty.

Hill Farmstead, What is Enlightenment? If not the Process of a Lager Being Lightened?

May 18, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

Alright, I took a week off to go hit up Cabo to learn about the beer culture down there and I am back on my grizzy with something as far away from Cabo as it gets in the Western Hemisphere, some down home enlightenment in today’s post. What is the nature of enlightenment? Isn’t that the age where the oppression from a liturgical society was cast off? Didn’t it promote science and intellectual interchange and oppose superstition, intolerance and abuses in church and state. Other haters say “oh that shit went down about 1650 to 1700, it was sparked by philosophers Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677), John Locke (1632–1704), Pierre Bayle (1647–1706), physicist Isaac Newton (1643–1727), and philosopher Voltaire (1694–1778).” But fuck all that, today we figure out what enlightenment REALLY IS, for the haters.

Schopenhauer straight creepin on my Enlightenment. He just wants to Will that mouth up on this Representation.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
American Pale Ale (APA) | 5.40% ABV

A: Alright, let’s try to be impartial here, every one knows about my past love affair with this rural gemstone quarry turning out hop bombs and barrel blasters on the reg. But the beer appears directly to style and comfortably shoulders next to Zombie Dust and Hoppy Birthday with that beautiful clarity and foamy radiance that you have come to expect from infant bath time and amazing APAs. The lacing is substantial, it just gets everywhere like when slimer gets blasted on by a proton pack. The legs look nice but I think the time in the growler may have tamed it a bit so you can put that on my set, I GUESS.

At first I thought this beer was too complicated, but as I continued on, the nuances showed themselves and entirely new concerns arose.

S: There’s an amazing sweet citrus without a huge bitterness to the backend that just screams grapefruit, lemon rind, apricot, and pineapple jams. The pine and other harrowing aspects that nudge their way into APA’s is gone, thank god, so no mountainous shit ruins this experience, just you and a lovely fruit hoptail to enjoy at your leisure. Where was this beer when I was draining Modelos hardcore during the entire last week? Thousands of miles away? Oh ok, cool, just peeping out the scene.

T: The taste doesn’t go aggro on the hops or the fruit aspect. You open the door and see a nice compact edible arrangement of hops and fruit assiduously arranged on your doorstep with a nice bottle of water to refresh your palate. Enough equivocating and circumlocution: This beer is refreshing. It isn’t the depths of free press or a direct challenge to the sans culottes, but it washes away clean with a nice tinge of fruits of the Tropical Skittles variety, except not derived from sucrose, just pure pineapple, mango, guava goodness from hop oils. The whole finish washes away clean in more of a shallow pantheism than the full spectrum of intellectual depths of say, Heidegger, but who has ever found Being and Nothingness refreshing? Fucking no one.

When a brewery half asses something, you can tell immediately, such is not the case here.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and clean, imparts a nice watery tone that transfers into a mild hoppy stickiness and before you know it, the pleasure is over and it is time for the tip. Again, this cannot be construed as a diss when it is brewed exactly to style and shows such extreme balance and punishing hoppiness like the first three Ninja Gaiden games. This is a real good beer and, for the style, def in my top 5 APAs, hell make it top 3, but I am trying to be fair and balanced here.

D: Does anyone remember when Ford released the Taurus SHO and shit got nuts real quick? You take a balanced base and then push it to the limits with amazing (Yamaha/Vermont) craftsmanship and here we are. I am trying to go half throttle not to drain this old chestnut instantly but that’s how these forays into Vermont always seem to go. As I type this, my growler is gone, and I still feel like i can go kayaking or play handball, and that’s how I know the APA is working, maximum flavor without the beastly DIPA withdrawals. If Ephraim is a 911 Turbo, this is Hill Farmstead’s Lotus Elise.

It’s the smooth comfort of a well-done pale ale that comforts in a softly aggressive manner.

Narrative: The local islanders did not want to cause alarm to N’thraiku’s parents, but it was clear that something was a bit off with the archipelago youth but at a certain point you just have to call it out. N’thra stood a stately 1.5m tall at his tenth birthday, however, his triceps bulged with cuts almost .5m around. He assiduously scampered up trees and claimed even the highest hanging fruit, beyond the dietary needs of the tribe. “N’thra! COME!” the village elder, K’traikai called. “N’th, you have shown great discipline, but, seriously, you look like a bent tuning fork, let’s calm the aggressive climbing down a bit, ok?” N’thra kicked some of the obsidian black sand in front of him and looked far in the distance to the dormant fire God for solace. “I mean, sure we all enjoy local treats but, you need to ratchet it back some, we have way more almendra than anyone can eat-” suddenly N’th reached and crushed a balata in his palm and swung like a child’s swing in between his massive arms. The message was delivered loud and clear, N’th was going to keep reaping fruit, getting jacked, and juicing; dietary habits be damned.

Hill Farmstead Damon, DAMON…Matt….Day…mon….

March 14, 2012 | dontdrinkbeer

Ok, so not to thoroughly beat this equine subject, but I love this brewery. They could bottle 4Loko with Hershey’s syrup in it and call it an imperial stout and I would still come running, Fedex account in hand. This beer is no exception. Let’s see what happen when the demigods in Vermont put that midas touch to one of my favorite styles: Huge Bourbon Barrel Imperial Stout. A new challenger appears…

This takes the prize as the most ridiculous bottle to open, dethroning that BA Shipwreck Porter. Dem wax. It had 5 coats like Lithuanian teenager sold into sex trafficking. Too soon.

Hill Farmstead Damon, Imperial Stout 10.5% abv

A: This looks beautiful like a fresh slab of obsidian that those rakish Hawaiians just harvested for kitschy jewelry creation. Nice deep black with roast mocha foam that is understated, yet classy, like a La Coste thong. The head takes a full 30 seconds to realize that it needs to get its shit together and finally rises to the surface reluctantly. The lacing looks incredible like that snarky liberal arts girl whose work you didn’t care much for but the substance lingered on. You know, her.

Matt....Day...Mon....Daymon.....MATT....Day....

S: The smell is like fresh brownie batter whipped up with grampa’s hooch. The smell has the note of fresh Tollhouse cookies, with a bittersweet toffee note. The whole smell reminds me of a See’s Candy Toffee Sucker. God damn, anthropomorphism makes me want to give this beer a big old smooch. Do you remember in Melrose Place where there was always a fire or amnesia or some shit always going down? Well this has that sweet and simple feel but with a ton of other elements in play and it is fucking excellent like a 50/50 lipslide into a fakie manual.

T: The taste is like licking the bowl from some sweet nana’s cookies, and nana has residual drinking problems from the great war. Also, the malts impart this subtle roastiness that nudge at you like that little voice that tells you it’s ok to drink because it is Flag Day. There’s this final finish where bourbon shows up in a flourish with confetti and cocoa coronation fanfare. The taste is like that Master P video Make Em Say Uhh, where there’s a great robust profile and cast of interesting events that you want to ruminate on its efficacy.

This is officially Moar Certified.

M: The mouthfeel just gets all carnival and sticky real quick. Someone went and scooped up some of the La Brea tar pits, jumped into Kentucky for some fine bourbon, hopped up to Pennsylvania for that aforementioned chocolate. The mouthfeel doesn’t overstay its welcome. It’s like a friend who stays, makes out with a chick on your couch and when you’re just about to get mad, BOOM, sheets folded and he’s gone. The shamiest of walks.

The proud lineage continues in this beer.

D: This is absurdly drinkable. It is outrageous in the classic sense of the word, causing outrage. I look at my bank account, then the trade forums, then my cellar, ad infinitum and it makes me staunchly aware of my needledick that I am swinging in the beer trade world for this amazing potation. I just want to post up with these all day long. This reminds me of a gentle version of BB Plead the Fifth, with hand holding and it pops the door locks for you. Now slap it on my ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass, and make that mother fucker Damontime.

This beer blows my mind. Damonception.

Narrative: Damon looked balefully upon his colleagues poised in a tight circle. Lunches on the quad never seemed so long he was ousted from the magic: The Gathering society. Those 43 minutes ticked by with a painful awareness of the liches that were being summoned, the artifacts utilized, and don’t even get Damon started on the sheer potential for enchanted creatures. “Hey Damon” a pigeontoed youth with a screen print shirt reading “5 Dollar Footlong” with a tasteful arrow pointing down approached Damon. “Hey so uh, some of us other guys were gonna start up a Yu-Gi-Oh league an-” “GOD DAMNIT Clarence! What do I look like? A CHILD. You dont have to start some RC COLA LEAGUE to supplicate my self esteem!” Clarence looked to the ground and sheepishly retreated, clutching his deck ruefully. Damon had a heart of darkness and several booster packs worth of rares. However, deep down there was a loving, entreating spirit who could guide others into something amazing. Damon walked over to the circle of disapproving glances and looked down at the match in progress. “Royal Assassin in a blue deck? Good luck with that,” Damon quipped as he dropped a Timewalk into the circle and the masses jubilantly cried out at the sight of a rare and banned card from earlier days. One headgeared, poxfaced individual placed a hand on Damon’s shoulder “Heysh Daymonsh, you’re and shalright guy, you know thasht?” he said, spitting on Damon’s Type O Negative shirt. Damon nodded and all was right again, he was free to summon his loving darkness upon the masses.

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